Just My Type(51)

When my doorbell rings again and I realize I’m still sitting here, contemplating life, and how much I really, really want bread, I quickly get up from the couch and race over to answer the door.

“It’s about time, loser,” Blake greets me as soon as I open the door, walking right into my house like she’s been here a hundred times before. “If you were busy diddling yourself, I don’t want to know.”

I’m smiling and shaking my head at the same time I close the door and turn around to face Baker’s sister. She reminds me so much of Brooklyn that it makes me happy and homesick all at the same time.

“Our first time hanging out together doesn’t need to start with me puking because you were thinking about my brother while having a ménage à moi,” she adds.

“Oh my God, I got distracted by a text. That’s all.” I laugh at her, only blushing a little.

I might not have been doing any diddling this time, but I sure as hell dabbled in some diddling about a hundred times since I got home from the birthday party three nights ago, all thanks to your brother and his tongue.

“All right, show me to this evil motherfucker that hates you and Baker won’t stop buying little outfits for,” Blake orders, as I lead her through the kitchen, to the small laundry room off the back of it.

“He doesn’t hate me anymore,” I tell her, flipping on the light just inside the laundry room, Ron Jeremy letting out a long, slow hiss as soon as he sees me in the doorway.

“That sounds like hatred to me.” Blake laughs, moving around me and into the small room that is just big enough for an apartment-sized washer and dryer combo. “Lord Jesus, is that thing wearing a hand-knitted sweater with a mustache on it?”

“Yes, yes he is,” I confirm with a nod. “Your brother ordered that off of Etsy, because he said the mustache reminded him of the pornstache on this little guy’s namesake. Baker is ridiculous.”

Blake squats down to get a better look at Ron Jeremy in his cage that is currently sitting on top of the dryer. Lincoln was completely devastated when Ron Jeremy couldn’t stay in his cage in his room at night, but after two nights of Lincoln not getting even one second of sleep due to Ron Jeremy wanting to play, and scratch, and run on his squeaky wheel that Baker had to buy him, I made an executive decision to put R.J. in the laundry room while we slept.

“Oh, you should have heard him the day we got him,” I tell Blake as she slowly moves closer to the cage, Ron Jeremy quieting down the closer she gets to him.

Of course he likes her too. She’s got the same annoyingly perfect and loveable DNA as Baker.

“There was also a mildly satanic clicking sound he’d make along with the hiss whenever I got near him that was equally as horrifying,” I finish explaining, shaking my head in annoyance as Ron Jeremy sticks his nose through the cage bars and starts licking Blake’s outstretched fingers.

As fearful as I was that Ron Jeremy’s black, beady eyes would turn blood red and he would lunge at my throat and rip it out with his teeth if I tried to hold him, I still did it every time Lincoln would let me. I was going to make that little bastard like me, whether he wanted to or not. Little by little, R.J. has started coming around. He still hisses at me the entire time I hold him, but like I told Blake, the devil clicking is gone, and he’s stopped clenching his entire body and curling up into a defensive ball when I touch him. We’re not at the cuddling up and taking a nap on my chest level yet, but I’ve stopped wearing a scarf every time I hold him, so… progress.

After Blake spends a few minutes baby-talking to Ron Jeremy, we head back out into the kitchen and take a seat at the small breakfast nook table in the corner of my kitchen.

“All right, so congratulations on finally realizing you were dating my brother,” Blake states with a huge smile before I’ve even pulled my chair closer to the table.

Jesus, she doesn’t beat around the bush.

“He’s still not forgiven for that,” I mutter.

No matter how good he kisses, or how expertly he uses those muscular thighs between my legs.

“I assumed you finally got a clue when the two of you disappeared into the bathroom for a small length of time during the party.”

My cheeks get warm and my chest gets itchy, and I just know a damn flush is spreading up my chest and neck when Blake smirks at me with that same dimple in her cheek that her brother has.

“Don’t worry; I’m pretty sure no one else noticed. When little Anderson O’Krane came running up to me and told me, ‘Mister Baker said you should take me to the bathroom in his bedroom to poop, because him and that pretty blonde lady are in the other one, and they’re moaning a lot, so they must be sick,’ I kind of put two and two together.” Blake chuckles.

Fucking Anderson O’Krane.

“You’ll be happy to know Blake’s been walking around like a Disney princess with hearts in her eyes since you left the party,” she adds. “He won’t shut up about you. Keeps asking me if where he’s taking you tonight is a good idea, asks me about kid-friendly things you guys could do together with Lincoln, brags about how good you are at your job, tells me every fucking funny thing you say. I’m sure he’ll kick my ass if he knows I told you these things, but I just want to make sure you know that he’s in it. He’s not fucking around.”