Bridget smirked at that before turning to the girl behind the bar. “Lilah, line up two shots of tequila for Archer. Make them doubles. Put ’em on my tab.” Turning back to him, she added, “I consider it a good investment.”
He shrugged. “What’s the contest?”
“The pole.”
That elicited whoops and cheers from the rest of the bar patrons and a brief chant of, “Pole! Pole! Pole!”
Bridget handed him an oversized shot. He downed it, set the glass on the bar, and asked, “What’s the pole?”
Mad Dog handed him the other shot, waited until he swallowed, and explained, “Twelve-foot totem pole a short way down Main Street, in the Captivity Sculpture Garden. Our Bridget here holds the official, unofficial speed record for climbing to the top and back.”
A feat of speed and strength? He had this bet in the bag. Finding her challenging stare amongst the faces crowded around them, he lifted his chin. “Let’s do it.”
They spilled out of The Goose swept along by a small wave of people. Side bets went down all around them, with Ford acting as bookie. After a few minutes of listening to the action, he came to the unsettling realization that the odds were close, but not in his favor. Bridget walked beside him—he’d deliberately slowed his strides to match hers, which were hampered by the high heels. “Is this legal?”
“The betting? Probably not.” She crossed her arms against the chill in the air and held on to her biceps. “But only a tight-ass would report it.”
“Not the betting. Climbing the totem pole.” He shrugged out of his jacket and, over her objection, draped it across her shoulders. “Keep it. I have a sweater.”
She expelled a heavy breath at his chivalry but let it be. “Legal? Meh. I can’t claim knowledge of every single law.” Aiming a triumphant look his way, she went on, “If you’re trying to find a way to back out, just forfeit. You stay on your side of the cove. I’ll stay on mine.”
“I’m not looking for a way to back out. Simply wondering if I’m going to need to post bail before I collect my kiss.”
“Keep wondering.” She picked up her pace, trying to stride off, but a crevice in the sidewalk trapped one of her skinny heels. He caught her around the waist before she stumbled.
“Easy, turbo.” Holding her to him—her back to his front—he inhaled deeply. Under the scent of hair gel or some such product he picked up the same old drugstore shampoo he remembered fondly from back in the day. Memories so fond he couldn’t help the physical reaction that manifested. Between the scent and the feel of her against him, he didn’t stand a chance. Hopefully his coat would hide the…
“Let go of me.”
So much for hope. “Is that any way to thank a guy for saving you from a face-plant?”
“Thank you. Now, are we done here?”
He loosened his hold, then felt and heard her shaky exhale and smiled. Into her ear, he said, “We’ve never been done, Bridge. We’ll never be done.”
She turned to face him and spoke quickly. “Another twenty minutes to win this bet, and I’ll dropkick you to your side of Captivity where you can stay, or leave, or do whatever the hell you want. It won’t concern me, Archer, because we…are…done.”
“Hey, you can say my actual name.” The crowd kept walking, oblivious to their sidewalk stalemate. He took her arm to make sure she didn’t lose her balance again. “I hope you’ve got some more of that lip stuff in your little bag there.”
“Why?” Irritably, she jerked her arm, but he held on.
“Cut it out. If you break an ankle on the way there, you’re the one who’s going to have to forfeit, which means you’ll need the lip stuff sooner rather than later.”
That ended her efforts to shake him off. The irritation stuck. “Why would I need it at all?”
He smiled. A smug smile, he knew, but he couldn’t feel bad about it. “Because you’re going to need to re-apply it after I win this bet and kiss it all off.”
“Dream on, loser.” She left the sidewalk and led them along the route the group took, following stone pavers into a grassy, parklike area.
“I hope it tastes good. Like strawberries or cherries.” Or you.
“You’ll die wondering.” She didn’t spare him a glance.
“You could give me a preview. A quick sample, so I know what I have to look forward to.”
The group came to a halt. Bridget did as well, and looked up, smiling, at three long shadows in the moonlight. Two shorter poles flanked a tall, intricately carved and colorfully painted center pole. He craned his neck to see the spread eagle’s wings at the top. Twelve feet seemed higher when it stood straight and narrow directly in front of you.
Beside him, Bridget shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to him. “Tell you what. I’ll give you the whole damn tube when you lose. Do with it whatever you like.” She slipped her shoes off and stepped onto the cut-stone base surrounding the pole.
He inclined his head and stepped up as well. “Ladies first.”
The others formed a semi-circle around the pole. Mad pulled out his phone and called up the stopwatch. Bridget found her first handholds and a foothold, pushed her weight into those so the big toe of her remaining foot merely brushed the stone.
“Ready,” Mad called. “Set. Go!”
Archer dropped his jacket to the ground and moved closer to catch her if she lost her hold at any point, but she lifted off like a freaking gymnast. Shit. He might actually be in trouble here. He stayed in place, under her, as she climbed steadily to the top, long skirt flapping back from her legs. Within seconds, she tapped the round eagle head and shimmied down. As soon as her foot touched the ground, Mad called the time. Eighteen seconds. Not just shit. Holy shit.
“New record!” Wing high fived her.
Archer snagged his jacket from the ground. When he straightened, she faced him, her teeth gleaming in the moonlight, her skin glowing with a sheen of sweat and a flush of success. “Think you can beat that, or do you prefer to save yourself a broken neck and admit defeat?”
“I appreciate your concern, but where I come from, a bet’s a bet.” Swinging his jacket around her shoulders like a cape, he added, “Hold this for me,” and stepped up to the pole.
Mad waited for him to select his initial hand and foot holds. Ford even gave him some tips on where to step on the frog portion, the man portion, and so on. Unlike Bridge, he kept his rubber-soled hiking boots on. He’d need bigger footholds, but the tread would ensure his toes stayed where he planted them. With a nod to Mad, he pulled himself up until his hanging foot barely touched the stone base.