Chapter 1

PJ

“Oh my God. This is so hot,” I moaned, dropping the morsel in my fingers. “So good, but so hot.”

“Blow on it,” Felix instructed with a nod of his chin at my plate before stuffing a boneless chicken wing in his mouth, his eyes fluttering in ecstasy. His sauce-laden fingers were already reaching for a deviled egg.

Food was one of the supporting pillars of my friendship with Felix Barksdale. A large, fat, juicy pillar. God, I loved food, and I could put it away with the best of them, though I was not quite Felix’s equal. At 5’5” and about 120 pounds, God only knew where Felix put the stuff, but presumably it went down into a bottomless pit.

“Olive-y,” he pronounced, swallowing the deviled egg.

I made a face. “Thought so. That’s why I didn’t grab one.”

Felix looked at me like I’d just kicked a puppy. “You don’t like olives?”

“Nope.”

His mouth gaped open. “Dude! That’s criminal. Have you ever had a muffaletta?”

I was familiar with the New Orleans sandwich that had an olive spread. “Uh, no. Because I don’t like olives.”

“Not Greek olives? Not, like, Greek olives and feta on a salad?”

I laughed. “Dude. What part of I don’t like olives offends you so deeply?”

Felix shook his head sadly. “I thought we were bros. Man. I don’t even know who you are right now.”

I kicked him under the table and he grinned. I took a big bite of meatloaf.

“Shut up. There’s gotta be something you don’t eat,” I said.

He shook his head and picked up a greasy slice of Texas toast. “Nope.” He practically crammed the whole thing into his mouth.

Jesus. His mouth was a restaurant-capacity garbage disposal. Kind of like those mukbangers on YouTube. Felix’s mouth had thinnish lips, but, man, did it open wide.

“There’s nothing you don’t like?” I deadpanned. “Bet that’s not true.”

He shook his head, chewing.

“Yogurt? Brussel sprouts? Oysters?”

“Bring it,” he said lustily.

“Liver and onions?”

He hesitated, looking ashamed. “Yeah, not a fan of organ meat.”

“Aha! Somewhere, Anthony Bourdain is pointing at you and laughing.”

That made Felix put down the fried zucchini in his hand. He looked out the window at the neon sign, Big Mack’s Diner, or maybe at the collection of dusty pickup trucks and semis, or maybe at the hot desert landscape. We were still two hundred miles from Vegas, but the road trip we’d been on from Madison, Wisconsin already felt like it was over. And I was ready for it to be, ready for whatever adventure came next, as long as it was fun. And, preferably, profitable.

“Man, that’d be some kinda life, huh?” Felix looked dreamy. “Doing an exotic food show. Traveling all over the world. Having adventures…”

“Yeah, you definitely need to find a way to make money off your appetite,” I agreed, wheels turning. “Have you ever done, like, a pie-eating contest? Don’t they have whole leagues for that kind of thing?”

Felix blinked and gave me a look. “Quiz Bowl is enough competition for me.”

“Quiz Bowl doesn’t pay.” I rubbed my fingers together to suggest moolah.

“The national championship did. We won ten grand.”

“Yeah, and all that money went to the frat house. Hence, my point.”

Felix shrugged. “I’m going back for more.” He slid out of the booth and picked up his plate.

An older waitress in a checkered uniform appeared as if by magic and took Felix’s plate. “Get a fresh one, hon.”

“Oh. Cool. Thanks.” Felix gave her a smile.

The plates were a bit on the small side. I swallowed the last of the potato salad on mine, handed it to the waitress, and went back in line myself.

Buffets are kind of like participating in a large group orgy. The individuals you had sex with might not be your first choice in an ordinary setting, but it was the group experience that was unique and thrilling. Or so I assumed. I hadn’t actually been to a large group orgy. I had, however, been to lots of buffets. There was one close to the Madison campus where we both went to college. Felix and I used to go a couple of times a week until the owner barred us from ever setting foot in the door again lest he go bankrupt.

We’d pulled into Big Mack’s Diner the second we saw the words Buffet $19.95 on the marquee. We were vacationing on a strict budget, and we could fill the tank and then some at that price. The owner of this joint would lose out, but hey, he probably had plenty of little old lady customers who ate like birds to balance things out, right?

Felix went back five times. I went back four. We ate until our bellies were swollen under our shirts. I finally had to stop. I leaned back and breathed hard for a few minutes, backing down the urge to puke.

Across the table, Felix had also given up and looked a little green.

“Just one more mint?” I asked in a bad British accent à la John Cleese in The Meaning of Life. “It’s wafer thin.”

