Cash had no idea how dangerous it was to stir up my competitive side. One suggestion was all it took to fully engage it. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” It didn’t matter how many slices of watermelon I had to eat, there was no way Cash or anyone else was going to beat me.
“Hold up, we didn’t decide on all the terms,” he said.
“Terms?”
“What do I get if I beat you?” he asked.
I cocked a hip and grinned up at him. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Humor me.”
“Fine, if you win, I’ll dance with you.”
His eyes flashed with excitement. “You’ve got yourself a deal!”
“You kids have fun,” Mrs. G. said.
“Trust me,” Cash said, putting his hot hand in the middle of my back, “we will.”
We got in the short line at the signup sheet. He handed me the pen after he put his name on the list. “This is your last chance to back out.”
I snatched the pen. “Not a chance. I never told you about the corn on the cob eating contest I won back in my college days. Sorry, my friend, but you’re going down.” I signed my name and tossed the pen on the table with more swag than I had any right to.
“Wow, that would have been really useful experience to have if this was a watermeloneatingcontest.” He draped his heavy arm around my shoulders. “You just signed up for a watermelonseed spittingcompetition.”
Who ever heard of a spitting competition? Not me! I could barely spit my toothpaste in the sink without getting it all over my shirt. All my swagger disappeared.
Cash leaned in close as we took our places at the table filled with watermelons. He whispered in my ear. “Don’t worry. I’m even better at dancing than I am at cooking.”
A shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t know how to dance, but maybe losing to him wouldn’t be the worst thing that had ever happened.
I looked at the table. Each contestant had a huge quarter of a watermelon in front of them.
Not sliced.
Not cubed.
Just rocking on its curved rind in one enormous chunk. But something was missing. “Where are the utensils?”
A hulking man took the open spot on the other side of me. He was over six feet tall and three hundred fifty pounds if he weighed an ounce. “There ain’t none.” He hooked his thumbs around the shoulder straps of his faded bib-overalls and ran them down the front, giving me an eyeful of his shirtless and exceptionally furry potbelly. He scratched his bearded chin. “Silverware’s for citified sissy folk.”
Right.
If looks didn’t deceive, nobody had a chance against mycountrifiedneighbor—not even Cash. It seemed that I might get out of dancing after all.
And for some wild reason, that made me a little bit sad.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
“Go!”
I had no idea who gave the command, but the watermelon seed spitting competition was underway. All I had to do now was find a seed in the giant chunk of fruit in front of me. Easy.
Without using my hands. Not so easy.
And spit the seed farther than anyone else in the contest. Close to impossible!
Cash was off to a running start. I was no expert on spitting, but I was pretty sure the man could have put an entire herd of llamas to shame without even breaking a sweat. And that was really saying something in this heat.
