22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Logan
The diner smelled of smoked bacon, stale coffee and grease. It seemed like nothing compared to Patty’s. The food was that good I think it might have spoiled all other diners for me. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the cracked vinyl booths and checkered tile floor. It was the kind of place that didn’t try too hard to impress.
Trey slapped a laminated menu against the table, grinning like an idiot. “Alright, boys. I’ve made my decision. Today’s the day. I’m taking down the Gut Buster.”
Sam let out a low whistle and shook his head. “Man, that thing’s like a death wish on a plate.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault they put ‘free meal if finished’ in bold letters.” Trey rubbed his hands together. “A challenge is a challenge.”
Chace smirked, stretching his arms over the back of the booth. “You just want your picture on the wall.”
“Damn right.” Trey leaned forward, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “And when I succeed, I’ll be a legend.”
I barely hear them, my fingers drumming against the tabletop as I pull out my phone for the hundredth time this morning. Mac will be here tonight. Finally. The anticipation burns through me like a live wire, making it impossible to sit still. I already called her once on the way to the diner. No answer. Now, as the guys continue their back-and-forth, I press call again, bringing the phone to my ear.
Voicemail.
I exhale sharply, pushing the device back into my pocket, trying to ignore the slight disappointment creeping in. She’s probably busy packing, or maybe already on the way. Either way, by tonight, she’ll be here. With me. Where she belongs.
“Hey, lover boy.” Chace nudges my arm, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You with us, or are you too busy mentally carving Mac’s name into your soul?”
I smirk right back. “Not just carving—she’s etched there permanently.”
Chace snorts. “Sounds like a painful inking session.” His expression shifts as he glances around the diner, nose wrinkling. “Man, what is it with diners since we left Portland? They all smell so… I dunno, stale. Greasy. Kinda stinky. I think I finally get cottagecore.”
I blink. “Cottagecore?”
“Yeah, it’s a whole aesthetic—soft, warm, cozy. Patty’s always had that fresh-baked bread kind of warmth. This?” He gestures around. “This smells like burnt grease, sweat, and heart-stopping fried meat.”
Sam huffs a laugh. “Welcome to the real world, princess.”
Chace ignores him, nodding toward Trey, who’s eyeing the menu like it’s a personal challenge. “Alright, five bucks says he’s sick before he finishes.”
“I’m in,” I say.
Sam studies Trey for a beat. “I’ve seen him eat some weird shit, so I’m saying three-quarters.”
Chace elbows Sam. “C’mon, what’s it gonna be? Two bites or the whole damn thing?”
Sam shrugs. “Fuck it. Finish it, Baker, or I’m spoon-feeding you.”
Trey pulls a face. “That’s cheating. Outside interference.”
Chace strokes his chin, pretending to consider. “Okay, fine. I’ll pay up… but I’m still making him eat the rest anyway.”
After a pause, he grins. “Acceptable. No matter what, he clears the plate.”
Trey cracks his knuckles. “You guys seriously underestimate me. Don’t sweat it, Sam—I’ve been watching YouTube videos. If I dip it in my drink, it slides down easier.”
My stomach turns at the thought. This is about to be a show.
Before I can respond, two waitresses approach our table, notepads in hand. One is blonde with a high ponytail, the other a brunette with dimples deep enough to get lost in. They exchange amused glances before the blonde speaks.
“Well, if it isn’t Burnt Ashes.” Her voice is laced with playful intrigue. “Guess we should’ve expected you rock stars to roll in looking like you just crawled out of bed.”
Trey, ever the shameless flirt, leans forward with an easy grin. “Good morning, ladies. You’re just in time to witness history. I’m taking on the Gut Buster.”
The brunette raises a brow. “Oh, sweetie. That’s adorable. But I hope you didn’t have any big plans today, ‘cause that thing takes most guys out for at least eight hours.”
“Most guys.” Trey winks. “But I’m not most guys.”
“Uh-huh.” She deadpans. “I’ll get the paramedics on speed dial.”
Sam shakes his head, smirking. “I’ll just take the breakfast platter. Extra bacon.”
Chace grins. “Coffee. Black. And pancakes.”
I barely glance at the menu, still buzzing with thoughts of Mac. “Same as Chace. And extra syrup.”
The blonde scribbles down our orders, then glances up at me, eyes twinkling. “You sure you don’t want anything else? Maybe something sweet, since you look like you’ve already had enough caffeine for the day.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “I’m good.”
Trey flutters his lashes. “I’ll have an extra glass of water, please. It’s all part of my… technique.”
I snort. “Yeah, dunking your food in water is really awe-inspiring, man.”
“You mock me now, but just wait.” Trey grins. “I am about to make history.”
The blonde laughs. “I’ll be right back with your orders. And if you’re cool with it, maybe something to sign?”
We nod as the waitresses walk away.
Trey leans back, hands behind his head. “When I conquer this challenge, I expect all of you to refer to me as King Trey.”
The moment stretches, and a nagging feeling settles in my gut. Something uneasy. Something… wrong. But I shake it off, focusing back on Trey.
“Dude, you don’t have to finish the whole thing,” I say.
Trey waves me off. “Yeah, yeah. You’re losing your money, man. Make peace with that.”
The waitress returns, arms laden with plates. Our food looks solid. Trey’s? It’s a mountain of meat, cheese, and grease barely held together by two soggy slices of bread. If he fails, he’s out forty bucks. If he wins… no. There’s no way. And judging by the way his face drains of color, he knows it too.
Trey exhales. “Well… time to dig in.”
Chace snickers. “You are not getting back on the tour bus if you finish that, bro.”
“Ye of little faith.” Trey tears off a chunk of meat, dips it into his water, and shoves it into his mouth. Grease pools on the water’s surface, little bubbles of fat clinging to the rim.
I grimace. “Dude, I don’t even know if I can eat mine after watching that.”
Trey doesn’t answer. He chews, swallows, then immediately hiccups. He chokes, grabs his water, and takes a sip. His lips glisten with grease. He freezes.
I shift closer, patting his back. “Nobody’s gonna think less of you for quitting, man. That looks fucking rough.”
Trey forces a swallow. “I’ve had worse.” But his energy has tanked.
Sam tilts his head. “I’m actually gonna think less of him if he finishes. And I’m the one who’s getting paid.”
“Trey.” Chace leans forward.
Trey lifts his gaze from his… meal? Punishment?
Chace smirks. “Washing the meat might not be a bad idea, considering the shit that just came off it.”
Trey lifts a shaky hand, flipping him off. He can’t even smirk. The food is taking all his focus.
Chace grins. “Alright then, man. You got this. Also, you’ve got about twelve minutes left. Maybe I should order you a side of fries—this is looking way too easy for you, right?” He waves down the waitress.
Trey glares at him. “I… got… this…”
Sam snorts. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Not a fucking chance.” Chace shakes his head.
Sam slides a piece of bacon onto Trey’s plate. “This one’s too fatty for me. Trying to watch my figure.”
Trey sighs, mouth full.
We all win today.
Except Trey.
Trey does not win.
At all.
Turns out, neither do I.