Just My Type(38)

Baker laughs at me and stands back up as we continue strolling through the store.

“I mean, is finding childcare really that hard? Can’t you just put out a bowl of water and throw some kibble at them?”

An outraged gasp flies out of me, and Baker laughs again, quickly shaking his head at me.

“I’m kidding! I checked with Blake both times before I sent you those emails, and she was fully on board to watch your son if needed,” he explains. “You already know she herself is a mom to my beautiful four-year-old niece, but she’s also certified in CPR, because she works at the gym. I trust her more than anyone else in this world. Just want to make sure you’re clear on that, and that I would never suggest letting someone take care of Lincoln who wasn’t absolutely trustworthy.”

My dead, black heart actually starts to fucking pitter-pat in my chest. Why does he have to be so sweet? Whyyy?

“Oh, shit!” Baker suddenly shouts, stopping abruptly in front of a wall. “This is it. This is the pet you have to buy for him. It’s small, and awesome, and his friends at school will be so fucking jealous. You have to get it. You have to!”

I can’t help but laugh at the excitement in Baker’s voice as I move around him to see what he’s looking at in the small glass enclosure built into the wall.

“There’s no way that’s really for sale. Can people actually have these things as pets?” I ask curiously, melting just the smallest amount when it’s tiny, black, beady eyes stare at me through the glass. “Shit, he’s adorable. I want him. I don’t even care if he’s harder to take care of than a puppy. He has to be mine.”

“Look at him. Just look at him. He’s all alone in there, just begging for you to rescue him,” Baker tells me, squatting down and gently rubbing his finger against the glass, the animal putting his nose right up against Baker’s finger on the other side. “Aren’t you, my little fluffy-wuffy, baby boy. Yes you are begging to be rescued with those sad, watery eyes. Does little cutie like to snuggle? I bet you do like to snuggle, don’t you?”

An unladylike snort comes out of me, listening to Baker talk to the animal. He quickly stands up, clears his throat, and makes a show out of brushing his hands together, like he just finished chopping some wood, instead of baby-talking to an animal.

“I’ll just… go find a manager and get all the details for you,” Baker informs me with a serious nod.

“Make sure you tell the manager I want this little fluffy-wuffy, and not a different fluffy-wuffy,” I tell him, unable to keep my laughter in check.

“Hey, I like animals. Don’t judge me,” he informs me, leaning his face closer to mine. “I especially like tiny little things who look all soft and sweet and cuddly, but might actually stab you if you get too close and piss them off. It’s very exciting.” With a wink, he pulls away from me. “I told you my expertise was needed today. Tell me I’m a genius,” Baker encourages.

“You’re pissing me off, and I’m starting to feel stabby,” I mutter.

He just smiles at me before turning and starting to walk away.

“Hey! We can’t just get a pet and leave. We didn’t even get any work done! The whole point of you coming with me was so we could work!” I shout after him as he side-steps a dog food display.

“Guess I’ll just have to go home with you then so we can finish working!” he shouts back over his shoulder before disappearing down an aisle, while I absolutely was not staring at his ass.

Son of a bitch!



“I have made a grave mistake,” I whisper into my phone as I peek around the corner of the hallway, where I’ve been hiding for the last ten minutes.

“What’s he doing now?” Brooklyn whispers back to me, which is just ridiculous since she’s in Montana, and not standing next to me, acting like a stalker.

Just like the last eight-thousand times I’ve looked around this corner since I scurried back here as soon as we finished building the cage, the same sight awaits me when I glance into my living room from the hallway—Baker, lounging back into the cushions of my couch, with his sock-covered feet kicked up on my coffee table, with that… little fluffy ball of asshole curled up on his chest, burrowing into the side of his neck.

It’s so goddamn adorable I feel like I’m going to swoon.

“He hasn’t moved. He’s still on the couch, snuggling that little asshole,” I mutter as quietly as possible, as I continue staring at the man who looks like he just… belongs in my home.

He didn’t make me feel ashamed that my house is so small, and nothing matches because I got all my furniture and odds and ends at flea markets and Goodwill. He told me it was homey, and warm, and comfortable, and for some strange reason, I didn’t feel nervous showing him around. Granted, the entire tour of this place took roughly thirty-seven seconds and I didn’t have time to be nervous, but still. It felt right having him here, lounging on my couch, amongst my bargain basement things. And that was wrong.

Sooo, wrong.

“I still can’t believe you bought Lincoln a hedgehog for a pet.” Brooklyn laughs.

“Shut up,” I complain softly. “It was Baker’s idea. And that little fucker is an imposter. He acted all sweet and sad at the pet store, and then as soon as we got him here, he turned into the devil incarnate.”