Just My Type(65)

“Ugghh, fine.” Lincoln rolls his eyes before dramatically stomping away from us.

I hear him drop the box on the counter as he passes through the kitchen, and then his footsteps get faster as he runs back to his bedroom to get Ron Jeremy.

Baker finally steps back over to me, pulling a bottle out of his grocery bag and handing it to me.

“This bottle of gin says Hedgehog on it.” I smile up at him.

“This bottle of gin also has a dashing picture of Ron Jeremy on a motorcycle,” Baker points out. “Our boy has his own line of gin called Hedgehog. It brings a tear to your eyes, doesn’t it? Knowing that little R.J. is named after such a great man with big dick, boozy dreams?”

Hugging the bottle of clear liquid to my chest with one hand, I step closer to Baker and push up on my toes, pressing my other hand against his chest as I lean up and kiss him. It’s just a few little pecks, but then he pulls my bottom lip through his teeth during one. And then I run my tongue along his bottom lip during another. And then Baker’s hand is cupping my cheek during the next. And then Baker groans my name under his breath after the last, and then my mouth opens for him, because I need this. I need this quiet, stolen, naughty moment in my entryway, his tongue lazily swirling around mine, telling me nothing has changed since the night at the aquarium a week ago. That there’s still this spark of electricity between us that neither one of us can control.

My hand is now clutching his T-shirt in my fist, and I’m pulling him closer, letting him kiss me deeper, and longer, breathing into him and getting lost in every swipe of his tongue against mine. Baker moans into my mouth, and his arm is suddenly banded tightly around me, trying to bring me closer, but I’m still holding this goddamn bottle of hedgehog booze between us. He sucks my tongue into his mouth, and I whimper for more, clutching the bottle of gin tighter, preparing to launch it across the room so I can feel him against me, and relieve some of this ache this mouth of his has created.

“Mom! Ron Jeremy pooped in the hallway!”

Baker is suddenly laughing into my mouth, and we have to break the kiss before one of us chokes. This time, he doesn’t fly away from me as soon as he hears Lincoln’s voice shouting from the hallway. Lincoln is far enough away, and there’s no pounding of footsteps, so I know he’s going to stay far enough away for the time being. Baker is a fast learner. His body is still pressed against mine, arm is still wrapped firmly around my waist, and his hand is still cupping my cheek.

“I’ll be there in a minute!” I shout, my eyes never leaving Baker’s, my fist loosening its hold on the front of his shirt. “Welcome to Friday night with a single mom, where we’ll spend the evening breaking apart every time he comes in the room, and you’ll think back and remember the good old days, when you could have spontaneous kitchen sex on the counter whenever you wanted, and you’ll never love the word bedtime more. Until you find out bedtime can last anywhere from five minutes to two hours, depending on how many demands are made and arguments are had with the tiny human who rules this house, and then the only thing you’ll want to do in the kitchen is sleep.”

Baker leans forward and gives me a quick kiss when I finally finish word-vomiting, before pulling back again with a smile, his thumb rubbing back and forth against my cheek that he still holds in his hand.

“Tell me more about this spontaneous kitchen sex. Can I use a spatula? More importantly, can you use a spatula?” Baker asks, a serious, questioning look on his face.

All I can do is shake my head at him and laugh, because he’s ridiculous. And because I have no fucking clue what the rules are for spontaneous kitchen sex. Brandon didn’t do out-of-the-bedroom sex, and after we had Lincoln, he didn’t do it at any time other than before bed. He didn’t do spontaneity, either. The last time I had sex when it wasn’t scheduled or squeezed in really quick at the end of a long day before we both passed out from exhaustion was… high school.

Which is why my only knowledge of sex as a mom is that of an exhausted one at the end of a long day, who just spent thirty minutes arguing with her son about the fact that it was bedtime, and then had to remind him five times to brush his teeth before telling him to go back and do it again when there was still a mysterious film on them. Then, another hour will go by when her son suddenly remembers as soon as his head hits the pillow that he forgot to do something for homework. She wanted sex earlier before that entire shit-show happened, but now she just really wants to fall asleep reading a book.

“Hey, look at me.”

I pull my eyes away from the spot on Baker’s shirt I had been staring at, to look up at him. His other arm comes around me then, sliding around my lower back and pulling me closer.

“I haven’t even been here fifteen minutes yet, and I’m already loving Friday night with a single mom. I don’t care where or when. I don’t care if we have to sneak away and be quiet, or if you want to be alone and scream your head off. I’m game for the kitchen, the roof, or across the street in the fucking neighbor’s yard,” Baker tells me. “I came over here, because I wanted to be with you, not just to have sex with you. I don’t care if it’s next week, or a month from now.”

Baker’s head leans down, sliding his cheek against mine until his mouth is right by my ear.

“Whenever, and however it happens,” he speaks in a low voice, “I’m gonna be inside you, and you’re damn well gonna know it, Tink.”