“Secret sauce?” Lucy echoes, edging closer to me. “What’s that?”
The man chuckles. “Wouldn’t be a secret if we told you, now would it?”
It’s clear he’s made that joke a time or twenty.
“We’ll take two Big Stacks and two bottles of water.”
I pay, and once we’ve got our sandwiches, we seat ourselves at the picnic table farthest from the smoker.
The sun beats down on my back, but it feels good. After a morning spent in the Jeep, it’s a relief to stretch my legs and enjoy the fresh air and open space.
Across from me, Lucy eyes her sandwich dubiously. “We’re really doing this?”
“Hell, yeah, we are.” I smirk and hold up my Big Stack, which takes two hands. A green blob of what I can only assume is secret sauce slides out, landing on my paper plate with a splat. “To taking the road less traveled.”
“Is that what we’re calling this?” She pulls out her camera and snaps a pic of the massive stack. The contents are all slathered in barbecue, making them indistinguishable, except for the coleslaw, which is oozing out the side. “I have to be honest. I’m not sure the world is ready for this sandwich.”
I snort. “You mean you’re not ready for this sandwich.”
“That too.”
I could let her off the hook, but she hasn’t even tried it yet. Who knows? It could be the best damn barbecue sandwich in the world.
We won’t know until we try it.
“You have to eat it. You don’t want to offend Redd and Mrs. Redd, do you?”
“That so sexist. How do you know it’s not Mrs. Redd’s barbecue barn?” Lucy demands.
“Because if Mrs. Redd was the founder, the house special wouldn’t be a five-pound meat sandwich with all the toppings. It would be a nice creamy potato salad. Or cornbread. Or mac and cheese.”
Lucy sighs. “I could really go for some mac and cheese.”
Same, but it’s not on the menu, so Big Stack it is.
“Bottoms up.”
I tear into my sandwich with gusto, and secret sauce leaks out all over my fingers. I ignore the mess—because that’s what you do when eating barbecue—and chew slowly. The barbecue sauce is sweet and tangy, and there’s so damn much of it, I can’t taste anything else, but the brisket is tender, so that’s a win.
It’s not the best barbecue I’ve ever tasted, but it’s certainly not the worst.
“How is it?” Lucy asks, poking her own sandwich.
“Only one way to find out.”
Slowly, she lifts the sandwich to her mouth and nibbles at the roll.
“You call that a bite?” I scoff. “Come on, Gonzalez. You can do better than that.”
She glares at me across the table. “I swear to God, if you start chanting, we’re never having sex again.”
I grin. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Our chemistry is too damn good to call it quits before Santa Monica, and we both know it.
“Whatever.” A slow grin spreads over her face, and she holds the sandwich up high, her tongue darting out to lick the barbecue sauce from the underside. “Mmm.”
My cock stiffens, and I shift on the bench, unable to tear my eyes from her mouth.
