Fuck. If I’m stuck back there, I might never have a chance to see the hunk again.
CHAPTER THREE
Hunter
I’m so glad I was home by ten last night. I ignored Collin’s numerous text messages enticing me to go out with him to chase skirts and I crashed by ten-thirty. As a result, I ended up getting up at six this morning.
This is a real treat for me. On the ranch I share with Jake back home in Fort Collins, Colorado, I start working at six-thirty each morning and I’m always up by five-thirty to exercise before my hectic day kicks off. Since I got back to Los Angeles, it’s been impossible for me to maintain that schedule because my late nights of hedonistic excess prevent me from getting up before eight in the morning. Now, after an intense one-hour run on the beach, I take a shower, jump into my rented black Cadillac Escalade ESV SUV and head back to Lola’s Paradise for breakfast.
Okay, I’m hoping I’ll be able to talk to the curvy brunette who’s been occupying my thoughts for the last twenty-four hours. Even though there were some pretty hot women at the dinner last night, I just couldn’t get that girl’s face and curves out of my head.
I fully intended on getting her name and number before I left yesterday, but when I approached the bar, someone whisked her away into the kitchen and she never came out. After a few impatient text messages from Collin, and given the fact that it was getting late, I decided to try my hand today.
After pigging out on a generous breakfast burrito and ordering two lattes, it becomes clear the little brunette isn’t going to show up. Since it’s so early on a sunny Saturday morning, I decide to head to the Santa Monica farmers’ market instead of going back home. I’ve loved these outdoor markets since I was a kid. It’s one of those activities I always looked forward to doing with my grandmother, Beatrix Rose Evans. She was so passionate, she’d come out every week to support local farmers without fail. Nana Rose was at it until she could no longer walk as easily. Every time I’d come back to LA for a visit, she always insisted I take her to the one near her home and I’d always oblige with great pleasure. It was our time together and I cherished every minute of it.
Since I’ve only been in the city for a week, this is the first time I’ve ventured into one of these. This isn’t the market my grandmother used to come to, but just being here brings back a flood of memories. Since her passing, the idea of coming out to one of these has been unappealing, but today, for some reason, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.
After parking my SUV, I head where the action is. I don’t have any specific plans. I really don’t need any food since the chef and the housekeeper have been doing an outstanding job at feeding me and making sure the fridge is always fully stocked. I figure I’ll spend an hour here and then maybe drive up to Malibu and hang out there for a bit. I have to get back home at a decent time because I need to get ready for the big gala I’m attending later tonight with Shane and Collin. I still have plenty of time to enjoy my day.
From the number of people swarming around me, you’d never think it’s only nine o’clock in the morning. Customers are already haggling for lower prices, vendors are setting out more fresh produce and local delicacies to satisfy the demand, performers are entertaining eager kids of all ages and hungry crowds are already stuffing their faces with some of the best truck food you’ll find in the area. I’m soaking it all in.
As I walk further inside the market, I notice a table weighed down with plump and juicy Atulfo mangoes. My favorites. I take a step forward, ready to buy this guy out of business, but my phone vibrates. I fish inside my back pocket. Collin is already trying to reach me.
You up yet?
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Who are you and what have you done with my friend Collin? No way he’d be up this early.
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Fuck off.
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No pussy last night?
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Plenty, but I have tons of stuff to take care of today. I left last night’s conquest’s house an hour ago. And you?
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Went to bed alone.
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You must’ve had to jerk off pretty hard this morning.
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Go to hell.
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Did you locate your dream girl?
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Not yet. Went back to—
“Shit.” I walk right into someone. “Dammit, my phone,” I shout as the device slips out of my hands and goes flying into the air. I reach out and luckily I’m fast enough and tall enough to catch my iPhone before it crashes against the cement, shattering into a million pieces. I’d be lost without that thing.
“Darn, my oranges,” a woman yelps.
Without thinking or looking up, I run after the little spheres rolling around the market, conscious my texting must’ve caused this poor woman to lose her citrus fruits. I zigzag between mobs of people until I’ve picked up every last one of them. A kind merchant who notices my heroic efforts hands me a plastic bag and I dump half a dozen bruised oranges in it. I’m definitely going to have to buy her fresh ones, because I massacred these. I’m a little embarrassed I wasn’t more careful. I’m pretty sure whomever these belong to can’t be very impressed with me right now.
I’m just about to search the crowd for the owner of the oranges I rescued when my phone buzzes in my hand. Before even seeing his number flash on my screen, I know it’s Collin.
What the hell happened? Where did you go?
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Long story. Let me text you back.
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I’m off to the gym for a couple of hours. Catch you later.
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All right.
I lift my eyes and look around to find the woman I wronged. I freeze when a familiar face stares back at me. I can’t believe this.
I immediately recognize those sparkling amber eyes and that dazzling smile. The waitress I was so determined to find this morning is standing right there. Lucky me. I approach her with a huge grin across my face.
“Are these your oranges?”