Felix laughed and patted his stomach. “God no. And don’t say wafer.” He burped quietly into his hand. “Fuck. I won’t eat for a week.”

I knew for a fact, he’d be ready for a huge breakfast, but the room was spinning a little, so I didn’t have the energy to tease him.

“Two hundred and ten more miles,” Felix said. “I need a hotel room and a bed. Must sleep this off, like a Sumo wrestler.” He patted his gut again.

“You look more like those cartoons of an anaconda that swallowed a water buffalo or something.” I grinned.

“Accurate.” He puffed out his cheeks in an I’m stuffed gesture. “I’ll get the check.”

He waved down the waitress. Her nametag read Bonny. Bonny took out a notepad and scribbled. She scribbled some more. Felix and I exchanged a look. The check should be straight forward. We’d both had water to go with the buffet.

She put the check facedown on the table. “Pay at the register.” She walked away. Bonny was not the friendly type.

Felix picked up the check and stared. His eyes went huge and his face drained of color.

“What?” I grabbed the check.

I choked on my own spit. The bill was nearly $200.00. “What!” I shouted. I turned to flag down the waitress, but she was now behind the counter getting a coffee pot.

“Oh, shit. Shit,” Felix muttered. He pointed, hand shaking, like some guy in a movie who’d spotted the ghost.

There, on top of the buffet line, a small white sign said, “Buffet is charged per plate.”

“No,” I said. “No, no, no. Motherfucker.”

“I was so hungry, I only saw the food.” Felix lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned toward me over the table. “Holy shit, PJ. We’re fucked. That’s, like, most of my cash allowance for the entire week.”

My nostrils flared as I stared at the offending sign. “They’re totally scamming people That sign should be sitting on the plates. No way people will see that.”

“Yeah, well, it’s right there. You gonna argue with Big Mack?” Felix jerked his chin across the diner. I turned around to follow his gaze. There, at the register, was possibly Big Mack himself. Or Big Someone. He had to be 6’5” with bulging, tattooed arms shown off in a black tank top, head shaved bare. He was watching us, eyes narrowed, as if daring us to say something.

I turned back around and slunk lower in the booth. “Totally a scam,” I repeated, pissed off at myself for not seeing it. Me, of all people! I can smell a scam a mile away. Like Felix, I’d been distracted by all the hot, fragrant food. I didn’t like feeling like a fool. I didn’t enjoy being hooked like any old rube.

“We’ll have to turn around here and go back,” Felix said disconsolately. “Sorry, PJ.”

“Dude, we’re almost to Vegas. We’re not going home now.”

“But I barely have enough cash to cover my half of this bill. And I can’t put too much on my card.”

“We’re going to Vegas,” I repeated firmly. “You make money in Vegas.”

Felix looked doubtful. “We don’t have enough to gamble with. Anyway, we’re more likely to lose money than earn it by gambling.”

“Just let me think, okay?”

Felix wiped his mouth with his hand, looking like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t say anything. I thought.

Big Mack had quite the racket going here—roping in the tourists. Could I scam him back? I sure as shit wanted to. Fucker. But how? What were our assets at the moment? What did we have on us? What bluff would a guy like that have any interest in? The stuff I was used to doing at school wouldn’t work. He wouldn’t be interested in test answers or bets on sporting events. There wasn’t time for that kind of setup. Whatever it was, it had to be done right here and now.

I thought of the nice little moneymaker Felix and I had going on last year at school, taking bets on whether the Alpha Lambda Alpha house—aka the Jocks—or the Sigma Mu Tau—aka the nerds—would win their respective championships in flag football and Quiz Bowl. Dean Robberts had forced us to swap players in an effort to end a decades-long feud. Felix and I had made a couple of grand off that scheme. Of course, that was a year ago, so that money was long gone. But that was how Felix and I, supposedly sworn enemies as nerd and jock, became friends. When he heard about the bets I was taking, he was interested—not just in placing a bet, but in the whole operation. It was like he wanted to be a mini-me, fascinated by my every move. He became my wingman.

Felix was the only person I’d ever met who never shook his head at me like I was a weirdo or sociopath because I always had some enterprise going, because I liked moolah and lots of it. Yes, my folks were rich, but my dad preached that nobody got anywhere by being given things. So aside from my tuition and a few other basics, I made my own way by my wits. Felix seemed to get that and even admire it. As a wingman, he was smart as hell. And he was always game—for anything.

For anything.

I narrowed my eyes at him thoughtfully.

“What?” Felix asked. “You’re fucking creepy when you get that look.”

“What look?” I said innocently.

