Devil's Girl(21)

"Again!" Bill shouted, bringing his fist down on the table. Whiskey sloshed over the sides of our overfilled little glasses. This is gonna get messy.

He refereed us through the five shots. Even the kitchen staff came out to watch and to help Irish serve all the spectators. Number two went down about the same. I had to wipe my eyes clear - Dawn didn't seem to be having any such trouble. Means nothing, I assured myself.

The third shot went down smoother. I knew my body well. I could handle four shots comfortably. Five would put me squarely in drunk-land. More than seven would put me in the wasted zone. All I have to do is outlast Dawn. Minus the boobs there was no way she weighed more than me, and the boobs were fake, so they didn't even count. I've got this.

Bill directed us through the last two in rapid succession. I felt the familiar buzz in my head and in my veins, but I knew I wouldn't truly be hit by the effect unless I stood up. So don't stand up. "Next round!" I shouted as we double-slammed the fifth shot glass to the table.

Dawn's grin was crooked. "What wrong?" I asked her with mock concern, "A little drunk? Huh? Does your tummy hurt?"

"I'm just getting started," she said.

I caught Theo looking at me as the next tray was delivered and Bill lined up the shots. He shook his head, a smile twitching just at the corners of his lips. I raised my sixth shot to him. He raised his own glass right back. I tore my eyes away - now was not the time to distract myself wondering what it could mean.

The crowd around us was getting rowdy. Bets were being placed and money changed hands as we made our way down the row. I locked eyes with Dawn as we slammed back number eight. It was getting serious.

Number nine went down like water. Bill watched us both take the shots through narrowed eyes, then shouted at Irish, “Are you watering down these shots?” Irish gave a sheepish shrug. Fair enough - together our combined weight was probably less than most of the bikers, and I’d seen big men go down after nine.

But that didn’t mean we weren’t consumed way more booze than our bodies were used to or could even reasonably handle. My stomach did a little flip as I stared down at number ten. I was drunk. Dawn's face swam in my vision. She looked red in the cheeks, and when she reached for number ten, she missed. It took three tries for her to pick it up.

We did the shot and slammed our glasses. I missed the table on the second slam and sent it rolling across the bar. The men laughed.

"Betting's closed, fellas!," someone shouted, "We're in the home stretch!"

"You're done," I slurred at Dawn. Her face stayed still if I closed one eye. "I could go two more trays. I could do my shots and your shots."

"Big talk for a short little bitch," she slurred back.

"What are you, a fucking pirate?" Bill asked me. The tray arrived. This time he only lined up four in front of each of us and tossed back two himself.

"Hey, those are ours!" we both protested.

"Tips for the ref," he said, then shouted, "Eleven!"

Somewhere in my fuzzy brain, I knew this was a mistake. But I threw the liquid back without even tasting it. Dawn had taken her shot, too, but was slumped back in her chair. The guys around her prodded her and chanted, "Thunder! Thunder!" I slammed my glass twice, slowly, carefully. If she failed to do so, the win was mine.

Somehow, after swinging at the table and missing twice, she got it. Cheers erupted around her, but she was oblivious, focused only on me and the shots before her.

"Twelve!" Bill boomed, giving us no reprieve. I've got this, I don't look drunk, just keep playing cool, I thought. I didn't trust my hand's aim, so I slid it, inching across the table for my glass, thinking about how smooth and composed I was being, clueless as to why Bill was looking at me and laughing so hard. My fingers touched the cool surface. Now pick it up. It was like trying to pick up a needle while wearing mittens. I watched Dawn's identical struggle - fingers bumping uselessly against the glass. Thumb. Use your thumb. What am I, an ape? I snorted and giggled. Finally getting the glass in a sure grip, I lifted it to my lips. The smell made my stomach twist in protest, but it felt very distant. I waited as Dawn fumbled and finally lifted hers. Why does everything keep shifting sideways? I was deep into drunk vision - everything tilted and swam in front of me. Everything but Dawn's tiny glass.

"Do it," I taunted, "Bet you can't. You look done." They didn't sound like real words, they sounded like nonsense. She mumbled something back, eyes unfocused.

"Twelve!" Bill insisted. I didn't throw it back so much as poured it into my mouth and let it trickle down my throat. When I looked back down, Dawn's had was still tilted back. I wrapped both hands around my glass and slammed it down twice like I was trying to hammer through the table. "Thunder!" I announced. I'm sure it sounded more like "Thurrrr."