It was a balls to the wall type of moment. 30 odd hours into the marathon, down to two…and he was about to slip.
Ainsley eyeballed the three shot glasses lined up before her. Every hour, for the next ten, she would throw back the the three shots of Cuervo, then return to her rocking chair.
Sam was looking as wasted as she felt, and she knew that with dogged determination, she could lay claim to the prize. Her girls were there to cheer her on, and there was no way she was going to see her pledges being donated to the competing charity.
As the Ramones blarred throughout the bar, Ainsley was content to rock and roll along with them. Sam looked like he needed more than sedation. With every back and forth motion of his chair, he turned a little more green.
Her body may have been screaming with exhaustion, and her hair may have been laying flat…but she had her chap stick, her crew, and the will to win.