Page 45 of Hot Shot
I follow him through the gravel-covered lot and down the short alleyway. We come out the other end in front of a row of bars and restaurants. The roar of a low-flying plane has me realizing we’re near Orlando Executive Airport.
“This way.” Hunter points at a small building with a sign hanging above the door proclaiming it to be Locos Tacos. I gasp at the long line that snakes out the door.
“Don’t worry. It always moves quickly.” Hunter motions for me to get in line in front of him.
I nod, excited to try a new taco restaurant. I haven’t found a good one yet and have missed quite a few Taco Tuesdays because of it.
“Whatcha thinking?” Hunter steps closer to me, and even though it’s a million degrees out, I like the heat of his body close to me. I feel safe. Something I haven’t felt in a really long time.
“Hoping this place is as good as you say it is.”
“It is. I promise.”
Once we’ve made it to the doorway, I peer inside while Hunter reaches around me to grab a menu from the holder.
“Here,” he says, handing it to me. “The chicken street tacos are my favorite. Highly recommend them.” I nod and study the menu.
“Welcome to Locos Tacos. How can I help you?” The guy behind the counter greets us as we step into the restaurant. The entryway is so narrow we have to squeeze against the counter when someone exits the way we just entered.
“Hey, Chris,” Hunter greets the guy.
“Hey, Hunter. The usual?”
“Yeah, and whatever she wants.” He tips his head toward me. I put in my order for two chicken street tacos, extra salsa, no onions. Chris nods and starts making our tacos.
While we wait, I take in our surroundings. The open kitchen where the staff take orders and make the food takes up half the restaurant.
The rest of the space, at the back, is taken up by soda machines, and there are a couple of doors on the opposite wall that are probably the bathrooms.
I can see straight through the back of the restaurant to a patio, which is the only place to sit since the inside is so narrow.
While he makes our food, Chris says, “Saw your game the other day. You’re playing really well. It’s only a matter of time before you score your first goal.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Hunter swallow and bite his bottom lip, a grimace appearing on his face momentarily before he plasters on a smile. “Appreciate that, man.”
After paying, we take our food and go out the back door.
“You good to eat at my place?” Hunter pauses on the patio.
That’s when I notice all the tables are taken. Even if they weren’t, I don’t really want to sit outside and sweat. “Sounds perfect to me.” I follow Hunter back to his truck and the air conditioning.
Ten minutes later, he turns into a garage next to a high-rise apartment building and parks his truck.
The doorman greets him by name, and we take the elevator up to the tenth floor.
“This way.” Hunter leads me down a hallway to the last apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me before following me in.
He takes off his sneakers in the entrance way and I do the same. I glance around as we step farther into the apartment.
The furniture is a mixture of mid modern pieces with simple lines in light brown wood. It reminds me of the decor from homes in the showMad Men.
It’s not the style I’d expected for Hunter’s apartment.
I’d pictured a well-worn leather couch and dark furniture, but I’m greeted by a beige sectional that seems stiff and uncomfortable.
“It’s as comfortable as it looks,” Hunter says as if reading my mind.
“It wasn’t what I was expecting. I mean, it’s nice, fancy, but . . .” I’m not trying to knock his taste because if that’s the style of furniture he likes, who am I to judge?
