Page 46 of Romance Is Dead

“Brent? How about it? Loser buys the other a round.”

Ah. So that’s what he was up to—trying to steal Brent from me so he could win the bet. But before I could find a way to steer Brent away, he shrugged.

“Sure. I’m in.”

“Alright.” Teddy clapped his hands in triumph and waved over the bartender. “Two for the atomic hot wing challenge, please!”

Laurie made her way over and explained the rules. Those who accepted the challenge had to make their way through all ten of their hot wing flavors within fifteen minutes. No getting sick.

“Let the best man win.” Brent held out a hand toward Teddy.

Ignoring the attempt at a handshake, Teddy turned instead to Laurie. “Ready. And thank you.” She winked at him and headed back to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, Laurie returned with three baskets of wings. The first three flavors were soft balls: Parmesan garlic, barbecue, and classic Buffalo. But despite the sauces being mild enough that I was pretty certain a seven-year-old would have no problem devouring them, it didn’t stop the guys from gloating.

“So easy.” Brent dropped the bones into the basket and licked his fingertips clean.

“Didn’t feel a thing,” Teddy said, glancing at me with a smirk on his face. “I could do this all night.”

I rolled my eyes. I’d been trying to find a way to steer the conversation back to Trevor, but every time I did, Teddy would order more wings in an attempt to prove how non-spicy he thought they were. This, in turn, egged Brent on to do the same. His mouth was stuffed too full of mediocre chicken to be of any use.

The next three flavors kicked things up a notch. The guys didn’t have a problem with the chipotle wings, but they slowed down after inhaling the extra spicy sriracha and Sichuan chili crisp varieties.

“Honestly, dude? I could eat like six of these apiece.” Brent grabbed for a napkin to wipe his running nose. “A little kick to ’em, but good flavor.”

“Definitely.” Teddy turned his head to sneakily wipe away a tear that had beaded at the corner of his eye. “Barely even feel it.”

The guys motioned toward Laurie, who was giggling and leaning against the bar to tuck a curl of hair behind Mara’s ear. It took three tries to get her attention, and Mara glared at the boys in irritation when Laurie finally peeled herself away.

“So dumb,” Mara muttered as she came to join us. “Couldn’t you two just whip your dicks out and measure them instead of going through this whole rigamarole?”

Brent rolled and stretched his neck like he was gearing up for a swim meet instead of a wing-eating competition. “That wouldn’t be fair, I have to give Teddy at least a shot, don’t I?”

“Whatever you say, man.”

Holy Habanero, Ghost Pepper, and Sting of the Scorpion were next. This time, both of them struggled. Teddy sipped water after every bite and Brent ate a slice of bread between each wing. Both of their faces were turning an alarming shade of red.

“Y’all don’t have to do this,” Chloe said, frowning as they handed their baskets of bones to the bartender. She’d joined us around wing eight, when Teddy had swallowed his bite the wrong way and proceeded to cough so violently the entire bar had quietened. It was very dramatic.

“Yes we do,” they shouted in unison.

Mara leaned back and caught my eye. “I feel like you’re the one behind all this.”

I shrugged helplessly. It didn’t surprise me that Brent was pulling the macho man act, but I didn’t understand why Teddy suddenly felt the need to convince us of his manliness. I kept remembering the way his face had changed when he’d caught me touching Brent’s arm. Maybe he was jealous. But surely I was reading too much into it?

Laurie pushed through the swinging kitchen door, arms lined with wing baskets. “Alright, guys, here’s the grand finale.”

For the final act, they each had to eat three of the spiciest flavor: Don’t Fear the Carolina Reaper. Whoever finished their third wing first won. While Brent’s face remained neutral, albeit pretty red and sweaty, Teddy looked terrified as he took his basket. They both ate their first wings quickly, moving on to the second before the first one had a chance to fully kick in. But then Brent started coughing, dropping the half-eaten second wing into the basket as he sputtered for air.

“Went. . . up. . . my nose,” he choked.

I patted his back in sympathy—if the tequila had done a number on my sinuses earlier, I couldn’t imagine what the hottest chili pepper in the world would feel like up there.

Clocking Brent’s slower pace, Teddy seized the opportunity. He grabbed his third wing, shoved it in his mouth, and ripped away the meat quickly. Tossing aside the bone, he thrust his fists into the air as he swallowed.

“I. . .I did it!” Sweat was slicked across his forehead and a vein was bulging in his temple so big I thought he might be having a stroke.

“Are you ok?” I asked.

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