Chapter 7 Ava
AVA
What do I have in mind? I didn’t exactly think this through. The idea of the bet popped into my head, and the next thing I knew, I was speaking it into existence.
Which I never would have done without liquid courage.
That’ll teach you to do shots.
Probably, but it won’t help my current predicament.
I stare up at Flamingo Boy, channeling my inner Lexie. If she were in my position, what would she do?
The answer strikes me like a bolt of lightning, and it’s so obvious, I can’t help but laugh.
“If I win, you get a tattoo of my choosing.” His eyebrows snap together, and I hold up my palm to stave off his protest. “If you win—which you won’t—I’ll get the tattoo of your choosing.”
My stomach clenches. This is the most outrageous thing I’ve ever done. The potential for it to backfire is…a lot. What if I lose and he makes me get something hideous?
“Holy shit. You’re serious?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, I am.”
As far as I can tell, he doesn’t have any ink. Neither do I.
I’ve always been curious about body art, but I’ve never had the courage to actually get a tattoo.
Still, I always figured if I did get one, it would be a design of my choosing. Something important. Something meaningful.
Something I wouldn’t mind looking at for the rest of my life.
“What are you waiting for, mon capitaine?” the tree hugger shouts, oblivious to the challenge taking place. “Get it done so we can celebrate!”
A cheer goes up from Flamingo Boy’s friends, and it seems to work in my favor.
“You’re on.”
I hold out my hand, and he shakes it. His grip is firm—no surprise there—but gentle as his calloused hand envelops mine. Literally. My hand disappears inside his much larger one.
You know what they say about guys with big hands….
My pulse quickens, and I give silent thanks he can’t read my mind.
“Are you ready?” Camila holds the full beer bong in one hand and the cock mouthpiece in the other.
I hesitate, but only for an instant. “How does it work?”
Camila explains that she will count us down to ensure we start our tasks at the same time, and then she shows me how to open the valve on the bong.
I’ve never used a beer bong in my life, and I have no clue how long it will take me to chug an entire beer, so I’m hoping Flamingo Boy’s chili lives up to the hype.
Otherwise, it’ll be my butt in the tattoo chair.
“En sus marcas!” Camila shouts. She raises her arms, and a polite round of applause fills the air.
I roll my shoulders, and then I press my thumb to the valve on the pink penis. “We’re really doing this.”
“Listos!”
Flamingo Boy holds his chili up for closer inspection. “Good luck.”
“You too. You’re going to need it.”
“Fuer!” Camila’s arms drop and the bar goes wild.
I cover the mouthpiece with my hands—no way am I going to be photographed sucking on a plastic penis—and release the valve.
Beer floods my mouth, triggering my gag reflex. I close the valve as a thin stream of Corona leaks out of my mouth.
How the heck do people do this without drowning themselves?
“Come on, Ava! You can do this!”
I’m not sure which of my roommates is cheering for me, but she’s right. I can do this.
I have to if I don’t want to end up with a ratchet tattoo.
I shudder and steal a glance at my competition. He’s chewing, but judging from the mostly uneaten chili in his hand, it was a small bite. A fine sheen of sweat coats his face, and his cheeks are so red, it’s a wonder he hasn’t burst a blood vessel.
There’s no way he’s going to finish, right?
Doesn’t matter. I can’t afford to fall behind.
I open the valve slowly, attempting to control the flow of beer, but it doesn’t help. The bitter liquid hits my tongue and I gag, but this time, I force myself to swallow.
One down, God only knows how many to go.
I swallow another mouthful. Then another. Before I know it, the bong is half empty, which I can tell from the ringed shadow on the outer edge.
I close the valve just long enough to take a proper breath, and dive back in. My throat burns and carbonation threatens to reverse up my nasal cavity, but I stay the course, taking down what I can.
There is no way people actually enjoy this. In fact, I want to meet the person who thinks this is a good time because there’s no freaking way.
On my next oxygen break, I glance over at Flamingo Boy. From the looks of it, I got the better end of this deal. His face is the color of molten lava, and tears streak down his cheeks, but he only has one bite left.
I reopen the valve and chug like my life depends on it.
Come on, Washington. Don’t you dare quit.
I could never. Not when I’ve come this far. I breathe shallowly and open my throat to let the beer slide down. It’s an unpleasant sensation, but the instant the penis runs dry, I thrust it into the air, gasping for breath.
Beside me, Lexie and Kayla shriek, their words blending together. “Holy shit, girl! You did it! You actually freaking did it! We’re so proud of you!”
“We have a winner!” Camila grabs my hand and holds it up in the air like I just won a boxing match. “Let’s get a round of applause for our Beach Olympics champions!”
We preen for the audience and after Camila awards us our fake gold medals, she snaps a few pics to commemorate the auspicious occasion.
We’re celebrating at the bar with a fresh round of margaritas when Flamingo Boy appears at my side, looking sheepish. “So, about that tattoo.”
“What about it?” I grin and spin my stool toward him. My knee brushes his thigh, and an electrical current surges from the point of contact.
Somehow, he’s managed to get even sexier during our brief separation.
“I figured now was as good a time as any to settle our bet.” He quirks a brow, feigning confusion. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
“Not a chance.” I turn to Alejandro, who’s pulling a beer two stools over. “Where’s the best place to get a tattoo around here?”
“The only place to get a tattoo in Cancun is Alma Tattoo Studio.” He releases the tap and pours the head down the drain before handing the glass to one of his patrons. “It’s clean, and the artists are first class.”
I thank him and turn back to Flamingo Boy. “It sounds like we’re going to Alma Tattoo Studio.”