She rolled her eyes at him. This wasn't going to continue for very much longer. She hoped he'd throw in the towel before his body did it for him, but she knew just how stubborn he could be.
There would be no chance he'd raise a white flag willingly, and she certainly was not about to let him win. That would just be ridiculous.
"Why're you so good at it? You're so skinny... and girlish."
"'Girlish', Castle? Really? That's the best you can do?"
She was certain he was going to hit the ground at any moment. His capacity to not only form words, but to think of them had been severely diminished. Surely there was no possibility he could hold out another five minutes if he lacked words to describe her. He, who had a paradisiacal ability to craft an entire story using just the minutest of information to build from, was unable to describe his proclaimed muse.
But to her surprise, and quite possibly his own, he straightened a little.
And she couldn't help but wonder if this whole drinking adventure was just a rouse to get her to loosen up a bit.
So she strengthened her resolve to win, took another swig, and prayed that he wasn't about to vomit.