Page 123 of The Love Haters

“No, no,” Cole said. “It’s just whoever gets impaired first.”

“And how do you measure that?”

Cole shrugged at me, likeHow does anybody measure that?“Field sobriety tests.”

“Like the police do?”

“Yeah.”

Cole explained the rules, like maybe he’d done this a time or two before. They each had to take a shot and then walk a straight grout line in the tile floor for ten steps—heel to toe—from our table to the pinball machine and back. “First one to step off or fall off the line, or stop walking, or put your arms out for balance…” Cole said, “is the loser.”

“Who’sadministeringthis test?” I said—trying to show him how dumb it was for two drunk people to test each other.

“You are.”

Oh.

“So pay attention. Because you’ll be smooching whoever wins.”

I glared at Cole. “That won’t be happening.”

“Never say never.”

At that, the bartender showed up with a tray of whiskey shots.

And so it began. A shot for Cole, a shot for Hutch—and then they both had to walk the line.

It went on longer than I would’ve expected, to be honest. It was a lot of up and down, back and forth. They drank seated, facing each other, and then they got back up, over and over, to walk the line.

Had Cole been wanting to havefun? Because neither of them seemed to be having any. Hutch was dead serious times ten, and Cole was prematurely triumphant—so certain that Hutch couldn’t possibly have enough of a tolerance to beat him.

It was psychologically transparent—how bad Cole wanted to beat his perfect older brother at literally anything. I was rooting for Hutch for many reasons, but Cole thinking he’d already won was definitely one of them.

Here’s what Cole didn’t take into consideration: he’d already had several beers back at the pinball machine. He was already half plastered before he even had this idea. So it wasn’t that surprising when Cole failed the test: starting along the line, then putting his arms out for balance, then stopping for a second, and then tripping, falling off the line, and hitting the floor.

He didn’t just lose. He lost big.

I couldn’t help but feel relief when it happened. Hutch, for his part, still seemed completely sober.

“Contest’s over,” I declared to Cole. “You lost.”

“Did I?” Cole asked, squinting up at me from the floor, like I might be trying to pull a fast one.

“You did,” I confirmed, letting myself savor it, as Hutch reached out a hand to help him up.

Cole rose to his feet as Hutch pulled, but then, instead of letting go, Cole started pumping Hutch’s hand in a hearty handshake.

“Thanks a lot, man,” Cole said. “I know you didn’t want to do that. I really appreciate it. It was fun for me. You’re such a good sport.”

Hutch and I looked at each other. That was unexpected.

“Go ahead,” Cole said then, letting go and stepping back. “You won, fair and square.”

“Go ahead?” Hutch asked.

“Go ahead and take your prize,” Cole said, gesturing at me.

Hutch frowned, and eyed me like Cole couldn’t possibly mean what it sounded like he meant.

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