“Tell that to your bootyhole.”
It puckered on instinct. “I hate you.”
She smiled over at me. “I hate you, too.”
I clocked her work out of the corner of my eye while I cut everything else up into strips. I used a vegetable peeler to strip down the carrot so that we didn’t get any hard chunks of the shitin the pasta dish. I julienned the peppers, diced up a couple of onions, and?—
“Oh hell yeah,” Anna said.
I whipped my head toward her and found her ass poking out of the fridge again.
“What are you doing?” I asked as I looked at her working station.
I found a ball of dough sitting there wrapped in saran wrap.
“Did you know we’ve got bacon back here!?” she exclaimed as she moved her way out of the fridge.
She held up a package of bacon I missed.
“Huh,” I said.
She beamed with pride as she bumped the door closed with her hip. “I bet it would be great to pan fry those vegetables in bacon fat.”
I had to admit, the idea made my mouth water. So I nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Yessss,” she hissed as she tossed the package of bacon into the air and caught it. “I’ll save the grease back so you can use the same pan once I’m done.”
“Put the bacon in a Tupperware container when you’re done frying it off.”
She paused. “We aren’t putting it into the pasta? I thought it would be good in the pasta.”
I grinned as I went back to dealing with the vegetables. “When the bacon cools down enough to be crunchy, you shake the Tupperware container. Breaks it up without you having to use your hands.”
She didn’t answer me for a moment, so I peered back over at her only to find her gawking at me.
“What?” I asked.
“That’s fucking genius,” she said breathlessly.
I blinked. “What?”
“That bacon thing! Putting it into Tupperware and shaking it? How the fuck have I never thought of that? I hate breaking up fresh bacon with my hands. The slimy feeling is gross.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Glad I could help?”
“Eh, you’re useful sometimes. Now move. Need some tongs.”
I moved my hips back from the countertop as I leaned over and chopped up the rest of the vegetables. She reached in between my groin and the countertop, grabbing the knob of the drawer and pulling it open. I swear to fucking God, the knuckles on her hand just barely graced the zipper of my pants.
I felt the warmth through my goddamn black cargo pants.
“There we go,” she said as she pulled out a set of tongs and closed the drawer.
I damn near sagged with relief when her hand moved away.
I didn’t like the thoughts swirling through my head.
Minutes later, bacon was frying in the kitchen and filling it with a heavenly scent. Apparently, someone picked up some maple bacon, so I decided to add one last vegetable to the mix, which was a little bit of squash. The sweet would cut through the saltiness of the dish well, and the squash would absorb any lingering bacon grease in the pasta dish itself so that the pasta wouldn’t wilt or get weird if we had to store leftovers.