“They are. Thanks for running after them.”
“It’s the least I could do since I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
She waves a finger at me and furrows her brows. “Wait a minute. Weren’t you at Lola’s yesterday morning? You were the extra-hot-double-shot-of-espresso accident?”
“I like how you refer to me as ‘extra hot.’”
“It’s convenient for you to cut off the rest of my sentence.” She smiles, squinting her eyes as if to let me know she’s on to me.
“Sure is.” I nod. “Are you stalking me to apologize some more?”
She raises her eyebrows, surprised, before bursting out laughing. “You’re funny. If I recall correctly, you’re the one who knocked over your coffee, so technically you’re the one who should be stalking me.”
“You’re right. I made a mess, but I much prefer my version of things.”
“I guess tracking you down in a city of nearly four million people is my only recourse now,” she says, shifting the grocery bag she’s holding from one hand to the other.
“What do you mean?”
“Yesterday was my last day at the restaurant.”
Shit. “I hope my clumsiness didn’t get you in trouble with your boss?” I ask, concerned my actions might have jeopardized her job.
“Nah. It had nothing to do with you. I resigned a couple weeks ago.”
Now I understand why she wasn’t there this morning.
“I’m glad to hear it. Since I’m a wreck every time I’m around you, the least I can do is introduce myself. I’m Hunter Evans.” I extend my hand, determined not to walk away from this conversation without knowing this girl a lot better.
“Pleased to meet you, Hunter. I’m Miranda Reddick.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Miranda.”
“I can’t believe I met you for the first time yesterday and I bump into you today. What are the ch
ances of that happening?” She beams when she says that and just like yesterday I’m taken aback by the fiery yellow shades reflecting in her amber eyes. She’s as fresh-looking as she was yesterday. She’s traded the black uniform for a light grey sweater, faded ripped jeans rolled up at the ankle and a pair of dark red Converse. Just like yesterday, she isn’t wearing any gunk to hide her features. Her hair is pulled back high in a bun, exposing her long neck. I immediately think of sucking little marks into her skin from her ear to her collarbone. Her top is so loose and roomy it could fit me. To my delight it does little to conceal the fact that her tits are huge and heavy—just like I like them.
“I was just thinking the same thing.” I smile back at her.
Is it coincidence or serendipity when you walk right into a person you were so eager to see again?
“It’s rare to see a single straight man hanging out at a farmers’ market. Shit.” Her cheeks turn bright red. “I’m sorry. I mean… Gosh… What the hell am I saying? You could be married or gay… And it’s okay if you are or if you’re both.” She flushes even more. “I mean, this is LA. Being married and gay is perfectly acceptable.” She exhales and shuts her eyes.
Now it’s my turn to burst out laughing. I drop the bag of oranges on the floor, take a step towards her and place my hands on her shoulders. The contact sends the same unsettling jolt down my spine as it did yesterday. “Don’t worry. I’m not gay and I’m not married. Do I give off a gay vibe to you?”
“On the contrary,” she answers in a low, husky voice, holding my gaze.
“I didn’t think so. And for the being married part, is that your not-so-subtle way of finding out if I’m single?”
Her eyes widen so much it’s as if they’re about to take over her face. “Uh…” She shakes her head. “Seems like I keep putting my foot in my mouth this morning.”
My nearly foot-long would fit much better. God, the dirty thought that crosses my mind when she says that startles me. This girl is doing things to me and I barely know her.
“Relax. I’m giving you a hard time. To absolve yourself for hurting my feelings, you have to allow me to make up for my sins by buying you fresh new oranges. I’d hate to think you’ll be using these,” I say, lowering my eyes to the ground, “to prepare your juice tomorrow morning.”
She lets out a nervous laugh. “Deal. That way I can redeem myself and come across as the intelligent person I am.” I love that twinkle in her eyes.
I take a step back, grab the bag of oranges I had dropped at my feet, point to a garbage bin and lift my eyebrow. She picks up on my unspoken question. “No, don’t throw them away. They’re perfect to prepare orange pound cake.”
“So you bake?” I ask, taking a step forward, and she follows me.
We start walking and join the rest of the crowd. When I turn my head and look down at her, I realize how short she really is. It’s true that pretty much anybody is shorter than I am unless they’re a professional athlete, but this little beauty with the honey-colored eyes can’t be taller than five-two or five-three.
“I love to bake and I love to cook. I don’t really have a choice.”
“How so?”
“My mom and my grandmother are both professional cooks. Believe it or not, my grandmother, who’s sixty years old, still works as a cook for a big hotel chain. I guess the fact that she’s from Northern Italy explains her fervor for cooking. She likes to joke that she’s been cooking for as long as she’s been able to see above her mom’s kitchen counter and I believe her. She’s amazing at it.”
“My grandmother used to also love to cook as well, but her baking skills were out of this world.”
“You said used to. Has she lost the desire to cook and bake?”
