Chapter 40 #3
“Um, working with Chase is a good thing. He was my father’s partner before he passed away, did you know that?”
“He mentioned it. That has to be nice, to be so close to someone who was close to your father.”
“Yeah. He’s family to me. Him and his three cousins. We all play basketball together. That’s a good thing, too.”
“I would offer to play with you, but basketball isn’t my strong suit,” she joked. “No sport is.”
“I could probably teach you to shoot a basket.”
She laughed as she picked up the next wing. “You’d regret wasting your time on me.”
“I highly doubt that.”
Her soft smile came back, and I swore her cheeks grew rosy. Maybe it was from how spicy the wings were, though, seeing as how my own face was heating up.
I missed her smiles.
She arched an eyebrow at me. “You hanging in there? You’re sweating a little bit.”
I wiped the back of my hand against my forehead. I was hardly hanging in there, but I didn’t want to look like a wimp to Karla. I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s hardly spicy,” I lied about wing five. “The actors on the show always make it seem spicier than it actually is.”
“Those sound like famous last words.”
“Pshh. I’m not nervous,” I cockily replied as I picked up wing six.
I took a big bite out of the wing, because “I am man, hear me roar.” Idiotic move on my part.
“What the hell is that?!” I asked as I began to cough.
The first bite didn’t taste that bad, but it was the aftermath that lingered.
I started coughing more and more as I chugged some of the milk in the glass on the table.
“Satan’s Piss,” she said in a nonchalant way. “So what else have you been up to over the past few years?” she asked, as if I wasn’t in the middle of eternal death. She was hardly reacting at all to the wing’s heat. She sipped her milk once or twice, all cute and shit as I was fighting for my life.
Man up, Ash. Play it cool.
I cleared my throat and sat back in my chair. How were there still four wings that had to be eaten? And how was she—sweet little Karla East—not breaking out in a sweat? My freaking eyeballs were sweating! I didn’t even know eyeballs could sweat!
“Uh, I don’t know, stuff,” I grumbled, wiping at my forehead. I don’t know, stuff? That was my reply? Why was it becoming more and more difficult to form words?
Karla narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re OK? We can stop here if they’re too spicy.”
“What? Pshh, no. It’s all good. Bottoms up,” I said, waving the seventh wing in the air. What was wrong with me? I was a glutton for punishment.
She picked up her next wing and bit into it at the same time that I bit mine. She didn’t flinch. Was she even human? Me on the other hand? Suffering immensely.
For fuck’s sake, that one didn’t catch up on the tail end. That little shit punched me square in the face. The coughing fit happened right away. I almost spat out the chicken that was still painfully resting on my tongue, making the heat that much worse.
I was out of milk.
How the everlasting fuck was I out of damn milk?!
“Oh gosh, are you OK?!” Karla asked. She passed me her milk, and I gulped it down, trying to turn off the massive fire that was set ablaze inside my mouth. She somehow still looked like a perfect little angel.
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, KARLA EAST?!
I cleared my throat, trying to be tough. My nose was dripping from the level of heat, but I wiped it with a paper towel. I didn’t want to look like a punk, but I couldn’t help it. My eyeballs and my balls-balls were damn near sweating.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said, making my voice a hair deeper so I didn’t sound like a wimp. “Just swallowed that piece wrong. Go on.” I bit another wing. Big mistake. “For fuck’s sake!” I said, almost choking on my next inhale. “What did they put in that? Fucking sunbeams?!”
Karla giggled and fanned her mouth a little. “Yeah, that one has a little heat.”
“A little?!” I spat out, unable to control my overreaction.
Wait, no. I wasn’t overreacting. If anything, I was underreacting.
I was simply reacting to the most insane thing in the whole world.
Why were we eating these wings? Why did celebrities do this on that damn show?
Was the promotion of their films or albums really worth burning off all their taste buds? No kind of movie promo was worth this.
My mother would’ve been so ashamed of me for not completing the challenge. I grew up with spice being the main ingredient in my food. But the way my mouth was burning, I was almost certain I never wanted to eat anything spicy again.
I couldn’t eat another wing.
I picked up my napkin and waved it around. “I’m giving up. I got nothing left in me,” I announced as I sweat through my T-shirt. “There’s no way I can take another bite.”
“I don’t blame you. This is actually an insane concept,” she said as she went on to finish her remaining wings. On the last one, the last freaking dab, she added a little drop of the hot sauce, bit into it, and shimmied her body a little as if she was enjoying it.
She reached across the table and grabbed my last few wings and ate them, too.
Oh my God.
Was Karla a masochist?
She smiled again. Damn . . .
Karla and those smiles.
Without thinking, I took my hands and went to wipe them over my face.
“Wait, no!” Karla called out, tossing her hands up in panic.
But it was too late. The spiciness from the chicken wings was transferred directly into my eyeballs.
“Fuck!” I shouted, hopping up from my chair. That was the final straw. I couldn’t act like a tough guy anymore, because I had officially begun screaming. “My eyes! My eyes!” I yelled, unable to open them as the burning sensation hit a new height.
“Here, we have to flush them out,” Karla ordered. She grabbed my arm and led me to the sink to run cold water into my eyes. I leaned down under the water, getting my whole face soaked as I all but sobbed from the discomfort.
Rule number one of Hot Ones: Don’t touch your freaking eyeballs.
What a stupid mistake.
Karla didn’t let go of her hold on me as the water ran over my face. Now my mouth and my eyes were in extreme pain. I wasn’t certain how this situation could change for the better. I felt like a complete fool. That was when Karla’s hand fell to my back. She began rubbing it in a circular pattern.
Well . . . that made the situation a little better.
“I’m so sorry, Ash. This is all my fault,” Karla said once we shut off the faucet. “I’ll be right back, let me grab a towel to dry your face.” She hurried away, and I stayed bent over the sink, not wanting to drip water all over her kitchen.
When she came back, she wrapped the towel around my head and led me to a chair. She sat me down and began to dry my hair for me as she repeatedly apologized. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s fine, it’s my fault. I knew better than to touch my damn eyes.” I blinked a few times and opened my stare to find Karla kneeling right in front of me. Her blue eyes were packed with so much concern. I immediately felt bad for her feeling bad.
I also immediately got wrapped up in how beautiful she looked, even when worried. Even though I was in pain, at least I had a great view.
I touched her forearm. “It’s really OK. I’m OK.”