Chapter 6 Knox
KNOX
“I can’t believe Camila ruled that race a tie.” Bergeron’s breath smells like death, and he hasn’t quit bitching the whole way back up to the outdoor bar. “I clearly won. Did she not see the way I dove across the finish line? That is commitment.”
We pass by the team, and Luke gives me a nod as I snatch a pack of gum off his table. I don’t know who it belongs to, but if the stench coming out of Bergie’s mouth doesn’t qualify as an emergency, I don’t know what does.
“For the love of all that is holy,”—I hold the gum out to him—“please chew this or I’m gonna hurl.”
He looks affronted, but takes a piece and pops it in his mouth.
Thank Christ.
I toss the gum back onto the table. Happy hour has gotten busier since we left. It’s standing room only, but Camila navigates the crowd easily, leading us directly to the bar.
A tarnished bell hangs above the server station, and without warning, she pulls its rope. The metallic clang echoes through the space, and a few patrons cover their ears, but eventually the bar falls silent.
All eyes turn our way, and Camila beams at the crowd. “Senoras y senores, we have a special treat for you today! Our Beach Olympics have ended in a tie, and we need your help to break it!”
A cheer goes up from the crowd, which, not gonna lie, is concerning since none of us know what we’re signing up for.
The bartender pulls a large game wheel out from under the bar and places it atop the serving station.
What the hell?
I inch closer, trying to get a better look.
Each section of the wheel is a different color and has a task written on it in black marker. Most of the tasks are fairly straightforward with descriptions like double shot of tequila and chug a Corona.
Others are less obvious.
I’ve never heard of Adios, Motherfucker or Mexican Firing Squad, but I have to assume they’re drinks that will get you completely wasted.
“One member of each team will spin the wheel,” Camila announces, “and then they have to do the task it lands on. Whichever team completes their task the fastest will be our new champions!”
“Bro, how is that even fair?” Jones whines. “What if they land on a shot and we have to chug a fuckin’ beer?”
“Then we chug a fuckin’ beer.” I shrug. “Life isn’t fair. The sooner you figure it out, the happier you’ll be.”
I should know.
“Fine. Whatever.” He shoves his fingers through his hair like he’s hyping himself up. “How are we going to decide who takes the spin?”
There’s nothing to decide. “I’ll spin for our team.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Bergeron asks, one eye clamped shut as he studies me.
“You can’t even see straight,” I shoot back. “Yes, I’m sure.”
No way am I letting one of these assholes spin that wheel. They’re already three sheets to the wind. The last thing they need is more liquor.
My gaze slides to the other team. Which of them will I be facing? It’s impossible to guess, but I have no doubt I could outdrink any one of them under normal circumstances.
Unfortunately, this game is anything but normal. There’s no accounting for the luck of the draw.
Or rather, the spin.
The girls are having a lively debate, and it must end in a two-one vote because they shove Tink forward, peppering her with encouragement. Her dark eyes go wide, and her jaw damn near hits the floor.
The whole scene is so ridiculous I can’t help laughing, but since I don’t want her to think I’m a dick, I cover my mouth with my hand.
She sighs, clearly resigned to her fate. “Looks like it’s just you and me, Flamingo Boy.”
Did she just— I glance down at my shorts. She really did.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
I wink. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Don’t think you can sweet-talk me. I’m unsweet-talkable.” She taps a finger playfully on my chest and, damn if a spark doesn’t ignite deep within my sternum. “I may be small in size, but I’m big in spirit. You’re going down.”
Gladly. Hell, I’ll do it with a smile on my face. But in the meantime, I might as well have some fun.
Camila waggles a finger between us. “Who will spin first?”
I gesture for Tink to go ahead. “Ladies first.”
Is it a smart move? No clue. But it’s not like she can sweep the grand prize out from under my feet.
Tink steps up to the wheel and the crowd cheers, offering advice and well wishes. She sucks in a breath, her chest rising and falling slowly, before she grabs the wheel and spins it with all her might.
The wheel clacks as it rotates, but it’s moving so fast all the words blur together.
No shot. No shot. No shot.
The phrase echoes through my head on repeat. I’m fucked if the wheel lands on a shot, unless I get one too, and I really don’t want to throw back a double.
“Luck be a lady,” Tink whispers, clasping her hands together. “Don’t you dare do me dirty.”
The wheel slows, and my pulse stutters as the words double shot of tequila glide under the flapper. I inhale sharply and will the wheel to keep spinning. Just one more peg and I’ll be in the clear.
Come on, baby. Give me a fighting chance.
There’s an audible clack, and the flapper settles over chug a Corona.
Relief washes over me, and I pump my fist in the air. Who cares if I look like a tool? I’m still in this thing.
A raucous cheer goes up from the crowd, and Tink and I exchange a look. They clearly know something we don’t.
We turn to the bartender and watch as he pulls a pink bong from under the bar and holds it up in the air.
Holy shit. “It’s got a—”
“Don’t say it,” Tink hisses. “Maybe if we don’t acknowledge it, it won’t be real.”
I snort. “Oh, it’s real. Real big.”
Her cheeks turn the color of a Taki, and she turns to glare at her teammates. “It didn’t say anything on the wheel about a giant phallus!”
