Man Hands

by Sarina Bowen

  A knee-quaking orgasm.

  Still, my little brain can’t quite make sense of this until the dust—my organic flour—settles. And then…

  I see Ash and Braht, covered head to toe in flour. They’re like two abominable snowmen standing in a pile of…clothes. Because they are naked. Totally naked. Covered in flour. I look down. If Braht really is named after bratwurst, I totally get it, because damn.

  “Holy…!” I’m officially flailing. Literally flailing, and shoving my body in front of the door’s opening, hoping the camera angle didn’t catch anything juicy.

  But, hey, I’m a professional, so I recover rather quickly. “Holy sausage, I love my new pantry!” Maybe that line seems odd, but it’s the best I can do. We are live, and it’s happening right now, and a girl has to realize that this is a Julia Child moment. WWJC do? I face the camera and give a big, crazy smile. “Sugar, please!” I call over my shoulder. “And step on it.”

  There’s the sound of movement behind me, and a canister is placed in my hand.

  I slam the pantry door. “Isn’t that a great feature!” I babble.

  Tom is doubled over with silent laughter, so it’s possible we just made another accidental porn flick. It’s really surprising how easy it is to do that. Who knew?

  “All right,” I say, plunking the sugar down and opening the canister. I add the pinch of sugar to my other ingredients and stir up the batter. If I pretend like nothing happened, the lion’s share of my viewers might not even notice.

  This could go down like that ghost boy behind the curtains in that scene from Three Men and a Baby. Weird, but less distracting than you’d think.

  Ghost boy. Ghost bratwurst. Same thing?

  “Don’t overmix!” I say cheerfully. “The buttermilk will activate the baking soda for a nice rise.”

  There are tears rolling down Tom’s face now.

  “Then you put your wiener on a stick,” I say, daring the camera to try it. “Like this.” I jam a hot dog onto a wooden skewer and wonder what Braht’s wiener is up to in my pantry.

  “Dip…twist…” I coat the hot dog with corn-dog batter. “And, fry!”

  I slip the first dog into the fryer. The sizzle covers the sound of Tom’s hysterical hiccups.

  And so it goes. I fry. I make slaw. And, on his side of the counter, Tom sobers up enough that I invite him into the shot as I’m plating the food. “You know who I’m going to share this with, right? Mr. Fixit is here. He built this fab kitchen.” I smile at him and beckon.

  I can almost hear our live viewership saying “awwww” as Tom steps behind the counter to give me a hug.

  “Want the first bite, you big corn dog?” I ask him, holding up a skewer.

  “Anytime, anyplace, honeybunch.” He gives me a quick kiss that’s sure to break hearts. “Anything you make me is my new favorite food.”

  I hope our viewership is melting, because I surely am.

  He picks up another corn dog and hands it to me. We tap them together, as if toasting with glasses of fine champagne. Tom reaches over to tap a button which will play our outro music for the viewers. Then he loops his arm around me and takes another bite.

  His computer chimes.

  “That’s a wrap!” my honey says.

  Then we both burst out laughing.

  Tom shuts off the lights and folds me into his arms, his Man Hands landing firmly where they belong: on my ass. He’s still laughing. And kissing me.

  Sadie comes in with the girls and frowns at a trace of flour on the floor outside the pantry. “Uh-oh. Looks like there was an accident.”

  “Oh, you have no idea!” I say.

  “Shut it,” a voice says from behind the pantry door. There’s some shuffling and then Ash finally opens the door, still completely dusted, but at least dressed.

  “Not. One. Word.” She smooths her hair. As we all watch, she walks slowly and methodically across the kitchen and to the bathroom.

  “She totally hates me,” Braht says, emerging from the pantry.

  “She does,” Tom agrees.

  “I’m so into that,” Braht says. He grabs a corn dog off the plate.

  We all laugh again. Maybe because we’re giddy, maybe because it’s a stress relief, or maybe because seeing Ash walk past us like the Queen of England after getting groped by Mr. Bratwurst is about as amazing as watching a total eclipse.

  Tom leans in and whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to see what you’ll cook up next.”

  “Whatever it is, it’ll be an adventure,” I say, because that’s how my life with Tom is. One adventure after another. Awkward, ridiculous, and beautiful all at once.

  “Now we eat!” I announce. It’s corn dogs for everyone.

  No one—not even Sadie—reaches for the slaw first.

  Thank you so much for reading!

  Next up: Man Card by Sarina Bowen & Tanya Eby. Get your copy today!

  Copyright © 2017 by Sarina Bowen and Tanya Eby

  All rights reserved. This ebook file is for your personal enjoyment only and may not be shared, except where authorized and accommodated by your ebook vendor.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover photo by Perpis, Cover design by Christine Coffee of Coffee Creates Covers.