“That PJ Roark I’ve got an idea look.”

“My ideas are good!”

He grimaced. “Yeah. So far. But, seriously, don’t mess with that dude. He looks like he could snap us in half.”

“Brains are superior to brawn.”

He gave me a quirked eyebrow. “I’d like my brawn to remain in one piece. My brain too.”

“Oh come on. Your lack of faith in me breaks my heart.” I leaned around the booth to look again at the guy behind the register. “Big Mack. Guy’s got an ego. Bet he thinks he’s the shit around here.”

“So? He probably is.”

A slow, wicked grin spread across my face. I leaned back into the booth and looked at Felix. Yes, I had an idea. A fucking brilliant idea. “You’ll back me up, right?”

Felix pursed his lips. “Um… In what sense are we talking?”

“No blood shed. I promise. Cool? Cool.” I slipped out of the booth.

“PJ!” Felix hissed, but I was already on the move.

Projecting confidence, I slapped our bill on the counter in front of Big Mack. “I bet this meal ticket that my friend—that skinny little guy—has a bigger dick than yours.” I said it loud enough that several tables close to the register could hear me. The men sitting there looked like truckers—baseball caps, T-shirts, beards. Bonny the waitress was also interested. She lingered near a table with the coffee pot in one hand, eavesdropping shamelessly.

Big Mack folded his arms over his chest and stared at me like I was speaking Portuguese. “What the fuck did you say?”

“You heard me. A friendly little wager. That guy versus you—in the dick department.”

“Fuck, kid. Just pay your damn bill,” Big Mack growled.

“Come on,” I said with a cheeky grin. “Double or nothing. I mean, just look at him.” I pointed across the room at Felix. He wasn’t close enough to hear what we were saying, but he looked nervous as he tried to figure it out. He seemed even smaller from here. The black leather motorcycle jacket he always wore fit him well and didn’t add bulk. It was unzipped and he had on a fairly tight black T-shirt underneath showing his skinny frame and anaconda-full belly. His thick, dark, longish-layered haircut and those dark eyes only emphasized the narrowness of his face and the biggish size of his Roman nose. He looked a little fragile, which, I figured, was one reason why he always wore that black leather jacket and biker boots. He had to toughen up his image somehow.

“You must be fucking nuts.” Big Mack shook his head.

I shrugged. “What have you got to lose? A little bit of food at cost. You probably throw half the buffet out at the end of the night anyway. Come on.”

“Do it, Mack,” a guy at one of the tables said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, like the kid said, what have you go to lose?” said another one. “Li’l pipsqueak probably has a button dick.”

They all laughed at that.

Felix must have picked up enough to get the general idea because his eyes went wide and his face pink. He shot daggers at me.

I turned away from him and leaned my back against the register. Initially, I’d just thought to add a little social pressure to Big Mack’s decision. But the crowd seemed truly interested in the proceedings, and the smell of blood in the water made me drool. “Yeah? Could be. Could be. Care to place a bet on that? Anyone? I’ll take two-to-one odds in Mack’s favor.”

“Hell, yeah!” A guy in a John Deere cap took out his wallet.

“I’m in!” said a guy in a red plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off. He took a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and slapped it on the table. “Even if the skinny kid is packin', which he probably is or you wouldn’t be so damned cocky, I’m betting you bit off more than you can chew with Big Mack here.”

A couple guys yelled, “Yeah.”

“Damned straight.”

I kept my grin plastered on. “So put your money where your mouth is.”

“Hey, now, hold on!” said Big Mack, holding up his hands. “How can we… I’m not gonna… This is stupid!”

I thought fast. “No biggie. You and my friend go in the back room. We just need one witness to play judge. Ladies and Gentlemen, do we have a volunteer?”

The men all looked at one another. They were stricken dumb. Betting on dick size was one thing. Looking at other mens’ dicks was another.

“Come on!” I scoffed. “It’ll just take a glance. Okay, worst-case scenario, a brief comparison with a ruler, but that probably won’t be necessary. So who’s gonna officiate? I’d be happy to, but clearly I have a stake. We need someone neutral.”

“Is there a doctor in the house?” Bonny said dryly. Okay, she was funnier than I’d given her credit for.

“I’ll judge!” A woman held up her hand. She was in her early twenties and sitting in a booth with a girlfriend.

Her friend slapped her arm, mouth agape. “Miranda, no!”

“Nope,” said John Deere Cap. “This is a low flagpole contest. This ain’t about showers or growers or any of that BS. Flaccid, right, kid?” He looked at me.

“Yup. Utterly on empty.”

“So no dames. Judge has gotta be a guy,” John Deere pronounced.

