the L there now, it’s ruined forever.
The camp kids have to share the visitors’ locker room, while we have our domain to ourselves, so at least they’re not here to witness this humiliation.
“They’ve set our challenges,” I say and avoid looking in Jacobs’s direction as he dresses.
I’ve seen the guy naked a million times over the last three years. I don’t know why I have the sudden urge to compare his body to mine or why I’m fixated on that vein.
“All right. Let’s hear them.” Jacobs sits. I risk a glance in his direction, and thankfully he’s fully clothed now.
Cohen’s excitement is a little sad. He bounces around the locker room like a kid at Disneyland. “Okay, so there are five challenges, and each of them are worth between ten to thirty points depending on level of difficulty.”
Jacobs and I look at each other.
“Can’t we go one for one? Best out of five?” I ask.
“Agreed,” Jacobs says.
Wait, that seems too easy. I gasp. “We … see eye to eye on something? What … what is happening right now?”
“Points system it is.” Jacobs glares at me.
Yay! Finally! A typical Jacobs reaction. Took him long enough.
“I kind of agree with Beck,” Rossi says. “It says challenge number four and five are worth thirty points each. So, really, they’d only have to put in effort on those two to win.”
A few murmurs break out in agreement.
Cohen throws up his hands in defeat. “Fine. But I totally had a system.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I say. He ignores me.
“Okay, first up.” Cohen rips off the first row of Post-its. “Drinking game.”
“Yeah, that won’t be happening,” Jacobs says.
“Scared I can drink you under the table?”
“Hmm, how about not wanting to be expelled for something that could be considered hazing seeing as there’s a no-tolerance policy for that shit on our campus? If one of us lands in the hospital with alcohol poisoning, half the hockey team will get kicked out of school. A captain should know that.”
Damn. He has a point.
Cohen grunts. “Why are you all determined to ruin my fun with this?”
I scoff. “Because this is all about you.”
“Duh.” Cohen folds his arms and rests the marker under his chin. “Okay, one pitcher of beer. Neither of you will die from, what, four drinks? We time it. The first to finish it wins.”
Jacobs’s lips flatten. “That works, but … what does drinking have to do with being captain?”
“Did we not just establish this isn’t about you guys?” Cohen asks.
Jacobs groans so loud I can hear him all the way over on my side of the locker room. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
“To McIntyre’s!” Cohen yells and leads us out of the locker room.
The guys on high school duty split off as soon as we leave the arena, making Cohen promise to send videos of the shenanigans.
“No video,” Jacobs and I say at the same time.
I fold my arms. “We’re agreeing on way too much in a short period. We don’t want to mess with the space-time continuum.”
This time, he’s able to rein it in and smiles as he walks away.
This is so weird.
We hit McIntyre’s, and Cohen immediately goes to the bar to order two pitchers of beer.
Rossi and Martin push Jacobs and me toward a booth and force us to sit opposite each other. The others crowd around us.
I assess my competition and think I have the advantage. Jacobs rarely goes out, and when he does, especially at McIntyre’s, he’s not a big drinker. I’ll occasionally see him at a kegger drinking like there’s no tomorrow, but compared to me … I’d say I’m more seasoned in that department.
Years of binge-drinking at frat parties and European clubs is about to work in my favor.
Cohen places the drinks in front of us. “Ready? Hands on the table. You can’t move them until I say go. No spilling. No vomiting.”
We do as he says.
“Aaaand …”
Anticipation builds. I’m ready to go for this.
“Shit … where’s my stopwatch app?”
I slump.
“Do you need a stopwatch if the winner is who finishes first?” Jacobs asks. “I thought you had a system.”
Cohen grumbles something under his breath. “Fine. Just … Go.”
There’s a blink of pause for us to realize he gave the go-ahead.
I get to my jug first, block out the rest of the world, and drink. The cheap beer has a god-awful bitterness to it that I try not to gag on. Still, I’m determined to win this thing, so I relax my throat and swallow it