His Secret

by Brisa Starr

  I see the pain taking its toll on him though. It’s not just the fact that this hot sauce is really goddamn hot, but when you consider all the other hot sauces we had before this, churning fires in our bellies... well, it’s not for the faint of heart. I see him jerk his head up, his cheeks puff out for a second before he straightens up like nothing happened.

  Uh-huh. I raise my eyebrows at him, and he looks away pissed. He jerks his head again back and forth rapidly, and his cheeks puff out again. Boy, here we go, and I feel that $3000 comin’ home to mama. But I think too soon, and he squares his shoulders back and puts his hat back on. He’s ready for another round. Darn.

  Adron comes behind me now, as the judge queues up another sauce. I admit, I’m quite curious how much hotter it can get, but I’m excited at the same time. Adron whispers in my ear, “If you beat this fucker, I’m gonna reward you.”

  Heat burns inside me, not only because of the promise, but because of something else.

  It’s unfamiliar.

  It’s foreign.

  It’s… togetherness.

  We’re doing this together! He’s not watching my life from the sideline, upset that I tango with danger. He’s on my side, with me, embracing it, and cheering me on. He’s my co-pilot, my Clyde, my shipmate… just like Sammy said.

  We are, in a word… a team.

  And with this feeling, those pieces of my heart, they inch even closer. There’s a wholeness forming within me, a healing warmth that certainly isn’t from the hot sauce. It’s like… love? And whatever pain that last sauce might’ve created in my body, this feeling of love soothes it. OK baby, I’m ready to take this thing home.

  The judge then puts on a pair of safety goggles. Uh oh. What’s this?

  “Next up,” he says, “Dragon’s Breath – just introduced by Dante’s Inferno Hot Sauce. It’s got an unofficial Scoville rating of 2.48 million, which we expect to be confirmed later this year by Guinness World Records as the world’s hottest hot sauce.”

  The crowd murmurs loudly at this.

  Fuck. What have I done?

  The Dragon’s Breath is on its way to my spoon, and the judge is so scared of it, he’s holding it at arm’s length. This makes me laugh, and he fills our spoons and steps away. I brace myself, here it comes. He gives us a “3-2-1” countdown. We put it in our mouths, and it’s so goddamn hot that it feels like flames are engulfing my whole mouth, lips, nostrils, my eyes… even my hair.

  As I swallow the molten liquid, the burning spreads behind my eyes, and my heart rate accelerates. It is definitely painful. It hurts like a motherfucker. But at the same time, my entire body tingles – I even feel it in my palms and my fingertips, and I smile as I enjoy the pleasure-pain sensations of the peppers competing with each other on my burning mucous membranes. No wonder I like it so much when Adron smacks my ass. It’s that same, hot and sexy, pleasure-pain experience.

  I smile and gently close my eyes, and I’m overcome by a transcendent feeling. By reframing the pain as pleasure, I control it. I own it, and it obeys me.

  I’ve got this.

  I open my eyes and look across at dickhead, and he throws off his hat trying desperately to escape the heat. His red cheeks puff out, he stomps his boots. His head pours sweat down his snot-dripping nose, and he’s doing everything he can to keep from screaming. With my pain completely under control, my only indication that anything is other than normal are beads of perspiration forming in my cleavage and under my arms, dripping down my rib cage. I also have a tiny trickle forming on my left temple, but I don’t think the cowboy can see it. He’s too distracted by his own searing pain.

  Just then, he grabs the bucket and heaves inside it, vomit shooting out of him like a firehose, and he falls backwards off the bench onto the ground. Just like he did after Adron crunched his fist into his face that night. He just lays there, and the judge comes over, standing over him, “You OK, son?”

  Dickhead cowboy is crying now, and he nods and says, “I’m out.”

