challenges regularly? Some of them seem to be under the misguided notion that you’re going to win.”
“You might be twice my size . . . or more, but I work in a bar. I can hold my liquor better than you’d think,” I brag. “You’re going down.”
Scott lifts one eyebrow, and I realize what I said a moment too late. “Perhaps those are the stakes? Considering you accepted without knowing what’s at risk here?”
I give him a hard look. “I’m gonna throw you a bone, Danger. I win, favor of my choice. You win, favor of yours. Deal?”
He smiles widely, saying nothing as Tiffany blows on a silver whistle, quieting the crowd. “Okay, folks, same rules as usual. Every minute on the minute, you take a shot. You have one minute to drain the glass completely. Miss one, you lose. Ready?”
I lick the back of my hand, sprinkling a little salt on my skin. With a smirk, I tell Scott, “May the best woman win.”
Tiffany blows the whistle again. “GO!”
I lick the salt, slam the shot, and bite into a lime. I hold the lime in my teeth, giving Scott a green smile before setting the sucked fruit on the table.
The crowd is watchful for a couple of rounds, no one expecting a drinking contest to end that quickly. As we match drink for drink, though, there’s a buzz building in the assembled group.
“Goddamn, I hope someone called a taxi for these two,” someone says, causing a few laughs.
“Yeah, right. Call an ambulance instead. Unless those torpedo tits are hollow, she’s going to need her stomach pumped.” There’s another round of laughter at that.
Scott growls, turning around in his chair to stare a hole through the guy. “Shut your fucking mouth. Don’t talk about her tits. Don’t even look at her tits. Or I’ll put you in the ground,” he slurs.
I’m vaguely aware that now everyone is looking at my tits, and I sit up extra tall, pressing them out to look their best. Hah. Take that, bossy growly man. I look at Scott, in my drunken stupor wanting him to see my perky assets, but his attention is still on the jerk in the audience.
“Yeah, right. You couldn’t even stand up on your own right now. You’d be the one in the ground,” the douchebag replies.
“Forty-five seconds,” Tiffany says, and Scott blinks slowly, realizing he’s got a shot in front of him.
“But—” he gestures wildly at the mouthy guy.
“Forty seconds.”
Growling, Scott tosses the shot back too fast, sputtering a little as it burns its way down. His eyes start watering, and his face turns pink as he tries to catch his breath. “Fuck . . . you put chili pepper in that fucking thing?”
“Nope, same bottle as before,” Tiffany replies, refilling his glass. “Twenty seconds.”
Scott swallows roughly. “Fine. Let’s go.”
At the minute call, Scott picks up his drink, but at the first sip, he starts coughing, his shot glass falling to the table to spill all over the surface. I drink my glass and slam it down on the table in victory.
There’s a whoop of cheers, along with some grumbles as folks start to settle up their bets. The room is a bit spinny and that last shot is still hitting me, so I don’t say anything as Stella brings us both a glass of ice water.
“Here, sip it slow,” she says. She has to help Scott because he can’t even hold the glass steady. “Good try, boy. But ain’t nobody ever beat Maddie.”
He squints at Stella. “Might’ve been nice to know that before we started.”
She laughs. “Well, boy, you’re the one who challenged her. I reckon it was your job to know what you were getting yourself into. Don’t write checks your body ain’t prepared to cash.” Scott nods, and Stella must feel he’s been suitably chastised because she continues. “I got two double-bacon fries coming for each of you, on the house. And a free lie-down in the back until you can hold vertical on your own.”
Tiff helps me up, the cumulative effect of the multiple shots hitting me as I try to move. “Wait,” I mutter, looking back at Scott, who’s trying to stand on his own. “Didn’t learn your lesson the first time, did you?”
“What?” he asks, staring at the table and digging his fingernails into the wooden surface for leverage to stand. He slowly makes his way to his feet, although if it’s by sobriety or pure force of will, I can’t honestly tell.