Page 111 of Say It Isn't So

I nodded as the bearded man handed over Knox’s hot dog in paper and Knox thanked him before turning to me.

“It’s your turn,” Knox told me, nudging my elbow with his.

I licked my lips and thought about it. I felt like it was sort of a big decision. It really wasn’t, but I felt that way because this was my first ever dirty water hot dog. All my years on this planet and I’d never had one before. It was weird. But also so cool I was sharing this experience with Knox.

Finally, I ordered.

“Plain?” Knox asked, flummoxed. “No toppings? No mustard, ketchup, relish, or anything?”

I smiled. “That is what I meant when I said plain.”

Taking no time at all, mine was passed over to me and I thanked the man as Knox paid and a few people approached the cart behind us.

We began walking, hot dogs in hand, but neither of us bit into them yet. The foot traffic on the sidewalk was finally slowing, but Knox had a destination in mind. There was a bench up against one of the buildings and I knew he was leading us there.

“You go first,” Knox said, motioning for me to take a bite.

I looked from the hot dog to him and then back again. “You’re going to watch me?” Did anyone enjoy being watched while they were eating? I certainly didn’t.

“Not if you don’t want me to, but come on, I want to see what you think.”

I arched a brow. “What’s so special about street vendor hot dogs? Aren’t they the same as regular ones from a store?”

“Bianca, they’re dirty.”

“Meaning they don’t change the water. Yeah, I’ve heard.”

He furrowed his brows. “Are you sure you’re from New York?”

“Har. Har. You’re a comedian.”

Looking pleased with himself, he grinned. “Thanks. Anyway, that’s a myth. It’s dirty because of the seasonings they put in the water in the vat. That guy uses cumin and red pepper flakes. It gives it an extra kick, if you ask me.”

“A kick?” I nearly choked, extending my hand that was holding the hot dog. “Oh, no! I don’t think this is for me. I’m not a spicy food lover. No, I’m more of a the-less-pepper-and-spicy-seasonings-the-better type of girl.”

He wasn’t hearing it, though, pushing it back to me. “Just try it. If you don’t like it, fine, but you have to least give it a try. It’s really not that spicy.”

“That’s what Kat said.”

His eyebrows drew in. “Who’s Kat?”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“Kat ate a spicy dish, too much pepper, too much cumin. She lost her ability to taste and smell. The doctor said the spices were killing her from the inside out and she had two months to live. It turned out they were wrong. She only had two days. And all because of the food she’d ate.”

He blinked once, twice, and then gave me a yeah-right look.

I couldn’t help myself, I laughed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know a Kat and that’s not true. I just had to. I mean, clearly it’s not true, it’s ridiculous, but the point of the elaborate story is that spicy food and I don’t mesh well.”

“So be it.” He shrugged, lifting his hand and bringing his hot dog to his mouth.

And I inhaled deeply, suddenly wishing that it was me his mouth was going to touch, that his teeth would be biting on my flesh. That—

Stop it! Stop it!

Idea: this could be my chance to torment him.

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