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)
“You sound like a good son.” Spencer gave him an encouraging smile. “Does she know about you being pan?”
That made Bacon laugh. “Yeah. She probably knew before me, to be honest. She’s always been great about...whatever people I bring to meet her.”
For an instant, he wondered what his mother would make of the cultured and oh-so-smooth Spencer. She’d probably pat her hair a lot, not sure how to act. And Bacon had to smile at that image of a meeting that was never going to happen—even if something were possible between them, which it was most certainly not, Spencer was hardly the meet-the-parents type.
“What?” Spencer gave him a bemused expression, letting Bacon know he’d been lost in thought longer than he’d assumed.
“Nothing.” Bacon shrugged. “Damn. I wish we had some of Curly’s playing cards. Waiting sucks.”
“Yeah, but you probably have to wait a lot on missions, right? Being the sniper and all?”
“Yeah. I’m never the best at waiting, though. I like being around people. Being alone with my thoughts makes me do stupid stuff to pass the time.”
“Oh? Like?” Spencer’s smile was encouraging but his eyes sparked.
“Okay, you gotta promise not to laugh. Or add it to your article...”
“I promise,” Spencer said solemnly, and strangely enough, Bacon believed him.
“I recite song lyrics in my head. Or poetry. Little bits of stuff I can remember from different places. Or sometimes I write my own awful stuff and then if I remember, I transfer it to a notebook back on base.”
“That’s seriously cool.” Spencer’s eyes were wide. “So...no chance of me seeing any of this?”
“Not a one.” Bacon laughed. “I’ve got poetry in my tats but other people’s—nothing I write is good enough for the light of day.”
“I highly doubt that.” Tilting his head, Spencer considered him. “But which lyrics are in your tats? Now I’m curious.”
“You’re always curious.” Bacon groaned. He was on edge, the same sort of energy that made him climb forbidden objects as a kid. And right then, Spencer was every bit as tempting as a water tower with a ladder in jumping reach. “Tell you what... You show me your tattoo and I’ll show you some of mine. You could show me this tattoo your parents hate.”
“You want to see my tattoo?” Spencer’s eyes went wide. “It’s nothing special. It’s very twenty-two-year-old emo.”
“Hey, I wrote that book, man.” Bacon laughed. “I’ll show you mine, emo poetry and all, if you show me what you got.”
“Deal.” Spencer swiveled. He hiked up his shirt and undershirt, revealing a medium-size tattoo on his left shoulder. It was a kneeling, weeping angel with drooping wings.
“A fallen angel?” Bacon guessed. The tattoo was good quality for being older—lines still crisp and not blurry, but it was Spencer’s bare torso with miles of creamy skin that really captivated him.
“Yeah. Told you. I was angry and emotional and thought my life was ending if I couldn’t dance professionally. I could have had it lasered off, but I’ve kept it as a reminder to never lose perspective again.” Eyes far away, Spencer shook his head as he lowered his shirt before turning back around. “Okay. Your turn.”
“My biggest one is on my ribs.” Bacon still wasn’t quite sure why he was doing this—it wasn’t just the risk of being caught showing off his skin. It was the risk of letting Spencer in, sharing so much with him. But it was weird. A part of him seemed compelled to keep talking. There was so much he’d held in for years. Letting it trickle out to Spencer’s patient ears felt far better than he ever could have predicted.
He pulled up his shirt to display his tattoo with its big, blocky gothic font, Never to suffer would never to have been blessed. Next to the quote was a half-melted candle and Jamie’s initials. Obviously it wasn’t the sort of thing he could keep hidden—people he took to bed got to see it, as did the guys while changing, but he’d never deliberately showed it off before, opening himself up to inspection and inevitable questions. As he’d expected, Spencer peered intently at it, leaning closer.
“Need a magnifying glass?” he offered. Then to cover his discomfort, he added, “Like I said, totally emo. And pre-enlistment. Don’t think I would have gotten it if I knew how much I’d be changing around other people.”
“It’s a memorial tattoo?” Spencer asked softly. “I recognize the Edgar Allan Poe quote.”
“Yeah. A friend. We were emo freaks together. Read Poe, listened to metal bands back in my room for hours.” Bacon pulled his shirt back down. Then he shocked himself by continuing to talk. “I told you earlier that my dad’s why I went navy and SEALs, but that’s not all of it. Jamie’s a big part of that story.”
“I’d like to hear it.” Spencer settled on the dusty ground like he was ready for Bacon’s version of storytime. And Bacon supposed something in him wanted to share this story. Following Spencer’s lead, he sank to a crouch. He’d already told Spencer he was pan. Maybe this tale would remove some of his incredulity. And maybe Bacon simply needed to tell someone.