Lexie rolls her eyes. “God forbid you have to share a first-place title withgaspwomen.”
“It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re girls.” Jones rolls his neck. “It’s about winners and losers.”
“Yeah, because that’s so much better,” Kayla snarks, shooting him a dirty look.
Flamingo Boy waves his hands in a shushing gesture. “Why don’t we let Camila speak before we jump to conclusions?”
I sigh. Could he be any more perfect? He’s handsome, respectful, and…probably smart. He certainly can’t be any flakier than his friends.
“Gracias.” Camila tips her head in thanks before addressing the group. “Do not worry. We have a tiebreaker, but you must all come with me to determine your victor.”
A secret tiebreaker? Right. Because that doesn’t sound ominous…at all.
6
KNOX
“I can’t believeCamila 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. “Señoras y señores, 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 likedouble shot of tequilaandchug a Corona.
Others are less obvious.
I’ve never heard of Adios, MotherfuckerorMexican 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.”