I tighten my lips. It’s still quite difficult to talk about her. “Sadly, my grandmother, Beatrix Rose—I used to call her Nana Rose—passed away three months ago. I remember fondly how I used to pretend to help her in the kitchen just to spend time with her. Baking was definitely one of her favorite activities.”
“Oh, gosh. I keep asking the wrong questions, don’t I?”
“Not at all. How could you possibly have known?”
She smiles and lowers her gaze. “Thanks for saying that. I don’t feel so bad anymore.”
“You wanted to know how come an unwed straight guy spends time on a Saturday morning at a market. Well, this was one of my grandma’s favorite hangouts. After so many years of accompanying her, it’s also a place I come to clear my head and chill out. The fact that there’s so much amazing local food is a bonus.”
“What an endearing story about your grandmother. I’m really close to my Nona Antonina, but I couldn’t even tell you if my dad’s mom is still alive or not since I’ve never had any real relationship with her,” she says, pensive.
“Funny. It’s the contrary for me. I have very little contact with my mom’s mom, but my paternal grandmother was an important influence in my life.” My Nana Rose meant the world to me. “I hate to be predictable, but do I detect an accent?”
“Yes, sir. Not much I can do about it at this point in my life, I’m afraid.” She smiles.
“Keep it. It suits you and it makes you stand out in a city of sameness.”
“Sameness? I’ve never heard anyone refer to the cookie-cutter phenomenon I’ve noticed since moving out here two years ago quite so accurately. I don’t fit the mold anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not a leggy model, singer or actress with zero body fat who survives on rice cakes,” she laments.
And that’s a problem how? “I think you’re selling yourself short.”
“How can you say that? Have you seen the friggin’ women in LA? Look at me. How can I possibly compete with those Amazons?”
If you knew how much I was looking, you’d have your attorney serve me with a restraining order. “Your beauty is so much more natural than most girls I meet. You don’t need a trace of makeup. Your hair is up in a bun like it was the first time I met you and clearly you didn’t spend two hours on it. That’s sexy, by the way. Your dazzling smile is genuine. Not that I noticed”—I pause—”but when you move, your boobs move with you because they’re not filled with silicon like too many women’s in this city. And don’t get me started on your indecent curves. Again, not that I was ogling or anything like that.”
“Oh.” She grins shyly and looks away. “Tell me how you really feel, Hunter.”
“I just did.” I wink. “Give me a few weeks to really know you and I can add to that. I’m sure there’s a whole lot more goodness missing from my list.”
She looks up at me from under her lashes and I can tell my words have the desired impact because she’s breathing hard. My cock instantly hardens. “Who says you’ll have a chance to get to know me better?”
I take a step closer and lean into her. The energy between us is insane and I can’t possibly be the only one feeling it. “I can be very persuasive when I want to.”
“I bet you can,” she says in a deep husky voice while furiously batting her eyelashes. She’s blushing so hard, it takes everything in me not to laugh.
Sensing her discomfort, I veer the conversation. “It’s only when you leave LA and come back that it really hits how many people dress the same, act the same, and talk the same way.”
“I totally agree.”
“So are you going to tell me where you’re from or do I have to guess?”
She takes a step back and meets my eyes. “I doubt you’d get it right. There’s a whole lot of confusion in my background.” She laughs.
“Now that you’ve piqued my curiosity, you have to tell me.”
“I was born in Savannah, Georgia. My father is from there. His ancestry is very much engrained in the South, but my mom is from the North. When my dad walked out on us when I was three, we moved back to Pennsylvania for a while. My mom needed help raising me and there were better job prospects at the time. When I turned twelve, she met and fell in
love with another Southerner and we all moved back to Savannah. She’s long since been divorced from her second husband, but she didn’t go back home. She has a restaurant down there now, so she’s back to being a Southerner.”
“It all makes sense now. Hey, are you an only child?”
“Yup. I am. And you?”
“I’m one of those as well,” I cheer. “I rarely meet people who don’t have siblings. I do have three stepsisters, but they’re older, so by the time my dad remarried, they were already on their own and off to college. I never grew up or lived with them. I’ve always felt like the odd duck. Like Spiderman.”
“It’s the same for me. I’ve always felt like a bit of a loner.” She stops walking and turns to face me. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the last part.”
“As a kid, I was fascinated by superheroes, like pretty much every other boy, but the one thing I noticed very quickly was that most superheroes always have a sidekick or best friend—think Batman and Robin—but Spiderman, he’s a lone ranger.”
She smiles. “What about Superman? He works alone.”
I shake my head vehemently. “Superman had a whole superfamily. Remember Supergirl, Superboy, Superwoman, Power Girl, and the list goes on,” I answer with a serious look on my face.
“Iron Man?”
“Nope. He had Pepper Potts, J.A.R.V.I.S, Colonel James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes aka War Machine.” I smile.
“I’m going to stop while I’m ahead because obviously you’re far more versed in the world of comic books and superheroes than I am. So that guy you were with yesterday at the restaurant isn’t your brother? Is he a sidekick?”
Fixated Page 4
