Page 57 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

Harlson swivels on the stool, takes a sip of his beer, then nods. “Yeah, I’ve seen him eat the wings.”

“Fine, maybe they’re overhyped, then,” the guy scoffs.

“Bro, do you even know who this is?” a third guy at the table with a lip ring and a sick tarantula tattoo on the back of his hand asks with a laugh.

Skeptical Guy eyes me up for a second, then shakes his head.

“I’m Travis Showalter, best damn center forward the Boston Magic has ever seen.” I stick my hand out to offer him a handshake.

“Oh, I don’t watch basketball,” he says, taking a drink from his beer and ignoring my hand.

“Wow.” I chuckle. “Hey, Becky.” I wave to the passing waitress who’s served me a lot of beer over the years and stopped me from taking home the wrong girl more than once. “Get us some suicide wings. This guy doesn’t know who I am, and he thinks I’m a liar too.”

She laughs. “Alright, Show-Off, coming right up.”

I turn to look at the big-screen TV that takes up most of the back wall of the bar. The Huskies are on the ice, warming up. I spot Beau immediately, down on his hands and knees, stretching his hip flexors with a slutty little back arch. My chest aches and my dick twitches. I can’t hear the commentary over the din of the bar, but I’m sure the announcers are talking about the trade, probably going over Beau’s stats and speculating about how he’ll fit in with the team since the camera seems to be focusing mostly on him. Or maybe that’s just me, unable to look anywhere else on the damn screen.

Becky comes back with a fresh basket of wings and a beer for me.

“Look at this service, I didn’t even have to ask. If you didn’t already have a ring on that finger, I’d get down on one knee right now,” I flirt.

“Good to know. I’ll have to let my wife know I’ve got options the next time she’s getting sassy with me.” She winks and sets the wings down on the table.

The spice wafting off of them is enough to make your eyes water just from the smell alone.

I take a drink of beer and rub my hands together.

“You got the balls to try ’em?” I ask Skeptical Guy. He hesitates.

“Fuck it, I’ll do it. I haven’t shit fire since college,” Magic Hat dude says, reaching over and snagging one of the wings from the basket.

“I’m man enough to embarrass myself at a bar in front of a hockey legend,” Lip Ring says, grabbing one too.

“Aw, you think I’m a legend?” I put a hand over my heart dramatically and pick up one of the wings.

“Yeah, fine,” Skeptic finally concedes, grabbing the last wing in the basket.

No point in pussyfooting around it. I bite into the meaty part, and the second the sauce touches my tongue, it’s like someone lit a fire inside my mouth. Now that I’m thinking about it, the last time I tried these I was at least four or five beers deep and I might have actually cried a little. Who can remember shit like that though? And either way, it’s too late now.

My eyes start to water and my nose starts to run, but I’m not going to tap out after talking all that shit. I chew, swallow, and take another bite, which is somehow even hotter than the first one.

“Fuck,” I mutter, pounding my fist on the table to distract myself from the searing pain of my swelling tongue and lips.

“Nope,” Lip Ring mutters, spitting his bite out into a napkin.

Magic Hat finishes his bite but doesn’t go back for a second one, sputtering and coughing into his beer as he tries to clear the heat from his mouth.

Skeptic’s face turns bright red and tears stream down his face, but he keeps chewing like a champ, staring me down, determined to prove some kind of point. I’m in scoring distance now, and I’m not about to lose at a game I started in the first place. I tear the last scrap of meat off of my wing. My cheeks are wet, but my mouth has gone numb to the pain, so at least there’s that.

He tosses his wing down in defeat, and just to rub my victory in his face, I lick my bone clean too before tossing it back into the basket.

“Not too hot?” I taunt, licking the sauce off of my fingers in a final victory lap.

“Fuck, dude, you’re hardcore,” he mutters after gulping down half his beer.

I chuckle and hold out my fist to bump. He takes the offer this time, so I guess I at least managed to earn his respect, even if he still has no clue who I am.

“Thanks, guys, this was fun.” I reach into my wallet and toss enough money onto the table to cover their drinks, food, and a generous tip for Becky.