  “Yeehaw!” I holler, a word that I’d never imagined saying before, but this little Western town is rubbing off on me. I jump up off the bench and throw my hands up. Adron comes around, picks me up and damn near tosses me into the air. He catches me, and my body slides down the front of his, and our lips meet. He kisses me hard, possessing me.

  But he pulls back quickly, the insane heat from the hot sauce still flaying my tongue. “Hot damn!” he says and whistles fresh air in his mouth.

  I stand on my toes and whisper in his ear, “I was wondering what it’d be like to lick hot sauce off your cock.”

  His eyes grow wide. “Oh, no you don’t. No fuckin’ way.”

  “Damn.” And then it dawns on me, I just won three thousand bucks, and first place at my first hot sauce-eating contest. “Holy shit! I won!” I say, jumping up and down. “I actually won!”

  Sammy comes running over, “You sure did, girl! You showed that cocky sonofabitch a thing or two.”

  I look around and see dickhead has already high-tailed it out of there. I collect my check and learn that I’m also awarded a case of six bottles of each of the hot sauces we were given. As we’re walking out to the car, I wonder what I’ll do with all of my victory hot sauce.

  Looks like I do need to find a home...

  Adron gets my car door for me, and as I slide in, I look up at him. “Now, didn’t you promise me something special for winning?”

  “Yes, sweetheart, but that’s for later. First, it’s time for ice cream for my winning girl.”

  And at the thought of cold, creamy ice cream coating my burning mouth and tongue, I lay my head back in my seat, close my eyes, and I finally start panting. “Yes, please!”

  15

  Alyson

  We walk hand-in-hand into the ice cream parlor, and the sugary aroma of waffle cones hits my nose. My mouth still burns from the Dragon’s Breath hot sauce, but I’m salivating for ice cream, and I can’t wait for the delicious coolness that’s about to enter my mouth.

  It’s an old-fashioned looking place, with pink and white stripes on the walls and ice cream served in tall glasses like they did in the ‘50s. I look up at the chalkboard menu, searching for my favorite flavor. Where is it? Everyone has this flavor, so it must be here. Ah! There! Yay!

  When it’s my turn to order, I ask for a double scoop of mint chocolate chip, in a cone, from the smiling old man behind the counter, a red bow tie around his neck. I smile back, expecting the cooling mint will be extra soothing for my hot sauce-thrashed insides.

  Adron gets a scoop of black cherry, and it seems fitting, though I’m not sure why. We take our ice creams and sit outside, where I thought it’d be too hot, but the sun is lower in the sky, and we’re sitting in the shade. And, like the Lazy-J bar, the ice cream shop has evaporative misters to cool their outdoor seating area. The shop is on the edge of town and has a spectacular view.

  We eat our ice cream and enjoy the view, relaxing in each other’s silent company. As I douse the hot sauce fire that still burns in my mouth and belly with my ice cream, I dart my eyes back and forth between looking at his beauty and the view of desert before us.

  He’s almost done with his ice cream, and he breaks the silence. “That was some contest, huh?”

  “Yes,” I say, pride filling my eyes. “I told you everything would be fine.”

  “Yes, you did. For once, I didn’t have to save your ass.”

  I laugh and then flirt a bit with my prop. I lick around my cone suggestively before putting the whole ball of ice cream in my mouth so my lips wrap gently around it. Then I slowly draw it out. His mouth opens, slack, and I raise my eyebrows. Without taking my eyes off him, I lick my ice cream again, my tongue lingering at the tip. “Well, if you won’t let me put hot sauce on your cock, how about ice cream?”

  “That could work.” He looks around before quietly adding, “So long as I get to return the favor, and lick it off your clit.”

  I lean in. “Damn, boy, you sure kno
w how to make a girl wet.”

  “I’m just getting started, sweetheart,” he promises.

  I squirm in my chair and cross my legs, squeezing them. Needing to distract myself, I say, “So tell me about the surprise I’m getting.”

  “I’m taking you someplace special after you finish your ice cream.” His dark blue eyes glow, always changing with his mood, and he reaches across the table to hold my hand.

