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Uh-oh. He’s going for presentation on the wild card. He combines rum, crème of coconut, and orange juice with a scoop of ice. After a couple of quick shakes, he pours the contents into the coconut.
He rummages in a drawer and extracts a small grater, then a lump of nutmeg from a bag.
Nice.
He grates fresh brown flakes over the top of the drink and the lip of the coconut. Then he finishes it off with slices of mango and pineapple, also flecked with nutmeg, and places three straws inside.
He lifts it high. “I present ... the painkiller!”
A cheer goes up, and he takes the coconut to the judges.
When he returns, he tosses his shaker behind his back to the other arm, thenplop, sends it straight into the suds in the sink.
Another cheer.
“You think you’ve got me, don’t you?” I say to him, curling my finger like I want him to come close.
He sidles up to me.
The crowd goes nuts. Nothing like a little romantic tension to up the ante.
I grab his shirt and pull him close. “I’ve got two words for you.”
“Do you now?” His face is inches from mine. Our gazes lock. I was doing this all in fun, but the heat of his nearness makes me gulp a sharp shot of air.
Morrie clamors for his mike. “We’re down to the last drink of the night, and the competition is heating up!”
“Those two words are something I want from you,” I tell him.
Now it’s his Adam’s apple that bobs. “What’s that?”
I lean in closer, closer, until our mouths are so near, we can feel each other’s breaths.
The crowd quiets, watching, hanging with suspense.
“Two. Blenders.” I push him away.
The crowd shouts with its release of tension. Gabe shakes his head and drags both blenders onto the counter, plugging in the cords.
I open both their tops.
“First, you need the lava!” I slide one blender close and drop in ice, light rum, and coconut rum. Then I bend down to the fridge to extract a tub of fresh strawberries. I lift one and run it close to Gabe’s lips.
I don’t expect him to bite it.
I shriek and let go, sending the crowd into a roar.
“Cheater!” I say, laughing, then quickly slice the tops off several strawberries and rinse them in the sink. I toss them into one blender.
“Now we need the flow!” I call, adding ice, coconut cream, and pineapple juice to the second blender. I pull a banana off a bunch hanging from a hook near the glassware.
I turn back to Gabe and peel one side with exaggerated slowness, my gaze fixed on him.
The spectators shriek and cheer.
When I expose the top of the banana, I act like I’m going to take a bite.
Gabe shakes his head.
