Just My Type(40)

“Maybe I shouldn’t yell surprise. It might scare this sweet little guy,” Baker states, pulling his head back to look down at the monster he’s cradling to his chest. “Should I be holding him? Should I put him in his cage and let Lincoln come over on his own? Should I be sitting or standing? Standing might be too intimidating. I should sit.”

As soon as I get within arm’s reach of the two of them, that beady-eyed motherfucker turns and hisses at me. And the sound of that thing is not like a normal cat hiss. It’s a sort of clicking-hiss, like an overloading radiator that sounds like it’s coming straight from the bowels of hell.

“Oh, you just shut the hell up,” I mutter to the animal before addressing Baker. “Don’t worry; it will be fine. Lincoln is easily impressed. Just last week, he found a rock at school and wouldn’t stop talking about it for days. You’re slightly more interesting than a rock, so you should have at least six days before you start to bore him.”

Baker shakes his head at me, but at least he’s smiling and doesn’t look like he might throw up. The doorbell chimes again, and Baker quickly puts the asshole hedgehog back into its cage we set up on the coffee table.

Walking over to the door while Baker secures the cage, I unlock it and open it with a big smile on my face, expecting to see Lincoln standing on the front stoop. Instead, it’s just Greg, Brandon’s friend and co-worker.

“Oh, hey, Greg. Where’s Lincoln?” I ask, looking over his shoulder to see his car parked at the curb.

I met Greg a few times when we first moved here, and have seen him off and on over the last year and a half at school functions for our kids. Brandon kept trying to push me to be friends with his wife, but she’s one of the stuck-up, snobby mothers at the school, who wanted nothing to do with me. At least Greg was a friendly enough guy, and I knew him well enough to let him bring Lincoln home from school.

“Oh, he’s still in the car with Alec. They were in the middle of playing some game on Lincoln’s iPad, so I thought I’d come up and see how you’re doing while they finished up,” he tells me.

Sliding his hands into the front pockets of his black dress pants, he leans his shoulder against the doorjamb and looks at me with a serious expression.

“So, how are you?” he asks. “I’ve been meaning to stop by and check on you since the divorce went through. I feel like such a dick that I haven’t made the time.”

Greg and I have only made polite small talk all the times we’ve seen each other. The way he’s studying me right now, with concern all over his face, is… weird. We’re not friends. We’re acquaintances, because he works with my ex and our kids go to the same school. There’s no reason he should feel like a dick about anything. Especially about not stopping by to check on the ex-wife of his co-worker, who he’s only ever spoken to about the weather and how bad traffic is here.

“I’m great. Fine. Just… great,” I tell him, wishing I could telepathically inform my son to get his butt moving and get out of the car.

“Well, you look great.” He smiles at me. “Listen, I have four tickets to a Cubs game next week. They’re for the Lexus Dugout club seats, right behind home plate. Most expensive seats in the park. Why don’t you and Lincoln join Alec and me? We’ll make a day of it. Have some fun. Wait till I tell you how much I paid for these seats. It will blow your mind.”

Eew, gross. He sounds just like Brandon. What the fuck is happening right now?

“Um, that’s really nice of you to offer, but… you should probably, I don’t know, take your wife?” I suggest.

Greg chuckles at me.

“You’re just so adorable. I tell Brandon all the time what an idiot he is for letting you go. Grace is visiting family in Italy for the next two weeks, and these tickets really shouldn’t go to waste. What do you say?”

No, seriously. What the fuck is going on?

Before I can ask Greg if he suffered a concussion in the last few minutes, I feel a strong arm slide around my waist, and I’m instantly tugged against Baker’s side.

“Hey there, Craig. How’s it going? I’m Baker,” he says, his arm tightening around me, holding me more securely to him as he leans forward with his hand outstretched.

“It’s Greg,” the man on my front porch mutters as he takes Baker’s hand, looking back and forth between us.

Baker nods, his hand attached to the arm that’s around me suddenly moving away from my side, to slide its way up my spine. His flattened palm gently glides over the back of my neck, to move out and rest on top of my shoulder, where he starts gently massaging it until my knees start feeling weak with how good it feels.

“Right, right.” Baker continues to nod as he drops Greg’s hand, lulling me into a daze as he tenderly rubs my shoulder and my body sags into his side. “Well, Bill, thanks for bringing Ember’s son home. We’ve got a little surprise set up for him, so if you don’t mind….”

If I wasn’t melting into a puddle of goo in my doorway right now, I’d probably laugh at the annoyed look on Greg’s face, as Baker’s hand keeps gently massaging my shoulder. Greg finally turns away, muttering something about going to get Lincoln for us as he walks down the steps, and I look away from him to glance up at Baker. Whose eyes are currently narrowed as he stares at Greg walking down the sidewalk, and a low, barely audible growl comes out his mouth.