Just My Type(64)

I’m not just excited because I miss home. The butterflies flapping around in my stomach right now are because I want Baker there. I want him to see where I grew up, I want him to meet the most important people in my life, and I want him to really know me. Who I am, and where I come from. I’m not going to make the entire long weekend sad, and depressing, and snot all over everything, feeling sorry for myself when I have to leave. I’m going to enjoy the time I have there, and then come back here, where I have other things I can enjoy that make me equally as happy.

Looking down at my dirty T-shirt and old, ratty jean shorts, I quickly put foil over top of the mac and cheese before running down the hallway to my bedroom. On the way, I stop to quickly poke my head in Lincoln’s room right across from mine.

“Everything good?”

Lincoln nods, sitting in a beanbag chair in the middle of his room, with Ron Jeremy curled up on his stomach, watching a movie on his iPad.

“I’m going to take a quick shower. Knock if you need anything,” I tell him.

He replies with a thumbs-up, and I back out of his doorway and race across the hall. Yanking my T-shirt off my body and flinging it on the end of the bed as I go, I pull open my closet door and stare at the mess inside.

Might as well put in a little effort if I’m going to convince Baker to come home with me. Can’t really show off a lot of boob with my son in the house. Ass, the next best thing. Smiling when I see exactly what I’m looking for, I yank both items out of my closet and run into the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Who needs horse tranquilizers when I’ve got the same outfit I wore in my Facebook profile picture?



“Are you trying to kill me?” Baker mutters a soon as I open the front door, happy that I chose the correct outfit for this evening.

“Just thought you should jerk off to the real thing instead of a picture on your phone,” I tell him cheekily, slowly turning around in the open doorway.

My smile is cut off when he immediately joins me in the doorway as soon as I finish my turn, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me up and against the front of his body. With the cropped tank top I’m wearing, I can feel his warm hand pressed flat against the skin of my lower back, and I let out a little shiver when I feel it slowly start creeping down to my ass.

“With this ass, in those jeans, I’m going to be jerking off all over your—”

“Mom! When’s dinner?” Lincoln shouts.

At the sound of my son’s voice, Baker launches himself off me so quickly his back slams into the opposite side of the small entryway. I laugh when I see him holding both of his hands up in the air like someone just threatened him with a gun, a plastic grocery bag I didn’t even notice before hanging off of one elbow.

“He’s an eight-year-old, not the sheriff of my virtue,” I whisper to Baker with another laugh, when he finally drops his arms as we hear footsteps pounding through the house.

“You just keep that ass over there, far away from me,” Baker whispers back, pointing at me to emphasize his point. “Christ, I should have changed into jeans before I left work.”

Baker shakes his head as he looks down at himself, and I already know why he’s annoyed. I felt it poking into my stomach when he yanked me against him. I can’t stop licking my lips and looking at him in those slim, black athletic pants with a white stripe down the side, and fitted white T-shirt, knowing Baker is annoyed, because those pants don’t provide as much hugging support as a pair of jeans. I’m not annoyed in the least that the snake in his pants is just going to be swinging around in there, with easy access for it to be set free, into the wild. No buttons to unbutton, no zippers to slide down. I can just reach my hand in there and—

“Mom! When are we eating?” Lincoln asks again when he flies around the corner.

I jump when I hear his voice, snapping my eyes up from the crotch of Baker’s pants to find him smirking at me. Lincoln steps between us, and I quickly look away from Baker to smile down at my son.

“We’re eating as soon as you wash your hands and put Ron Jeremy back in his cage,” I tell him as he waves at Baker before focusing on me again.

“Why are your neck and your cheeks all red? Are you sick?”

I hear Baker snort from behind Lincoln, and I refuse to look up at him over my son’s head to give him any kind of satisfaction that those athletic pants have trumped my stupid jeans.

“Just… go wash your hands,” I mutter.

“Hey, Baker, can we play hide-and-seek with Ron Jeremy later?” Lincoln asks him before walking away from us.

Baker pushes away from his side of the wall, walking up to Lincoln while he pulls a small box out of the grocery bag he brought with him.

“Since your mom made dinner and dessert, I brought drinks,” Baker tells him, handing Lincoln a box of Capri Suns. “We can play hide-and-seek after we clean up from dinner.”

Lincoln lets out a cheer, and I grab his arm to stop him before he can go racing past me.

“You’re not drinking the whole box,” I tell him, glancing down at the box he’s hugging to his chest.

“Okay, how about five?” Lincoln counters.

“Two.”

“Twelve!” he shouts.

“That’s not how negotiating works. Two, and that’s my final answer.”