Page 16 of Bringing Home the Bacon
It’s possible you don’t know everything about me, brother.
Sam-Dan
Possible I suppose but not likely
I’m glad you’re okay
See you tonight
Yeah. See you tonight.
What people say about being a twin is true: it’s a connection like none other. It’s powerful. Beautiful. Mystical even. It can also be extremely irritating. Sam and I have experienced the typical twin stuff you hear about. He can look at me and know what I’m feeling, even when I desperately try to hide my emotions. When we were eleven and he broke his left arm on the school playground, I felt an instant ache in my left arm even though I was home sick that day and had no idea what was happening. When we were toddlers learning to talk, I instinctively called him Sam-Dan. This dumbfounded our parents because apparently, while we were in utero, they kept going back and forth on whether to name him Samuel or Daniel. Somehow, I just knew that and have always called him Sam-Dan.
Oh and, subconsciously, Sam always knows when I’m about to have sex.
I haven’t dared to tell another human—not even Sam—about this phenomenon because it’s so beyond bizarre. Honestly, up until today, I couldn’t quite believe it myself. But my experience this afternoon proves it. Every single time I’ve had—or attempted to have—sex, my twin brother has texted me saying his twin-sense is telling me I’m in danger.
Yeah, Sam. In danger of having too many orgasms.
“You’re not standing in my way today, brother,” I mumble as I power down my phone. “Today, I’m getting mine.”
Or maybe not.
Because when I strut back into Bacon’s bedroom to join him, he’s still deliciously sprawled out in the covers, but he’s sound asleep.
Chapter 6
Colleen
“Mmm.” I roll over in my half-asleep state and smile in the dark. Why do I feel so…fantastic? I’m naked, wrapped up in the softest blanket. My breathing is smooth and deep. My mind and body haven’t felt this relaxed in months. It’s like I’m resting on a warm, beautiful cloud. The cool air carries the faint strains of music and the scent of… bacon?
The food, not the man.
That’s when it all comes rushing back. I just had almost sex with a man named Bacon.
I bolt upright in an unfamiliar bed. “OHMYGOD, WHAT TIME IS IT?!” The room I’m in is way darker now than it was before. I can’t immediately locate my clothes, so I wrap a bedsheet around my naked body and hurry toward the kitchen.
What I see in that kitchen stops me in my tracks. The sexy man I dallied with this afternoon stands at his stove, frying eggs and bacon and listening to acoustic rock. He’s wearing a red apron and absolutely nothing underneath. His back is turned to me, so I have an incredible view of his bare, rock-hard ass.
He senses my presence and turns around with a spatula in hand. “Oh, hi!” he shouts over the music, then quickly lowers the volume. “Have a nice nap?”
“What time is it?” I root around in my purse, find my phone, and power it back on.
“It’s, uh…” He checks the electric clock on his stove. “It’s five after eight.”
“Eight o’clock? At night?!” I shout. The chartered bus arranged by Fork Lick Elementary left five minutes ago. I frantically scroll through the online schedule for public buses heading to Greene County from Port Authority.
It’s just as I feared. The last bus leaves in fifteen minutes. I’ll never make it.
“Yeah…” he says cautiously. “I know it’s nighttime, but I’m a breakfast-for-dinner kinda guy. Is that not okay? I’m happy to make you something else.”
“The food is fine!” I wince. “I just missed my—” I stop myself midsentence. I already told him I’m a New Yorker and my penthouse is being renovated, so I can’t exactly tell him I missed the last bus back to my little farming town and have no place to go tonight. Not without admitting to him I’m a big fat liar.
My brain cycles through possible ways to get home tonight without blowing my cover. Call one of my brothers to come get me? No way. Find a taxi willing to take a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Upstate New York? I may as well kiss my first week of teacher’s pay goodbye.
You’ll figure this out, Colleen. You always do. Just like you figured out how to get our farm out of debt. Oh, that’s right, you haven’t.
“You missed your what?” He waits patiently for my answer.