  I like it here with him. I feel safe, and happy, and all I want is to be near him.

  I’m almost done with my ice cream, and I probe. “So, tell me more about you. I hear you playing music at night. You’re so talented, and I wonder why you focus on it during the summer. Is that the only time?”

  “No, I make music year-round, with equipment at my condo, but there’s something special about being out here in the summer, when I come to stay with Auntie Jenna. When I was younger, I didn’t have gear at home. The only instruments were here, so music became anchored to being out here in the desert.”

  “So, is it that you don’t have enough music clients to support you all year long, or… I guess I’m just trying to understand why you don’t focus on music all the time.” I take my first rewarding bite of my cone, and it’s crunchy sweet.

  “I suppose I could, but the work isn’t very consistent. Sometimes I’m swamped, other times I’ll go a month or two with nothing. The money from my grandfather paid for my condo and the car, but I don’t know, I guess it just seems like a big jump to depend solely on my music to make a living. It’s my soul though. Music calms me.” He looks away for a moment, and then he focuses on me again, and his fingers interlock with mine.

  “But surely you could do it full-time if you really focused on it, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess I could. I enjoy the data analysis, too, though. It gives me something else to do and takes my mind off music for a while, and it sometimes helps to walk away from songwriting for a week or two, and then come back with fresh ideas. I really like doing both, actually. There’s a kind of balance to it, I suppose. Left-brain and right-brain, or whatever.”

  I hadn’t considered this. But it seems so obvious, now that he’s pointed it out.

  He looks down at our hands, as if he’s thinking about saying more, like there’s something else on his mind. He looks back at me and says, “I didn’t major in music in college because my parents would never have paid for it. And I’d grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle. I wasn’t about to give it up. So, I got the degree that would satisfy them and make decent money…” he trails off, but doesn’t finish.

  “And?” I say peering into his eyes, admiring the distinct shades of blue swirling through them.

  “And well, they just had — and have — other expectations for me. They’d rather I not spend extra time on music and pursue other things, like... socializing.”

  “Parties and country club stuff? Do your parents care about that? I don’t see you swinging a golf club.” I laugh. “So, what do you mean? It seems to me that you’d be happier if you spent more time on music.”

  He shifts in his chair and traces around my knuckles with his index finger. “Yeah, I would. It’s just not in the cards for me at the moment.”

  He’s still holding back.

  I’m going to find out what it is.

  “What would it take?” I ask and lean in. “What will it take for you to pursue your music to your heart’s content?”

  “Well, for one, I’d like my parents to be off my back. But more than that, I’m 28 years old. That might not seem old, but I want to get married someday, sooner than later, and have a family. And, like I said, I like nice things. So, I want to provide for my family in style, never wanting for anything. That means having a backup plan for now. While I pursue music on the side, I work my day job. For now, it’s nice that I can be choosy with clients. If they’re douchebags, I fire them.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” I say, satisfied for now.

  He stands up and reaches his hand out to me, “Well, sweetheart, are you ready for your surprise?”

  I love when he calls me sweetheart. It’s such a romantic term of endearment, and not one I ever would’ve expected him to use, until he did. I guess that’s what makes it so special.

  I take his hand and stand up. He pulls me to him and, instead of locking lips, he grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back, exposing my neck as he sears it with a sexy, aggressive kiss. The blood rushes between my legs, reigniting the heat from before. He pulls back, and I look into his eyes.

  “I hope your surprise is taking me home and putting out the fire between my legs I’ve had for you all day,” I whisper, stars in my eyes.

  “Good things come to those who wait,” he says and gently kisses my lips. Sensing that my hot saucy mouth is a little safer now, post ice-cream, his tongue separates my lips, and I open my mouth for him. Our mint chip and black cherry flavors mingle as I run my hands through his hair. We pull away shortly after, not wanting to put on a show. This is a family establishment, after all.