I went to the first table and collected money, taking photos of each guy holding up their cash so I could remember who bet what.

“Fuck it, I’ll judge,” said a young guy with a blond beard. “That way I can make sure this ain’t no con. If I can judge, I’m in with forty.”

“Excellent reasoning,” I said. “Good for you. What’s your name?”

“Er… James.”

“So, listen up! James is our official judge. The kid in the black leather jacket versus the handsome stud at the register. Biggest dick wins. Who else is in?”

I was calling Felix kid on purpose. The guy was twenty-one, same as me, but hey, setting perception was everything.

“I never agreed to this!” Big Mack half-heartedly complained, but all the men in the diner waved him off with mutters like he’d passed gas, excitedly talking about their bets. A few guys got up to walk closer to Felix and take a better look, eyeing him up and down and rubbing their chins while Felix stared at the ceiling, face red.

When I was collecting money from the booth closest to ours, Felix came up to me and grabbed my arm. He hissed in my ear. “I will fucking. Kill you.”

I gave him a smirk. “Why? This is pure gold, man! Do you really want to spend two-hundred for our bill?”

He still looked daggers at me, his lips pressed tight, but I knew the answer.

I leaned in closer. “Dude. Not only will we eat for free, but I bet we walk away with three hundred. Maybe five. Seed money for Vegas, baby!”

He grimaced and looked around nervously. “How do you even know about…that?”

I scoffed. “The man. The myth. The legend. Everyone on campus knows about your dick, Felix.”

When I leaned back, he was blushing. He shivered once, not meeting my eyes. “Fuck. This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I can’t believe you just went up there and… and said that.”

“Worried you won’t win?” I teased. “I dunno. Big Mack could be hung.”

Felix met my gaze, eyes blazing. “I’ve never met anyone bigger than me.”

Why did that send a hot flush through me? I shook it off. “Well, okay then. We’ve got this.”

“But he’ll know he’s been played. He could kick our asses.”

I shrugged. “He won’t wanna look like a sore loser in front of all his customers.”

“You hope,” Felix said doubtfully, but he didn’t argue any more.

I collected close to three hundred before the well ran dry. Bonny brought me a to-go bag to stick the cash in, and everyone placing a bet got their photo taken. I did a quick calculation. Only four people had bet on Felix. Fourteen bet on Big Mack.

“Okay!” I said at last. “We’re ready. Mack, do you have an office in the back? Or even a restroom’ll work.”

He frowned at me, looking uneasy. He clearly wanted to back out, tell me to fuck off. But he’d look weak in front of all his customers. It was too late now. He glanced again at Felix, eyes lingering on his groin. But there wasn’t much to see there. Felix wore his jeans loose.

I had a moment of doubt. Honestly, I’d never seen Felix’s dick myself. What if it was all an urban legend? Like the dog choking on a burgler’s finger or whatever? But fuck it. Never let them see you sweat.

“Office.” Mack turned and went back through a gray curtain. James followed him. And lastly, Felix, shooting me one last look that I wasn’t sure how to interpret. I told myself he looked confident.

Forks were put down, pie half-eaten, dinner plates forgotten, as we waited. The room was silent.

“Dang. I wanted to judge,” Miranda muttered, clearly not meaning for it to be heard.

“Oh to be a fly on that wall,” Bonny agreed laconically.

“I wanna change my bet,” said John Deere.

“The book’s closed,” I said firmly, folding my arms over my chest and not removing my gaze from the curtain. My heart pounded against my forearm. I was worked up over this. Why?

If Felix lost, it would sting. I’d have to cover most of the Mack bets at two-to-one. And then there was the food bill. The total damage would be over a grand. I didn’t have that much cash on me. Could I use a credit card? My dad would kill me.

The curtain stirred and then was swept aside. James came out first, followed by Felix with no expression and Mack, whose face was red.

James held up a hand and the diner held its breath.

“Big Mack’s hung like a stallion, folks. No lie.”

A round of cheers and high fives accompanied the announcement, and I wanted to barf. So reputations could be exaggerated and hung was in the eye of the beholder. I pictured the long drive of defeat back to Madison with barely any money for food. Damn it, PJ. Never bet on less than a sure thing.

A couple of guys moved toward me, a mercenary gleam in their eyes.

James held up a hand. “Hang on. I said Big Mack’s big. I didn’t say he won.”

One of the truckers who’d been inching toward me snarled, “So? Just tell us.”

I held my breath. James grinned. “Big Mack is impressive, but the kid? The kid’s got a fucking torpedo.” James pointed at Felix. “He wins.”

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