[Later that night]
Amy lay sprawled across the massive bed, wearing her nightshirt. The hotel's leather-bound dinner menu was in her hand. Her brow furrowed as she flipped through the pages, muttering under her breath. "What even is Foie gras de canard? And why is it sixty dollars for something that sounds like a Pokémon?"
Ray chuckled from near the balcony. He walked over, loosened his tie, and lay down beside her. "It's duck liver. French. Very rich, very buttery, very artery-clogging."
Amy glanced at him. "You speak French?"
He shrugged. "Among others."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Others?"
Ray smiled faintly, counting on his fingers. "Spanish, French, Italian, Japanese, Russian, and a bit of German."
Amy turned her head, impressed despite herself. "So, basically, you're a walking Google Translate."
He smirked. "More accurate too. Want me to decode the rest of the menu for you?"
She handed him the book instantly. "Please. I'm pretty sure I just read something that said 'veal brain in truffle foam.'"
He flipped through it. "You did. Cervelle de veau. That's an actual dish. Not bad if it's cooked right."
Amy made a face. "Nope. Hard pass. I'm not eating brains."
Ray grinned at her reaction. "Come on, Santiago. You've tackled armed criminals, chased murderers across rooftops, and outsmarted hackers. But you're scared of fancy food?"
She narrowed her eyes. "There's a difference between bravery and bad decisions."
"Then let's make it interesting," he said, closing the menu. "You and I each pick one dish for each other. Whoever finishes theirs first wins."
Amy looked excited. "What's the prize?"
"The winner gives the loser one command," Ray said. "No limits. The loser has to follow it. No backing out."
Amy hesitated for a second, her competitive streak instantly kicking in. "Anything?"
"Anything," Ray said with a small, challenging smile.
Amy smirked. "Alright. If I win, you're coming with me to the state crossword championship next month."
Ray blinked. "Crossword championship?"
"Yep," Amy said confidently. "I've lost three years in a row to a duo of Chinese prodigies who treat it like an Olympic sport. If you help me this time, I might actually win."
Ray nodded slowly, amused. "So if I lose, I spend a weekend surrounded by people arguing over four-letter synonyms for 'feline.'"
Amy crossed her arms. "Exactly. And if you win?"
He looked at her, eyes steady. "You tell me your darkest secret."
Amy immediately stiffened, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. "My what?"
Ray's smile was wide and wicked. "Your darkest secret. You know the one. The one you're never supposed to tell anyone. If I win, you spill it."
Amy stared at him for a long moment, her mind racing. She'd spent years burying everything she didn't want anyone to know. And recently, her crush on Ray and the dirty thoughts she always has whenever he's around her. But she wasn't about to back down now. With a slow nod, she said, "Deal."
They shook hands, the air between them charged with that playful tension that always followed their challenges.
As soon as he let go...
She reached for her phone and started typing furiously, her eyes scanning the menu again. "Alright, I'm going to Google what these dishes actually mean. You don't get to fool me with fancy French names, White. I'll figure out exactly what I'm getting myself into."
'You do know that you can simply scan the menu instead of typing?' He thought but didn't say anything and simply smiled, seeing her so excited.
Amy smirked. "Oh, I'll make you regret this competition. Get ready for some seriously weird food, my friend."
He leaned back on the bed, watching her lips move as she read translations out loud.
"Alright, Mr. Lasker," she muttered. "I think I got it."
Ray smiled to himself. "Do your worst, Mrs. Lasker."
...
[20 minutes later]
Room service left, leaving behind two covered silver trays that looked way too innocent for what they were about to unleash. Amy and Ray sat across from each other at the small dining table, both grinning with fake confidence. Now, they were going to reveal the dishes they ordered for each other before the plate exchange.
"Ready?" Amy asked, her hand on the lid.
"On three," Ray said. "One. Two. Three."
They lifted the lids.
Amy froze. "What the hell is that?"
Ray squinted at his plate. "I think it's still looking at me."
On Amy's plate sat what looked like a gelatinous seafood creature arranged in some kind of avant-garde spiral. On Ray's, there was something that looked disturbingly like a fried tarantula balanced on a bed of greens.
Amy leaned forward. "Please tell me that's not an actual spider."
He gave a nod. "Deep-fried tarantula with chili glaze."
Amy gagged. "Oh my god. Why the hell would you order a spider platter for me?"
Ray looked at hers and started laughing. "You ordered fermented octopus sashimi. It's literally still twitching. Mine's at least still. Except the eyes part... Kinda creepy." He hates spiders.
