Just My Type(45)

Her hand still rubs my knee softly as she looks at me.

“So, I opened a gym just for wounded veterans, where people wouldn’t stare, and where no one gave a shit how you got your injury,” I add. “We just care about making you feel human again, and giving you some control back.”

Ember’s hand still moves on top of my knee, the tips of her fingers gently pushing into the flesh around my kneecap, and I’m still not moving a goddamn inch, because I’m pretty sure she has no idea she automatically reached out to soothe me when she saw I was in pain a few minutes ago. Plus, she’s starting to sort of sway closer to me, and she smells fucking delicious, and all of this is making my dick hard.

Christ, this woman….

“I thought you didn’t like talking about yourself and how awesome you are, and that’s why you were being a big baby about doing this interview. You big, fat liar.”

Ember tsks and shakes her head at me, her hand still rub-rub-rubbing away until my eyes want to roll into the back of my head.

“What can I say? You bring out the word-vomit in me,” I tell her, pushing myself off my hands until our noses are almost touching.

Her mouth drops open with a small gasp, and our faces are so close I can feel her warm breath puffing against my lips.

“Or maybe you should practice what you preach, and stop apologizing that you might just be a little better than mediocre,” she says softly, not making any move to pull away from me.

Fuck, I want to kiss this woman.

“So what you’re saying is, you think I’m hot?”

“Absolutely not,” she immediately lies.

“You sure about that?”

“Positively.”

Her mouth pinches together as she swallows thickly, all those adorable lies clearly getting stuck in her throat, since she still isn’t moving away from me.

“And yet, you can’t keep your hands off me.” I smirk, looking away from her to glance down at my knee, where her hand is still taking me to the Promised Land.

Just like I suspected, when Ember looks down and realizes that she, in fact, cannot keep her hands off of me, she yanks her hand away from my knee like it’s hot lava and was melting her skin off.

“You’re blushing, Tink.”

Her eyes narrow on me.

“Ready to turn that page yet?” I ask, reaching over to brush a strand of hair behind her ear that fell out at some point during the day.

She smacks my hand away with an eye roll and a huff.

“You pinky swore,” she reminds me.

You’re goddamn right I did. Which is why my tongue isn’t currently halfway down your throat.

“Yep.” I just nod, trying not to laugh as I watch her scramble away from me as quickly as possible, banging her knee on one of the steps and slamming her elbow into the black metal hand railing before she finally makes it to the door.

One of the most important things the military taught me was patience. I can be patient with Ember while I wait for her to clue in and figure out that we’ve pretty much been dating this entire time, just without the naked parts.

“I will await your email so we can schedule our next interview,” Ember says formally.

Grabbing her cell phone that still sits on the steps next to me, I hold it out to her.

“Do you need this? It’s probably easier to transcribe how much you want me when you have proof.” I smile.

Ember snatches the phone out of my hand in annoyance, jabbing her finger against the screen to stop the recording.

“I hope Ron Jeremy eats off your dick the next time you see him.”

“Take it back,” I order with shocked, wide eyes, pressing my hand over my heart. “Also, you’re talking about my dick again.”

Without another word, Ember turns around with a flourish, holding her middle finger up in the air as she lets herself back inside the house.

Oh yeah. It’s definitely going to be fun when she realizes she turned the page the day she replied to my first email.





CHAPTER 18





It’s Not Me; It’s You


To: Ember Hastings

From: Baker Matthews

Subject: Re: Love of My Life

I apologize if the new subject line gave you a fright. After the time we spent together on Friday, I can’t hold it in any longer. Ember… how’s Ron Jeremy? How did he sleep? Did he ask about me? I ordered him a pair of blue, striped socks so his little feet don’t get cold. I did expedited, overnight shipping, so they should be delivered any time now.

Just thought you’d like to know, I sent the transcripts you’ve done over to the magazine, and they love everything so far. I’d congratulate you on a job well done, but we both know it’s all thanks to me and my charming personality.

What are you doing Wednesday evening? Next interview at my place, at five. There will be food, and dessert, and games. A good time shall be had.

Baker and R.J. Forever Matthews

To: Baker Matthews

From: Ron Jeremy

Subject: Re: Go Away

It’s not me; it’s you. Stop being a stage-five clinger. I need my space, you freak. And stop buying me shit. I don’t need a tiny tuxedo, I don’t need a tiny life jacket for bath time, I don’t need a tiny canopy bed for inside my cage, and I don’t need a lobster costume. But I’m keeping the red cowboy hat and the blue-and-white striped socks, because I look fucking magnificent in them.