Page 9 of Bringing Home the Bacon
This is wild. I’m engaged in a bizarre mating ritual on the sidewalks of New York City, and no one is giving me a second glance!
I love this city.
I inhale the scent of gel in his dark hair and the fresh soap on his tan skin. “You showered, huh? That’s why you kept me waiting?”
He loosens my hold and turns around to face me. Seeing those chocolate-brown eyes this close is startling. “Well, I couldn’t take a beautiful girl out on a date smelling like cooking spray and sweat, could I?”
“I mean, you could,” I say. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the attention to detail, but…” I lower my voice and crook my finger for him to come even closer. When he’s close enough to kiss, I whisper in his ear, “I’m a sure thing, stud.”
Stud. What a word. I’ve never in my life called someone a stud until today. And suddenly, it’s my word of choice when it comes to him?
Where did that even come from?
I flashback to nearly two decades ago. It was a few years before my parents’ accident. I must have been around eight. My mom and I were watching an old DVD of Grease. She loved that movie. I’m guessing because her name was Sandy too. When you’re one of five kids and your parents are super in love—a.k.a. borderline obsessed with each other—like mine were, it’s hard to get quality one-on-one time with your mom, so I was in heaven that day. I remember being confused by that pivotal scene at the end of the movie, though. It made no sense to me why Danny was so mean to Sandy when she was sweet and wore her pretty yellow skirt and sweater set earlier, and then he worshipped at her feet when she was kind of rude, wearing a tight black leather outfit and puffing a cigarette. But then she said, “Tell me about it, stud,” and something must have clicked in my little kid brain and stored information away for the future. That “stud” unlocked all of Sandy’s power! After she called Danny “stud,” there were suddenly no lines for the carnival rides, the boy she loved was literally chasing her, and her entire small town broke out in song to celebrate her. Her car even learned how to fly!
Stud is a magical word.
A guy with a briefcase yells at us for blocking the sidewalk, so I back up against the building to clear the path. The object of my affection follows me just like Danny Zuko did and—oh my god—he does that thing where he cages me in by bracing his arm on the wall! I’ve always wanted a guy to pull out this move, but they never do!
“Is your name really Bacon?” I ask in as sultry a tone as I can muster.
“It is, and it isn’t,” He bows his head down so his pillowy lips can skim my neck. I lift my chin to give him easier access and revel in his trim beard's gentle scratch against my cheek.
“What does that mean, stud?” I breathe.
He chuckles. “It means that, yes, everyone calls me Bacon, but you won’t find that name on my birth certificate.”
“What name would I find on your birth certificate, stud?”
Okay, I think I’m overdoing it with the stud thing now.
He pulls back from me a few inches and cocks his head playfully. “You’re calling me stud an awful lot.”
My cheeks heat. “Sorry, stud. I mean— I know I am. I’ll stop. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s cute. I, uh, I don’t tell anyone my real name until I get to know them better. But I’d like to get to know you better.” He takes that opportunity to brush a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. “Can you work with that?”
I can work with the way his touch keeps sending tingles down my body.
I’m at a loss for words, so I just nod.
”What is your name?” he asks.
What is my name? It doesn’t have to be Colleen today, right? Today, I can be anyone I want. Besides, if he’s going to call himself Bacon, I’ll call myself…
“Cookie,” I say. “My name is Cookie.”
“Really?” His normally low voice pitches upward.
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess you don’t seem like a Cookie.”
“Why?” I run a finger all the way down his chest and grab his belt buckle in my fist when I reach his waist. “You don’t want to take a bite of my ooey-gooey center?” I give his belt a tug to draw him close to me again.
I know the voice coming out of me is mine, but I barely recognize it. It comes from somewhere deep inside me. A place that’s bold and brave and—if I’m being honest—bizarre. No one ever told me that letting your freak flag fly is the key to feeling free. Now that I know? I’m going to wave my weirdness at him like it’s my damn job.
“No, I do want to bite you,” he says. “If you, uh, if you consent to being bitten.”