Amy stared down in horror as the tiny tentacles on her plate gave a lazy wiggle, and then at Ray's spider platter as he exchanged their plates.
"Nope. I'm out. I'm not eating something that's still auditioning for a horror movie."
Ray tried to keep a straight face. "You said no backing out."
"You said that before I knew it would be a spider," she shot back. "There are laws against this!"
Ray poked at the octopus pieces with his fork. "You know, I was in the army. I've eaten some questionable things in the field."
Amy crossed her arms. "You mean MREs?"
"I mean snake. Once a scorpion. Never this."
They stared at their plates again as if they were rethinking their life's decisions.
Ray broke the silence. "Hot wings challenge."
Amy's eyes lit up. "Now that's more like it."
They'd ordered the spiciest wings the hotel kitchen could legally serve. When the plate arrived, steam practically glowed red off the sauce.
Amy rubbed her hands together. "Finally. A competition I was born to win."
Ray cracked his neck. "Careful, Santiago. Overconfidence leads to defeat."
They each grabbed a wing.
"One, two, three," she said, and they bit in.
The effect was instant.
Amy's eyes went wide. "Sweet mother of...!" She grabbed her water glass. "What is this, lava in liquid form?"
Ray coughed hard, face turning red. "It's... good. Really... flavorful."
Amy snorted mid-breath. "You sound like you're being waterboarded by chili powder!"
He tried to respond but hiccuped instead, sending Amy into full-blown laughter. "Oh my God, you look like a tomato trying to file a complaint."
"You're... not doing much better," he wheezed, watching her eyes water.
Finally, after 10 painful minutes of chomping on hot wings, only 3 pieces were remaining on Ray's plate and 4 on Amy's plate. Neither was giving up.
Amy's face was beet red, sweat running down her temples as she stared at the wings on her plate. Her lips felt like they'd been dunked in acid. She had opened a few buttons of her shirt as if it'd do anything to get the heat out.
Across the table, Ray looked just as bad, hair sticking up, sweating, and shirt lying on the floor. He was breathing like he'd just run a marathon through hell.
Both of them took a nice look at each other's bodies. Amy squeezed her arms in that situation when she noticed his eyes on her. She made her boobs slightly pop in her blue bra and tried very hard to smirk. But at the same time, she couldn't keep her eyes from his topless body.
'Hot!': That's the thought that came into both their minds.
Amy squinted at him. "You dying or concentrating?"
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Both. Feels like my tongue's on fire and my soul's filing for divorce with my body."
Amy burst out laughing, which only made her cough. "I think I can see sounds right now. And... I can't feel my tongue." Her words came out slurry.
Ray pointed at her glass. "Don't drink water. It makes it worse."
"I already did. It's too late. My ears are ringing."
Ray reached out, grabbed a wing. His eyes watered even more. Amy groaned.
"You're actually finishing that?"
He nodded slowly. "Victory... tastes hot."
Amy grabbed her wing too, refusing to lose. "Fine. If I go down, I'm taking you with me."
They bit at the same time. Tears streamed down both their faces. They were coughing, wheezing, laughing, and crying all at once.
Amy slammed her hands on the table. "Nope. I can't do this. I surrender." She stumbled up, ran to the fridge, and yanked it open. A big, cold bottle of strawberry milkshake was inside. She twisted the cap off so fast it flew across the room.
Ray, voice hoarse, called after her. "Save some for me."
Amy didn't answer. She just started chugging. Half of it missed her mouth and splattered on her shirt, drenching her. "Oh my God," she gasped. "I don't even care. This is heaven."
'Fuck! This girl. Nope. Don't think about it, Ray. She's hot! Shti! You thought about it.' Ray watched her as the drops of milkshake dripped down her chin and between her boobs, drenching her white shirt and making her bra visible through her shirt. It was painfully hard, but he won.
She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, still coughing. She walked over to the table and gave Ray the remaining. He took it and chugged the milkshake down before sighing in relief.
"Let's not ever do that again," Ray said.
"Agreed," Amy nodded before sitting on the chair.
The burning sensation was slowly fading.
He then pointed at her shirt. "Uumm... Amy."
She looked down at her chest and noticed her drenched shirt and visible bra. She stood up after clearing her throat. Ray looked the other way.
"Sorry about that. I'll go and clean it up." She ran to the bathroom. Halfway, stopped, and ran back to the table to take the remote that makes the glass walls hazy. Then she ran into the bathroom.
'You forgot your robe or...' Ray wanted to say that, but she was already inside the bathroom.
"Haaa... What a night. Haha... It was kinda fun and hot," He mumbled to himself.
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[24 advance chs] [No double billing.]
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