Page 21 of Romance Is Dead

“Hey, kids.” Teddy pushed his way between me and Brent, forcing us apart as he wrapped one arm around each of our shoulders. “Mind if I join you?”

Damn it, I was just getting to the good part.

“Kind of,” I said through clenched teeth.

“‘Atomic hot wing challenge,’” Teddy read out loud, squinting at a sign behind the bar. “‘If you can’t take the heat, get out of the bar.’ That sounds fun. What do you guys say?”

“No thanks. We were actually in the middle of — ”

“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.

“Of course.” He breathed through his mouth, clearly trying to cool his burning tongue. “That was no problem at all.” He winced, placing his hands on his hips and bending over at the waist, trying to catch his breath.

Teddy managed to make it through his award ceremony, as Laurie took a Polaroid photo of him in his new tee-shirt that proudly proclaimed “I slayed the Reaper!” But the photo hadn’t even had time to develop before he clutched his stomach and lurched toward the bathroom.

“I just need to pee!” he insisted as he disappeared around the corner. I was a bit worried he felt worse than he was letting on, but more eager to get Brent alone again. I’d been so close to getting information.

“Another drink?” I asked Brent, who seemed to be recovering slightly quicker than Teddy. “I’ll meet you over there?” I motioned to an empty booth.

Brent smirked. “Nice.”

“Give me just a minute.”

After refreshing our drinks — a double tequila soda for Brent and a light beer for me — I made my way across the room.

Sliding across the vinyl seat, I pushed Brent’s drink across the table. “Tough break in the competition. I know you can handle the heat.”

“You bet.” He winked as he took the glass and lifted it to his lips. “It’s been a while, but I know you haven’t forgotten.”

I curved my lips coquettishly. “Maybe you can refresh my memory later?”

Barf.

“Hell yeah. You know it’ll be better than whatever Teddy could do for you. Dude couldn’t even handle some chicken wings, judging by the way he sprinted to the bathroom.”

I was confident that wasn’t the case, but I decided to change the subject. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I guess.” He ran a hand down his face. “Just looking forward to this whole movie being over so I can go home, honestly.”

I waited for him a take a long draw of his drink. “What were you saying earlier about Trevor?”

“I didn’t say anything about Trevor.”

“Ok.” I took a sip of my drink, trying to look unbothered. “It’s a pretty far-fetched theory anyway. Who would have wanted to hurt him? He was so nice.”

Brent snorted. “Nice, my ass.”

“What do you mean?”

“Trevor and I go way back. We worked together on a movie a couple years ago. He was a total dick. The type that didn’t know how to mind his own business.”

I thought it was more likely that Brent had just been up to something he didn’t want someone noticing, but I decided to go along with it. “I can see that.”

“We were at a party one night, and I don’t know what Trevor thought he saw, but everything that happened was consensual.”

My stomach turned. “Jesus, Brent.”

“Anyway. He ratted me out to production, and they fired me.”

“And you’re still pissed?”

“Hell yeah, I’m still pissed.”

My heart skidded to a stop. What Brent had just revealed seemed an awful lot like a motive. I suddenly felt very hot, and a bead of sweat appeared at my temple.

Across from me, Brent narrowed his eyes. “Why do you look weird all of a sudden?”

“Nothing.” I grabbed for my drink, desperate to cool down. “No reason.”

Brent paled — or at least, his perma-tan lightened a shade. “You think I had something to do with his death. You do think it was murder!”

“No! No, I don’t. Of course I don’t.” I stood, feigning a yawn. “Thanks for the drinks but I’d better go. Early call time and all.”

Brent frowned. “You still want to come back to my room, though, right?”

“Wow, I don’t think I can. I’m just so tired.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Quinn? This is bullshit.”

“Thanks again!” I made a beeline for where Mara was congregated with Chloe and Audrey at the bar. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind calling it an early night.

“Time to go,” I whispered when I got close enough. “I. . . don’t feel well.” I took some money out of my purse and laid it on the bar for their drinks.

“We can’t leave yet,” Mara whined. “Laurie doesn’t get off until two.”

“We’ll come back another night. I’m sure your vagina will survive until then.”

“Don’t be a party pooper!” Chloe tipped the cowboy hat she was wearing at me. “The night’s just getting started, partner!”

Next to her, Audrey giggled. “Yeah, you haven’t even met our new friends yet.” She gestured down the bar, where two men — one with a hat and one without — waved sheepishly.

“Sorry, guys.” I grabbed Mara’s arm. “Let’s go. Please?”

“Fine.” Mara stood and grabbed her purse. “But you owe me. Big time.”

As the two of us hustled out of the bar, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping through my veins.

It was strange that Brent would admit to having a grudge against Trevor if he’d actually murdered him.

But he clearly still had ill will toward him, and we had evidence that he’d been the one Scott had spotted in the attic the night of Trevor’s death.

Looking over my shoulder as we made our exit, the last thing I saw was Brent, glaring at me from his booth.