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I headed toward the shiny black trailer with the lime green stripe. They were the same colors as the Rad Video logo. Rather than scold myself and reflect, as Grant had suggested, I'd spent the long drive working on my sales pitch. I wasn't going to leave the raceway without the deal sealed. I'd fucked up, but I was damn good at smoothing out rough spots.
I reached the bright green easy-up in front of the trailer. A guy a few years younger than me, early twenties, with dyed black hair and snake tattoos running up both forearms, had his focus glued on his phone. Even under the goth hairstyle, I could see a resemblance to George Stockton, my main contact for Rad Video. It seemed I was looking at junior.
"Excuse me," I asked, finally drawing his attention away from the phone, "is George around?"
He pointed out to the track just as three riders raced past. One of the riders was wearing the Rad Video logo on the back of his helmet.
He blinked up at me. "Judging by that suit and tie, you must be that investor dude?" He turned his attention back to his phone.
"Yep, I'm the investor dude."
"They just started warming up, so he'll be out there for ten to thirty minutes." The snake on his right arm wriggled its tongue as the guy's thumb swiped across the screen.
"Ten to thirty? Great. I'll just follow the scent of those hot dogs. I'm sure they are awesome."
"Wouldn't know," he muttered. "I don't eat animal flesh."
I nodded. "Probably should have guessed that." I headed back to the trailer where the smoky aroma of charred animal flesh billowed out from the two serving windows. A splintered and scarred wooden picnic table was proudly wearing three hot women on its wobbly, half-rotted bench. One of the women, a blonde whose hair was shaved off on one side, was licking the mustard off her finger, a gesture that grabbed my attention for a moment. The other two women were sipping blue ice Slurpees. All three women turned back to give me a bold and greatly appreciated head to toe survey before returning to their drinks.
A tall woman with wide, bony shoulders leaned down into the open window to take my order.
"Chili and onions," I said. "And a root beer."
"Hmm, I took you more as an orange soda man," a feminine voice floated over my shoulder.
I turned around. A long swirl of red hair curled down alongside her high cheekbones, framing her bright blue eyes and full pink lips. They were tinted light blue from the drink. She was wearing a tiny t-shirt stretched tightly over her tits, providing me with a nearly unobstructed view of her nipples.
"Root beer goes best with a three piece suit. I save orange soda for a t-shirt and jeans."
Her lashes fluttered down. Her enthusiastic blue gaze stopped at my fly. She smiled. "I'll bet you are nothing short of heartbreaking in a pair of jeans."
She glanced out toward the parking area. My red Ferrari sat all alone, looking completely out of place on the cleared section of dirt and gravel.
"Did you drive up in that?" she asked, turning back to me with her sweet smile.
"I might have."
She laughed. "Humbleness doesn't go well with this." She motioned a circle in front of me. "All this broad shouldered hunkiness. Lift your sunglasses so I can see if your eyes go with the rest of you."
"Damn, I hope so. I'm sort of stuck with them." I lifted my sunglasses and shoved them on my head.
She turned back to the table. "You win, Kate," she called to her friend. "They're green." She favored me with a admiring wink. "With that dark head of hair, I had my money on brown."
"Hope you didn't lose too much cash."
"Five bucks." She stepped forward. Her hand slipped between us. She took a discrete grab at my cock, which had already come to attention at the sight of her puckered nipples.
"Maybe I can find a way to make it up to you." My mind went straight to calculating how long it would take to have her hot and wet and sitting on my lap in the Ferrari. And then there was the added variable of ten to thirty minutes, but something told me I could pull it off. The cherry on top of the sundae standing in front of me seemed more than worth the effort.
My hot dog showed up just as the cherry grabbed my hand. She pulled me along to a cinderblock outbuilding behind the hot dog stand. It seemed I'd been wasting time with my calculations. She saved us the trip out to the parking lot and had decided on a shortcut to a quickie.
I dropped my hot dog in the trash can, figuring it was probably going to get in the way of a speedy fuck.
Her plump bottom rocked side to side as she led me along a cement path to the far side of the building, a location that was out of view of the track and the riders and pretty much the whole damn place.
