Just My Type(55)

“Listen, Ember, I’ve got some stuff going on with work, and you need to understand—”

“No, you need to understand,” I interrupt again, feeling Blake slide up next to me, her arm brushing against mine. “Do you really want Lincoln to grow up and find out I had to yell and nag at his father to get him to spend time with him? I get you have a very demanding job, and that sometimes you’ll have something come up, but this has been going on for a very long time, and it’s just gotten worse. Pull your goddamn head out of your ass, and for shit’s sake, take a shower as soon as you get home.”

I hear Blake snort under her breath. She does a good job of smothering her smile quickly when I turn and look at her to take Ron Jeremy’s small travel cage from her that she put him in, before turning back toward Brandon and pushing the cage into his chest.

“This is Ron Jeremy, and yes, he’s a hedgehog named after a porn star. Lincoln learned that name from a friend at school, so you can thank your fancy tuition money on that shit,” I explain to him, as Brandon wraps his arms around the cage and stares into it bewilderedly.

“Why is he making that godawful noise?” Brandon asks loudly, over the constant hissing Ron Jeremy has been making since Blake walked up to me, which I’ve pretended like I couldn’t hear.

“Because he’s an asshole, but he adores Lincoln. Your son knows everything there is about taking care of him, so put your phone down tonight and let him explain it to you,” I add.

Lincoln comes racing over to us then, with his overnight bag hanging off his shoulder, pushing between me and Blake to take Ron Jeremy’s cage from Brandon. Lincoln gives me a one-armed hug and says goodbye to Blake before he takes off down the stairs, chatting to Ron Jeremy the whole way about his dad’s house.

“If he hisses at you for more than fifteen minutes and his eyes start to turn red, just put him back in his cage. It should be fine,” I tell Brandon as he starts to turn and follow Lincoln to the car.

His wide-eyed shock as I close the door on him is thanks enough for him forcing me to act like a nagging shrew.

“That was evil,” Blake says as soon as the door is closed. “I like you even more than I already did.”

As Blake retrieves her car keys from my kitchen counter where she left them, she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before heading out the door.

“Oh, and one last thing,” she says, poking her head back inside the house right before she almost had the door closed behind her. “Pack a bathing suit and a towel for your date tonight.”

She pulls her head out and slams the door closed before I can even question why in the hell I would need a bathing suit.

I’m going on a date tonight. A casual, relaxed, bathing suit date, and it won’t be weird or awkward at all.

Dammit. Now the nerves are back. I wonder if Baker would be opposed to making this an email-only relationship?





CHAPTER 21





Ember

For the Love of God, Touch Me Already!


“Sorry,” I mumble to Baker, clenching my hands tightly together in my lap.

After we both reached for the radio at the same fucking time, and when our fingers bumped together, I jerked my hand back like I’d just touched an electric fence.

I knew it. I knew the whole ride to wherever he’s taking me was going to be weird and awkward. After Blake left, I was all alone, and I realized I was dressed and ready for the date three hours early. I had nothing to do but sit there and think. Which made the nerves even worse. This is why, as annoying as it was, dating Baker without really knowing I was dating Baker was so much easier. No expectations. No nerves. It was fun and easy being clueless. Now that my brain is involved, it’s not fun and easy. It’s first date pressure.

Does he think I smell good?

Does he like what I’m wearing?

Do I have lipstick on my teeth?

Should I say something, or is he not talking, because he needs silence while he drives?

Is he not talking because he’s waiting for me to say something funny? Blake says I make him laugh, and he needs that in his life. He’s waiting for me to make him laugh; that’s why this ride has been completely silent the whole time. I should say something funny. He must need it.

“Ron Jeremy has a very small penis.”

Oh my God! I’m not a monkey! I can’t be funny on command!

“I mean, not the Ron Jeremy. We know he’s impressive in the meat packing department,” I ramble nervously. “I mean R. J. It’s a tiny, little, pink nubbin of a thing, and now I know why he hisses so much. He’s got tiny penis rage.”

I stifle the groan of disappointment in myself, glancing over at Baker. We’re stopped at a red light, the streetlights and glow of the dashboard illuminating his face just enough that I watch his eyes flicker to mine, giving me a lopsided smile before turning back to the street right as the light turns green. He’s smiling. That’s a good sign. He’s not unlocking the doors and shoving me out into oncoming traffic, so that must mean this isn’t the worst first official date in the history of the world. No need to be nervous.

I hope he likes what I’m wearing.

Can he smell the seven Altoids I shoved in my mouth before I got in his Jeep, and take my minty fresh breath as a sign we should just skip this date and make out?