Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Because he didn’t want to be a pissy bastard the whole flight, he forced himself to wink and joke. “That’s strictly need-to-know.”
“Got it.” Spencer smiled at him and something low unfurled in Bacon’s gut. Oh no. This was no good. He could not go liking this guy, not even a small amount. His transgression last night had to be a momentary lapse, not the start of any sort of hopeless crush. It was going to be a long damn flight and even longer mission, trying to keep his distance from Spencer Bryant.
Chapter Five
Spencer looked up from his laptop as the speakers crackled. “Cockpit here, and we’re hitting some rough air, so we’re flipping the seatbelt sign on.”
Next to him Bacon had been notably quiet since his dramatic arrival. He’d fetched a small paperback from his bag and had been absorbed in what looked to be a biography of Marilyn Manson. And hell if that little detail didn’t make him all the more intriguing. Bacon, he of the no first name, had a Midwestern accent—flat vowels, not quite Southern, but definitely country—and the sort of wholesome good looks that would make him more at home in a small-town parade than at a rave.
“Fuck.” Bacon found the seatbelt he hadn’t bothered with before, and Spencer did the same. “Can’t read with all this bouncing around. Not sure how you’re managing to write.”
“Years of practice. I’ve written during all sorts of turbulence. My ex was based out of DC for a large chunk of our marriage. I wrote most of my first book on cross-country flights from LA.”
“I’m impressed you guys managed to make the long-distance thing work.” Bacon laughed, seemingly much more at ease talking about Spencer’s life than his own.
“Well, clearly we weren’t all that great at it, seeing as how we split up and all,” Spencer admitted. “But to be honest, it wasn’t the distance that caused the divorce. We were just two different people. Too independent or something, I guess.”
“Distance is always hard,” Bacon said with the sage wisdom of someone who knew. “You have no idea how many post-deployment breakups we see around here.”
“I bet.” Spencer nodded, gripping the armrest as they bounced through another rough pocket. Talking to Bacon was far preferable to trying to type through this. He hadn’t been lying about being able to write through anything, but he’d never turn down good conversation. “How about you? You have someone back in San Diego?”
“Nah.” Bacon’s expression turned decidedly sour, and something in his tone warned Spencer off further inquiry about his personal life. “There’s plenty of guys here partnered up if you want to write about military families—Curly’s getting married, Donaldson’s married to a Southern woman with the patience of Job, and the senior chief has an amazing family. His wife is seriously the best. The guy you met at BUD/S, Wizard, has a new husband who’s a great guy.”
“That’s great. Having family that supports your career is so important.” He couldn’t help the decades’ worth of resentment that crept into his voice.
“Yours doesn’t?” Bacon sounded surprised, eyes going wide. “I’d think anyone would love having a globetrotting reporter for a son.”
“Well, thank you.” Despite himself, Spencer felt his neck heat. The compliment felt far better than it should have. “But I wasn’t supposed to end up in journalism.”
“Really? How come?” Bacon seemed genuinely baffled and like he really did want to know. The plane continued to rattle and bump with turbulence, but Spencer leaned back, settling in for a story he didn’t share all that often.
“My mother was a ballerina who retired when she married my art-dealer father. She had me in dance lessons from toddlerhood on. I was on my school paper in high school, but it was supposed to be an extracurricular to help me with my NYU performing arts application, not be the start of some lifelong passion.” Spencer sighed at the memory of how carefully he’d plotted his future back then. “And I had a good career at Tisch, several solos and promising performances.”
“Seriously? Like in tights and all?” Bacon’s head tilted, a smile tugging at his full lips. And he didn’t seem as repulsed by the notion as Spencer would have thought. Spencer was trying to not read too much into him naming Wizard and his husband among his contacts—Bacon was most likely simply a decent guy with a broad social circle. A decent straight guy. But still... Some inner sense of Spencer’s tingled, suggesting that maybe guys in tights did it for Bacon. More and more intriguing...
“Lots of tights,” he confirmed. “I minored in journalism because I’d enjoyed it in high school, and it was nice to get away from the performing arts buildings every now and again, but I knew dance was my future, even though I struggled with my choreography classes.”