Cam told the bartender to surprise them. Neither he nor Eva said anything more until two blood-red shots landed in front of them a few minutes later. In unison, they picked up the glasses, clinked the rims, tapped the bottoms on the bar, and downed the contents in their usual ritual. Cam caught a nasty whiff of the concoction as he raised it to his mouth, but by the time he realized it was essentially alcoholic hot sauce, it was already down his throat. It scorched his esophagus like liquid fire laced with chili peppers and he gagged.
“Oh, what the fuck was that?” Eva gasped, sticking out her tongue and breathing like a Lamaze student.
Tears leaked out of Cam’s eyes and he made a grab for one of the glasses of water the laughing bartender set down in front of them. The water did little to cool the nuclear explosion in his mouth, and he couldn’t form a reply.
“It’s called a Prairie Fire,” the bartender said.
“Shit,” Cam managed after gulping down most of the water on one breath. “Why didn’t you warn us, man?”
The bartender shrugged. “Entertainment. You wanted a surprise.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at a list of twelve shots scrawled on a chalkboard. “And not many people order off the specials list.”
“They don’t, huh?” Eva fished an ice cube out of her glass and slid Cam a challenging sideways glance as she crunched it. Like that, the weirdness of the last few minutes evaporated and she was Eva, his former partner and best friend, again.
And he knew that look.
“No.” He held up his hands. “We’re not going there.”
“Oh, I’m so going there. Betcha won’t try another special.”
Cam grumbled. Growing up with a twin, two older brothers, and one younger, dares had been a way of life. He’d lose his man card if he ever backed down from a bet, not to mention get razzed from within an inch of his life—and Eva knew this, too. Damn woman.
But…she was laughing now, which meant she wasn’t thinking about Preston Linz. She was angling for a distraction, and if he had to kill his liver to keep her from beating herself up over that guy, then so be it. “What kind of bet are we talking?”
“Fifty bucks. We each pick three shots for the other and the first to refuse one loses.”
“Fine. Do your worst.”
“I plan on it.” Eva studied the list, then ordered a Four Horsemen at the bartender’s recommendation. The shot look innocuous enough when it arrived. Just a squat glass with dark, goldish-brown liquor in it.
Eva frowned at it, apparently disappointed that it wasn’t flame red and reeking of hot sauce. “That doesn’t look so bad.”
Yeah, easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one drinking it. Any shot called the Four Horsemen had to be damn near apocalyptic.
Cam fortified himself before picking up the glass. He raised it in a toast to her, tapped the bottom on the bar, and with a shake of his head at his stupidity, he knocked it back. And shuddered.
“Oh. Oh, fuck. It’s like lighter fluid.”
Eva grinned. “Your eyes are tearing up again.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, but the glare lost some of its effect since it squeezed a few tears out to roll down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand and banged the glass down with a triumphant thunk. “Go ahead and yuck it up now. You just wait.”
Eva held her hand up, palm out, and curled her fingers twice in a Matrix-style bring it gesture.
Yeah, it was on. He took his time to study every alcoholic horror the chalkboard had to offer, then finally decided on something called a Cement Mixer.
Eva’s smile widened when the bartender cheerily poured a shot of Bailey’s. “Hah. I love Bailey’s.”
Cam said nothing, just tilted his head to draw her attention back to what the bartender was doing. The man poured lime juice into the Bailey’s and the liqueur immediately started to curdle. Eva winced and reached for the shot like someone would reach into a snake pit. She gave him a pleading look, but he wasn’t about to take pity now. Not when the apocalyptic lighter fluid shot was still burning a hole in the lining of his stomach.
He mimed taking the shot. “Bottoms up or pay up.”
“Oh, I hate you,” she said, then downed it. Or at least tried to, but its consistency was indeed like cement and she ended up chewing it, making faces the whole time.
Cam laughed. “Hey, this was your idea.”
“I’m gonna get you for this one,” she mumbled and finally managed to force the Cement Mixer down her throat.
The game quickly devolved from there, ending with Eva choking down a shot called Motor Oil, which she declared aptly named because it did taste like the black gunk that came out of a car long overdue for an oil change. Cam finished on some nasty concoction of J?germeister and a dollop of warm mayonnaise and the slimy consistency had him coughing the moment it hit the back of his throat.