Page 17 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“Nothing. I, um…” God, he looks good. “I just… I missed my opportunity to have sex with you.”
Smooth, girl. Smooth.
Bacon laughs. He has an incredible laugh. “The night is still young, Cookie.”
He winks, then turns back to the stove, giving me that delightful view of his bare butt again. One pull of that red string and that apron would come tumbling down. Somehow, I manage to control myself.
“But I, uh—I do owe you an explanation for that.” He arranges two plates of eggs and bacon, sets them on the small marble island in the center of the space, and pulls up two red stools.
“I’ve been wondering about that. Typically, don’t men fall asleep after they orgasm?” I joke as I take a seat beside him and pick up a fork. “When I walked in the room, you were sound asleep, pork sword still at half-mast.”
He chokes on his eggs. “Excuse me, did you just say I have a pork sword?”
“One hell of a pork sword, yes,” I nod and take a bite. Of my eggs, that is.
“Huh.” Bacon takes a second to ponder my impromptu pet name for his penis. “I don’t hate it.”
He gets lost in my eyes for a moment, and a brilliant smile spreads across his handsome face. I’m pretty sure it mirrors the one on mine.
“Where was I?” he asks.
“You were explaining why you left me with an epic case of lady blue balls.”
“Right, right.” He laughs. “Alright, so I have no idea how I’m still in this competition because I am internally freaking out every second I’m on that set. And today was even worse than usual since it was our first studio audience.”
“Really?” I gnaw on a piece of thick-cut bacon. “You’d never know.”
“Even when I’m splattering the host with chocolate sauce because my hands won’t stop shaking?”
“Aw, that was nothing,” I soothe. “You heard Mairin. She ‘never objects to a handsome guy splattering her with sauce.’ Sidebar: isn’t it a bit cannibalistic for us to be eating bacon right now?”
“I’ve endured this pork-centric nickname for over a decade,” he says as he holds up his own slice. “Should I also have to suffer through abstaining from eating bacon? We all know bacon is fucking delicious.”
“It is indeed.” I hold up my slice and tap it to his. “Cheers.”
“Oh! That reminds me. How about an evening mimosa? I got the oranges at the Union Square farmers' market. Champagne is from this great little shop on Columbus and Seventy-third. Do you know it?”
“I don’t think so.” Because I lied to you, and I don’t really live here. “But a mimosa sounds great, thank you.”
He moves to the refrigerator and gets a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. “Anyway, I never considered myself a particularly anxious person, but it turns out, if you put me on a stage or in a spotlight, I’m a mess. I use every ounce of mental and emotional energy I have to get through these tapings, and then I pass out after every single one—whether I like it or not.” He pours the juice into two fluted glasses. “That wasn’t a problem until I brought a beautiful, hilarious woman home with me, and I crashed right when things were getting good.” He grabs a bottle of champagne. “Who am I kidding? Things were good the moment I laid eyes on her, and they only got better from there. Plus, it was pretty adorable that she snuggled up and napped right along with me.”
He is the sweetest man.
“Gosh, who is this woman? She sounds fantastic.”
“Oh, she is. She’s hot as hell too. The second I saw her, my pork sword was like…” He positions the bottle of champagne right at his crotch, and with a loud pop, the cork goes flying.
I laugh my ass off. “You’re a ridiculous person.”
“Is that okay?” He places the glass of juice in my hand and tops it off with champagne.
“More than okay, yeah. I like my guys with a touch of weird.”
He smiles as he pours champagne into his own glass. His voice is like melted butter when he cups my cheek and says, “Seriously, I’m sorry I let you down, but I’m hoping you’ll forgive me and offer me another chance.”
Funny, I’m hoping he’ll forgive me and offer me another chance too.
“Nothing to forgive,” I avoid his gaze and look down at his kitchen island, where a piece of mail catches my attention. “Who is Harold Hot Man?”
