Buenos...What?

The sound of a mariachi band is the first thing I hear. It’s a veritable jackhammer in my brain: who the hell thinks it’s a good idea to play that crap at...what time is it, anyway? I fumble around looking for my mobile device. Three missed calls and a ton of text messages, the latter being variants of the question “How the hell did you do that?” I stare at the screen in disbelief.

“You gave the guys a fright, Kari, though I do have to admit it was funny to see the dumbasses have to pay up." My companion stands in the doorway separating the main room from the bathroom. "I think they've learned their lesson quite nicely: never bet against an American."

"What happened?" My voice is little more than a croak. I can still feel a burning sensation in the back of my throat. "Never bet against an American?"

"Yeah. Dumbass numero uno had boasted that no American woman could beat the habanero challenge. Justin said you could, and...well, one thing led to another and before we knew it you had downed a seafood ceviche with two different types of habanero, a chile relleno with three types of habanero in the filling, and a carne asada marinated in some stuff with four types of habanero. And you had a monster strawberry margarita with each one. Dumbass numero dos about shat one and hightailed it out of there. Justin, Frank, and Chris are still celebrating your triumph, by the way. They told me to tell you 'way to go' when you finally woke up."

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. "In plain English?"

"That is as plain as it can be. You caused two dumbasses to make fools of themselves, Kari. Good on you."

I wince as it dawns on me what had happened. "I don't feel so good."

"No kidding. Come on, let's go meet the guys and they can tell you more."