Page 35 of Last Round

Chelsea nods to the stage. I can’t see past the sea of people. Curiosity has me kicking off these ridiculous heels and crawling on top of a barstool to get a better look. Chelsea is the only one around who could possibly catch a glimpse of my ass.

Sean and Killian are seated at a table. Dani is standing between them, acting like a referee with a bottle in her hand.

“EIGHT!” Realization dawns on me as they slam back their shots. Now I know what everyone is counting…

Shit, they’re already that high?

“What the hell are those two up to?”

“Some kind of bet. Not sure what the stakes are. But people love it when this type of stuff happens. I haven’t ever seen Sean and Killian go head-to-head before. It’s usually Killian and Dani, or someone else. I think it’s why there’s such a huge crowd tonight.”

“These idiots are going to kill themselves.”

“Nah, it’s all good. They know their limits. Besides, Anita’s here. Ready to step in, just in case.”

At least Anita used to be an ER nurse. She’s moved to private practice now, settling down and all that. Even so, last thing we need is for these two dumbasses to end up in the hospital, getting their stomachs pumped—or worse.

“NINE!”

Killian and Sean both seem a little worse for wear as they grab their next drink. I haven’t seen my brother look this determined in… I think… ever. They bring the glasses to their lips, preparing to down number ten. Biting my nail, I watch intently, waiting for one of them to keel over. Dani sounds off, encouraging them to drink. Sean slams his down without a hitch. But Killian’s eyes lock with mine from across the bar at the last second as he brings the glass to his lips. His gaze widens in recognition before he’s spitting and coughing out the alcohol he drank.

The crowd cheers, and Dani raises Sean’s hand, signaling him as the victor. “And the winner by technical…spit outis Sean—The Maniac—Walsh.”

Sean knocks over his chair as he stands. Pumping his fists in the air, he lets out a victory cry before doing a lap around the stage, even snags another shot to reiterate that, tonight, he’s the champion.

He’s definitely going to feel that one in the morning.

Although a few people are still celebrating, most of the crowd clears out. I guess Chelsea was right. People were seriously just here to watch these two idiots. It’s still busy, and with two drunk bartenders, my help is needed. Sean makes his way over to the table where I notice not only Anita is sitting, but so is her husband Declan, along with a few more of their friends. Bex is busy flirting with one of the guys I saw at the gym earlier. Dani returns to the bar and business resumes as usual. Except Killian. He remains sitting on the stage, his eyes trained on me.

Taking the risk, while hoping everyone is still distracted, I slide into the death heels and pray no one will pay me any mind as I walk over to him.

“Why did you sabotage me?” He slurs his accusation.

“Sabotage?” Killian’s gaze is laser-focused on my barely covered breasts. “Oh, this wasn’t planned. Believe me.” I chuckle.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he scoffs.

“Believe what you want. I came in here in something significantly more comfortable. Still would have driven you crazy—that was the whole point—but it wasn’t this.”

“Yeah, you’re not making much of a case for yourself. Pretty sure that’s the definition of sabotage.”

“No, it sounds like I showed up on my night off to have dinner, maybe a few drinks with my friends, and saw poor Chelsea struggling with the madhouse—one that you created. I offered to help. This outfit? It’s courtesy of Dani and Bex.”

He looks at me, confused.

“I was wearing a white top.”

After a moment, he bursts out laughing before collapsing from the stage, drunk and off-balance.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“Really, God? Why? Why me?” he asks the ceiling.

“Okay, big guy. We need to get you home.” I look around for someone to give me a hand. I don’t have a car. Maybe I can borrow Sean’s? Not sure if he drove. Dani’s got a motorcycle, so that’s a no. It would be hilarious, but there is no way he’d fit in Bex’s smart car.

“I can’t believe it,” Sean says. The alcohol is catching up with him. He’s wobbly and the only reason he’s standing is because of the grumpy fiancée under his arm. “Not only has the great K.O. been KO’d but also SO’d for the first time… ever… in less than forty-eight hours.” Sean continues laughing.

SO’d?I question internally. Then shake my head at their ridiculous terminology.Why can’t they just say spit out?

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