  He puts his arm around me, and we walk to the car like any normal couple, and I feel mighty comfortable doing it. I skip a little to match his long strides.

  We drive for a full twenty minutes and then pull up to a horse ranch. “Are you taking me horseback riding?” I smile, bouncing up and down in my seat as he parks the car.

  He looks over at me. “Surprise. Yes, I’m taking you on a sunset horseback ride.” He gets out of the car and walks around to my side, opening the door and offering his hand to help me out.

  I jump up and hug him. “I’m so excited! I’ve never ridden a horse before, and it’s on my bucket list!” I squeal.

  “Good, then this will be even better than I thought,” he says and throws his arm over my shoulder as we head to the entrance of the ranch.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re seated in Western-style saddles on a pair of horses, mine brown, and his black. We head out on the trail, just the two of us. Adron is friends with the owners, so they let us go off on our own. He’s also an excellent rider. He’s been doing it every summer since he started coming to Carefree, and even worked at this ranch in his teens.

  He looks damn sexy on horseback, too. And while I’m eager to ride my horse, I’m also eager to ride something else later tonight!

  We take it slow and easy on the trail, and we haven’t gone far, when the trail widens enough that we can ride side-by-side. He looks over at me and asks, “Were your parents madly in love with each other? Or did they fight and have problems? I mean, before things fell apart.”

  His question surprises me – it’s so out of character – but I ponder it. “Hm. Well, I always thought they were in love. But, if you ask me to honestly think about it, they had their share of fights. I remember sitting in my room with my headphones on, listening to music, so I wouldn’t hear them shouting at each other. I haven’t thought about that in years.”

  I’m quiet for a moment as I reflect, and then continue, “I just assumed all parents fight. I mean, we were still a family... we ate dinner together almost every night. They watched TV together in the evening. We took trips up to Northern Michigan during the summer, when we could afford it. It just seemed normal, ya know?”

  We ride a minute more, and he says, “I was just curious. My grandma and grandpa, the ones who left me the money, they were madly in love. Everybody knew it. Grandpa never tired of telling the story about how it was love at first sight. And I never saw them fight, or even heard about them fighting.” He says it with pride and sits up straighter in his saddle.

  “Now, my parents on the other hand,” he goes on, “I can’t say for sure. They’re still married, and I don’t remember hearing them fight very much. But they traveled a lot and were hardly ever around. They’d go to charity functions and events, shit like that. We rarely ate dinners together. If they fought much, I didn’t see it.”

  As he talks, I think more about my childhood. “My parents would fight about money. We
had our share of struggles, but I never thought it warranted screaming at each other. But I guess, now that I think about it, they weren’t very affectionate with each other either.”

  I look over at him. “Tell me more about your grandparents.”

  “My grandparents couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Even in ripe old age, they were always holding hands, touching and kissing. I promised myself that I’d only have a wife who would be that way with me.” He looks over at me and there’s depth in his eyes, an obvious, unspoken subtext. He really does want me forever. A slow, friendly smile curves his lips, adding a sparkle that melts my heart and makes me smile back.

  “No, my parents were definitely not like that,” I counter. “But it sure sounds nice.”

  “Then, if that’s the case,” he begins, “and just hear me out — because I don’t condone cheating in any way — I’m fiercely loyal, and I wouldn’t tolerate cheating either. But I wonder, if maybe they weren’t really in love, and they each found something more meaningful somewhere else, something they couldn’t find in each other. And maybe they stayed together as long as they did... for you. I’ve heard of families doing that until the kids are old enough before they separate.”

  “I never thought of that,” I reply, deeper in thought. “I guess it’s possible.”

  Hmmm…

  The sun is setting, and it’s time to head back. It’s been a beautiful ride, calm and relaxing, and the perfect ending to such a wild day. The questions he asked about my parents are a little unsettling. But, weirdly, they’re also bringing me peace, too.