“Lady and gentlemen, the rules are simple. Eat the most and refrain from puking. Winner takes the room and in four weeks ... we do this all over again.” Sean officially drops the green flag on our contest as our server deposits a platter of deep fried chicken wings dripping with spicy orange sauce in the center of our high top table. “May the best man—or woman—win. Wings up!”
We each have two plates, one for our food, another for the evidence. Apparently the band’s been holding this competition for years, since back when they toured in a rented van and the winner got to ride shotgun. They have it down to a science. After a questionable challenge in Denver in which Austin and their old drummer Derek got in a fist fight over the wing count, the guys implemented the two plate rule. Sean caught me up to speed on the details during the walk over to this shady eatery.
If I weren’t so competitive this entire thing would be laughable.
The first few rounds go down easy. We each take three pieces from the stack until the platter is empty and Sean orders another. I don’t dwell on how many these men, who have one up on me in both weight and experience, have put away in past challenges. Like with anything difficult, I keep my eye on the prize and take it step by step. Or rather, wing by wing.
My mouth is on fire, but it’s almost worse having to wait. The extra time between rounds doesn’t alleviate the burn or the fullness in my belly. Locking my lips around the straw of my cup, I sip the cool water. It’s a sweet balm to the fire taking place in my mouth. Trent’s gaze follows my every move. His normally friendly banter has been missing since I stormed out of his room this morning and his irritation scratches at my focus, but I can’t think about his feelings right now. Eye on the prize. I slurp down more water.
“Rookie move, Marx.” Sean nudges my shoulder and points at my glass.
“What? No water? That’s not in the rules.”
“Straw. You’ll fill up too fast. If you drink without one, it helps cool your lips.”
“Don’t be sharing strategy.” Austin’s brow narrows but Sean just shakes his head.
“How come Iz isn’t here?” I ask as the server comes back with another platter. My stomach rumbles at the scent of spice, only it’s not with hunger; it’s more a get the hell outta Dodge warning.
“Iz doesn’t need the room. He’s too high to notice where he is half the time,” Sean says.
“Besides, talk about unfair. He’s got never-ending munchies,” Austin adds.
“Okay, shut up or give up. Let’s go.” Trent dishes out four wings to each empty plate. The ones he puts on mine are noticeably smaller than the others’ and I glare at him. He raises an eyebrow. I respond with a roll of my eyes and get down to finishing my food.
My mouth passes the point of burning and settles in a state of numbness. Beads of sweat gather on my eyelids, and I have to be extra careful to not get sauce in my eyes when I wipe them with the back of my shirt sleeves.Fuck.You know it’s hot when your eyes not only water, but sweat. Every time I think of throwing in the towel, all I have to do is glance up and meet Trent’s cocky stare. He doesn’t think I can do this. It’s every reason to prove I can.
Austin bails first with an impressive twenty-five. Sean doesn’t go down without a fight, but his upchuck reflex is what sends him out of the race. Hands over his mouth, he rushes from the table. We’re going one for one now, and I reach for another chicken wing to start the next round. I eat fast, licking my lips before I can consider how good it would be to empty my stomach into the trash can.
“Well, that was disappointing.” Austin blows out a breath and pulls out his cell. “Can you two wrap this up? I want to get back.”
Trent’s lip pulls up with his brow from across the table. He reaches for his next wing and dangles it over his plate like a taunt. “Give up now and we can end this in a tie. Share the room.”
Austin’s laughter fuels my resolution to see this through, and I shake my head with all the irritation Trent’s offer entails. “No fucking way. I’m not making a deal.”I don’t want to share your bed, I almost say, except that’s not entirely true. I won’t, but after last night I can’t wrap my feelings around the experience of lying next to him. Cherished. Safe. Wanted. These are all the dangerous desires Trent stirs within. And though I can’t admit them aloud, I sure as hell won’t mock them.
“Fine. Let’s up the ante.”
“What do you have in mind?” I sigh as if I don’t care, but I’m actually interested in what he’s offering.
“If you win, you go see the doctor.”
“No. If I win I get the room.”
“Yeah, that too.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “That’s it? I expected more.”
“Swear on it.” His voice turns growly and goosebumps chase across my skin. My stomach flip flops and it’s not from the food.
“Fine. If I win, I go to the doctorandget the room. I swear. But if you win, you shave off the rest of that eyebrow. The entire thing, for the rest of the tour.”
“And I get the room.”
“Deal. Now, finish that wing before you finger it to death.”
“I’m full.” He drops it onto his plate.
“What? No!”
