Setup: Tom and Lexie are at a Mexican restaurant in
Corvallis, Oregon. Lexie hasn't spoken to Tom in three days,
and she's anxious to break the silence between them, but she
refuses to be the one to lose their silent battle of the
wills. So she challenges him to a hot-sauce eating contest.
Here, the heat is starting to get the best of her . . . and
she's finding herself far more attracted to Tom than she
bargained for.
The paint-stripper sauce was incendiary. As soon as it
touched her tongue, Lexie broke out in a sweat, sucking air
into her lungs and squirming in her seat while she chewed,
but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of squealing
Omigod omigod omigod, even though she wanted to. She
did bounce up and down in the booth a little bit, but only
because she'd have passed out otherwise. Chew, chew, chew.
Jeezy Pete, this was the world's largest chip, how many more
times was she going to have to chew the freaking thing
before she could swallow it? Breathe in, breathe out, chew
some more, and . . . there. She got it down. With
both hands flat on the table and her eyelids squeezed shut,
she focused on breathing and counted to twenty.
When she opened her eyes again, Tom caught her expression
and burst out laughing. It was a low, rumbling laugh, as
dead sexy as the rest of him. Yum. In a remarkably kind
gesture under the circumstances, he passed his beer across
the table to her. Lexie grabbed at it gratefully and knocked
it back, a smile on her face as her mouth wrapped around the
lip of the bottle where his tongue had recently been. She
killed the beer, shot the paint-stripping sauce, and waited
for Tom to take his turn. Her chest was heaving, her skin
flushed, but she'd eaten the chip without saying a word, so
she was still a contender.
Tom signaled the waitress, who brought them another round
along with their burritos. They ignored the food, both
knowing the unwritten rules of this challenge forbade
recreational eating until the contest had come to an end.
Solemn as a gravedigger, Tom sauced up his chip and ate it.
She waited. At first, nothing. Seriously? Nothing? He wasn't
going to react at all? But then she looked closer and
recognized what was happening. Tom had turned to stone. His
jaw was moving, his nostrils definitely flaring this time,
but every other part of him had gone rigid, his biceps drawn
taut and his fingers clamped tight around the edge of the
table. He was in agony.
And forgive her for being a sadist, but it was sexy as all
get-out. While Tom fought to keep his reaction on a tight
leash, sweat beading at his temples, all she could think
about was how much fun she'd be having if she were the one
doing the torturing, how fantastic it would feel to push
this man right past the bounds of his self-control. This was
what Tom would look like right before he came. Yum.
He swallowed, and this time he did reach for his beer,
drinking about half of it in one go. Then he flicked the
paint-stripper sauce onto the table to join its fallen
compatriots, leaving two men standing.