Pissing Contest

Charlotte Sartre and Jimmy Broadway sit by the pool, sipping cold tea. She leans in, tells him tea makes you piss, then lays down the bet. First one who caves, loses. She goes on him if she breaks first. He hoses himself if he caves. Either way he gets soaked in her piss. Sun beats down. Sweat slides under his beard. Her black hair sticks to the back of her neck. He feels the pressure build, tries to hold it, legs spread wide like he’s ready to lose. She watches every twitch. Tension coils between them. Nobody speaks. The game’s already started, and someone’s going to break soon.