Page 71 of Mr. Charming

“She’s right there.” He points at me.

Gwen tips her head and nods. “Front and center. She must really like you. But.” Gwen pretends to whisper, but she’s still got her microphone in her hand. “She’s been taking more photos of this guy to your right. Maybe she’s more of a Falcons fan than of the Colts.” She cringes, and the room laughs. “Oh, I’m just kidding. Gotta keep the competition alive and well, you know?”

Decker glares at me, but hey, he signed up for this.

“And you, Mr. Charming, something tells me that none of those women are yours.”

Tweetie smacks on his usual smile. That easygoing casual one that women fawn over. “Nah, I haven’t found a woman who could tie me down.”

My jaw clenches.

A bunch of women raise their hands, and the word “me” comes from multiple women around the bar.

“He’ll be taking applications after he wins.” Gwen goes back to her place at the side of the table.

The next round, poor Phil can’t even finish his wing before he gulps down his entire glass of milk.

Gwen escorts him back to his family, and his wife kisses his cheek and hugs him. His kids all tell him it’s okay, he did a great job.

I’m still smiling at the display of familial love when I turn back around, and my gaze collides with Tweetie’s. Clearly both of us were admiring the family.

The girl drops out after another wing, leaving just Decker and Tweetie.

“So what will it be, cute brunette in the first row? Whoever wins gets a date?” Gwen doesn’t wait for me to answer before waving. “Just kidding. But did I get your competitive juices flowing, Decker Davis?”

Decker smiles but doesn’t say anything.

Tweetie forces a smile. Maybe I’m the only one who sees it, but his back straightens, and he positions himself at the table as if he wants to ensure he wins.

Which I’m sure he does. That’s how he is.

“All right, two more, boys. If you both hold off, then I’ll have to come up with something else, and I kind of want to go home, so one of you drop out, please.”

The boy comes by and places the wings in front of Decker and Tweetie.

They’re both eating much slower and taking deep breaths between each bite now. I think Decker’s hand might be shaking. It looks horrible from here, and I abandon my phone, too enthralled with who is going to win.

Both make it through that round, taking us to the next. “Only a minute, boys.”

Tweetie smiles at Decker, but it’s the same look he gave Mr. Hawkins when he had the last piece of the puzzle that time. Oh boy, sorry, Decker.

The two of them take a bite and then another one before resting. They look as though they’re in so much pain.

Tweetie closes his eyes and gobbles up the last of the wing, but he still has to chew and swallow. Which he does, while Decker takes it slower, his eyes on the clock the entire time.

Tweetie is inhaling and exhaling, each breath more painful than the last from the look of it.

Decker has the sauce all over his hands and keeps the wing between his fingers, taking one small bite at a time. I feel as if the way they eat this wing is demonstrative of the way they live their lives.

Tweetie stands and accidentally knocks Decker’s arm, which makes the wing slip from his grasp, flying up and hitting him in the eye.

“Fuck!” Decker shouts.

“We have kids in the room, Mr. Davis,” Gwen scolds, because she doesn’t see what we do.

Decker is blinking over and over. The wing drops to the table, and he presses his palm to his eye.

The timer goes off, and Tweetie raises his hands in victory, practically pouring the glass of milk down his throat.

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