Her friends burst into hysterical giggles. I swear to God there are tears—actual tears—streaming down the blond one’s face. “You did say you were looking forward to a night you’d never forget. I’d say this qualifies.”
“Be serious.” Her gaze slides to the plastic appendage. “I cannot put that thing in my mouth. Who knows where it’s been?”
“That’s what she said!” the brunette quips, setting off another round of laughter.
“Your support is duly noted.” Tink turns back to the bartender. “Do you have one without the, uh—” She points, clearly unable to say the words giant pink dick.
I’ve seen a lot of shit at Waverly, but never in my life have I seen a bong with a cock-shaped mouthpiece. It’s actually kind of genius, and if it helps me win, all the better.
“No way, Tink. You can’t ask for modifications.” I smirk. “The wheel has spoken.”
She rounds on me, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Let’s see if you feel the same way after you spin, shall we?”
Guilt niggles at my conscience, but I shut the little fucker down. Tink is an adult. She has the agency to decide if she wants to proceed or tap out, just like me.
I step up to the wheel, and the hockey team goes nuts. The assholes are probably hoping I spin the bong too.
Fuck. That can’t happen. I literally cannot chug a beer from a penis bong.
I’m no longer a college player. I’m a member of the National Hockey League. Coach will have my ass if pictures of me partying like a dirtbag end up online. And they’ll definitely end up online. Hell, they’d probably go viral.
It would just be a matter of time…
Tink smiles sweetly up at me. “Having second thoughts?”
“Not a chance.” I can’t back down. My team is counting on me.
Besides, the odds of spinning the bong twice in a row have to be astronomical, right?
Math isn’t my strong suit, but there’s got to be a theorem that says I’m in the clear.
I meet Tink’s stare, offering a smile of my own. “I’m playing to win.”
I grip the edge of the wheel and let it rip. Nervous energy coils in my gut, but I’m used to the feeling. You don’t play D1 hockey without figuring out how to manage stress and uncertainty.
The wheel clacks along, and my chest tightens every time the word bong passes under the flapper.
It’ll be fine.
Worst-case scenario, I’ll ask Jones to take my place.
Keep dreaming. No way Tink will let you make a substitution after you gave her shit about the bong.
Whatever. That’s a problem for future me. Current me needs to focus on the wheel.
Despite the noise of the bar, the clack clack clack of the flapper echoes in my brain, each peg a loaded threat. The wheel slows, and I flex my fingers at my sides.
How the hell did a fun beach game become so fraught with tension? Not even an hour ago I was chilling with my boys. Now I’m staring at this wheel like it holds my future in its grasp.
My eyes track the words as they roll past at a crawl. The wheel finally stops on the picture of a pepper and…I’ve got nothing.
The bartender whoops, and the crowd follows his lead, the volume jumping several decibels in an instant.
“Looks like the Wheel of Ill Fortune strikes again.”
I turn to Tink. “What do you think it means?”
She eyes the bartender. “There's no point speculating when we’re about to find out.”
The bartender holds up a large red chili pepper, and my confidence wavers. “Our second contestant must eat an entire habanero chili, grown right here on the Yucatán Peninsula.”
Fuuuck. Suddenly, that bong doesn’t look so bad.
“This chili,” the bartender continues, “was once considered the hottest chili in the world. It has a heat rating of up to 350,000 SHU’s.”
I glare at the wheel. How did I manage to get the one non-boozy task on the damn thing? The other items would’ve been a breeze. Hell, a regular Saturday night with the guys. But no, I had to get the chili.
I’ve never been a huge fan of spicy food. What’s the point of eating something so hot it scorches your tastebuds? Talk about unhinged.
The bartender passes me the pepper. It’s probably only three inches long, but I don’t have the first clue how I’m going to get it down. There’s no way I can stuff the whole thing in my mouth. I’d probably go up in flames, which means I’ll have to take it in bites.
Tink nudges me. “Ready to throw in the towel?” She smiles wickedly. “Just say the word. I’ll happily accept your withdrawal.”
I’ll bet she would, but two can play at this game, and I’m not about to go down without a fight. I call her bluff.
“Not gonna happen, darlin’.” I lower my mouth to her ear, ensuring she doesn’t miss a word. “I saw your face when the bong came out. You’re a good girl. There’s no way you’re going to put that cock in your mouth. Not with all these people watching.”
She stiffens, and I push the advantage, feeling like an asshole despite the fact that her friends have spent the entire competition chirping.
“I know it. You know it.” I pause, turning to her friends. “They know it. This competition is over.”
Her jaw hardens, but she doesn’t break eye contact. It’s the hottest thing I’ve seen all day. “You’re wrong. I don’t have it in me to quit.”
“Neither do I.”
From the first time I strapped on a pair of skates, I haven’t backed down. Not when facing guys who were bigger, meaner, or faster. I’m not about to start now.
She tilts her head, and there’s a spark of something—defiance, maybe?—in her eyes. “If you’re so certain, why don’t we bet on it?”
She wants to bet? Against me? That’s a first.
Curiosity takes root, and before I know it, the words are out of my mouth. “What did you have in mind?”