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“That’s exactly why I like to go back home to Savannah.”
We walk around the market while getting better acquainted. I’m taken aback by how easy it is to talk to Miranda. She seems unaffected not only by Collin’s celebrity status, but also by my own success. I rarely share this much about my business. Heck, in many cases I use my middle name, James, when bar-hopping because it doesn’t take long for someone to do a Google search. Traces of my colossal success can be found all over the Internet. This means that I can quickly become an ATM machine when some women discover the extent of my wealth, but Miranda never gives off that vibe.
We’ve been chatting animatedly and laughing our heads off. I share more about my life in Summerville and she keeps me entertained with tales of her life since moving to Los Angeles. I planned on driving up to Malibu, but there’s no way I’m leaving. Not when I’m enjoying myself so much.
Miranda is buying up a storm and I’ve been following her cue. Considering how much food I already have back at the Santa Monica estate I’m renting, I haven’t got a clue where I’m going to stock this food, but honestly, I don’t care as long as I get to spend more time with her. We must have been walking for several hours because suddenly I realize I’m famished.
I’m just about to suggest we stop, but she precedes me. “Hunter, are you hungry?”
“I’m six-five, I can always eat. And to be honest I’m starved.”
“I’m so happy to hear you say that because I’m absolutely starved too.”
“What are you in the mood for? Mexican? Cajun? Burgers? Pizza? Pulled pork?”
This is usually the biggest test with a woman. Most women I’ve been out with in this city fail this one miserably. I’d be thoroughly disappointed if she said she wanted to nibble on a salad.
She opens her mouth to respond, but suddenly she’s very distracted. “Oh, my God. He’s here. You’re going to love this,” she exclaims.
I look at her, confused. “You’ve lost me.”
She points to a food counter behind me. “This guy is a new vendor. I’ve only seen him here for the last couple of weeks, but sweet Jesus, he knows a thing or two about a big, fat, juicy, mouthwatering sausage.”
Oh, I’m pretty sure I can help in that department as well.“I assume we’re talking about a hot dog and not anything sexual?”
“Puh-lease, get your mind out of the gutter.”
“It’s quite the challenge around you.” I smirk.
She purses her lips. “These are the best hot dogs on the planet. Take my word for it.”
“If your reaction is any indication, then I’m in for a treat. Lead the way, woman.”
I follow Miranda and lucky for us we don’t have to wait too long before being served. After placing our order, I grab our tray and we head to an unoccupied table. When we get there, I drop her plate and her Coke in front of her before placing a heaping order of fresh-cut fries in the middle for both of us to share. I sit down across from her, eager to eat. My mouth is watering at the sight of this hot dog.
“Thank you so much for this and thanks for treating me to lunch.”
“It’s my pleasure and it gives me a chance to hang out with you a little longer. I’ve had a great time so far.”
We lock eyes for a few long seconds. Neither of us says anything until she clears her throat and lowers her eyes.
“That’s very sweet of you to say.”
“I really mean it.”
She blinks a few times and even before she speaks, I already know she’ll veer the conversation to safer grounds. “Good Lord, I couldn’t stop dreaming of this foot-long sausage for days after I had it the first time. It was so thick, I struggled to get it into my mouth, but I was determined and unwilling to give up just because it was much bigger than anything else I’d ever had up til then.” Wait until you have my very big cock inside your mouth, now that’s a worthwhile challenge. Miranda reaches out to the middle of the table and grabs condiments to top her hot dog. I watch her in amazement and I have to bite down on my tongue to avoid making a crude comment. “I can’t get enough of Sriracha sauce. It must be because I’m from the South and there’s Italian running though my veins.” She’s licking her lips as she spreads the Thai chili sauce in copious amounts.
My God. I look down at my food and try to think of something else, but I can’t. If I don’t say it, I’ll burst. “You mean cock sauce?”
“Excuse me?” she asks, freaked out.
“Cock sauce,” I say, pointing at the plastic bottle she’s holding. “You seem to be a big fan of it.”
Her eyes bounce from the red sauce to my mischievous gaze. “I’ve never heard anyone call it like this before. Do you have an aversion at calling it by its name?”
“It’s the proper name.”
“No, it’s not,” she scolds.
