Just My Type(82)

Baker’s mouth is on mine as soon as I finish my emotional trip down memory lane. His arm is winding around my waist and tugging me against his chest, and his hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, gripping it tightly as he deepens the kiss, and my hands clutch to the front of his damp, sweaty T-shirt.

Right when I’m seriously considering straddling his lap and giving all these military vets a good show, Baker pulls his lips away from mine.

“What about Lincoln? Where is Lincoln? Is he okay with not moving back? Does he hate me? Jesus Christ, he hates me, doesn’t he? I’ll buy him another hedgehog, let him name it Piss Boner, or Baker the Motherfucker, whatever he wants,” Baker rambles. “An otter! I’ll get him an otter. We know how much his mother gets excited by otters.”

The little smirk he gives me in the middle of his freak-out makes me unwrap my fingers from the front of his T-shirt and pinch and twist his nipple as hard as I can.

“OW, MOTHERFUCK, THAT HURTS!” he shouts and laughs, twisting away from my pinching fingers.

“Lincoln obviously stayed back in White Timber, since I only left to come back here, knock some sense into you, and then take you back with me. My brother is looking forward to giving you one of those bone-crushing, manly handshakes with the threatening two-finger eye point at the same time,” I explain. “And as for how Lincoln’s doing, he’s fine. He’s eight. Tomorrow, the entire world will end when I buy him green grapes instead of red ones. Of course I want what’s best for him, but I’m also the mom, and I’m in charge. Sometimes, I have to make decisions he might not like, because I know, in the end, it will be good for him. I don’t want him to think he should never leave where he grew up, and never explore the world, and never try new things, or see what’s out there. I don’t want him to ever be afraid to spread his wings. I explained to him that home is wherever you want it to be. And I want it to be with you, and your mediocre, annoying ass.”

Baker laughs, leaning in and giving me another quick kiss.

“I’m going to have that knitted on a pillow for you. But what about Brandon moving back to Montana? How will that work?”

“Those boxes you saw? Those were just Lincoln’s things from his place. He’s still going back to Montana, but it’s just a six-month retraining thing to see if he just needs more time to learn, or if he really does suck that much at his job.” I laugh. “And we’d be going back to Montana to visit anyway, so two birds, one stone and all that. When the shock finally went away after I found out what a lying prick he’d been, I told him to fuck off. I already rearranged mine and Lincoln’s entire lives for him once, and I wasn’t doing it again. I told him I was more than happy here, and he needed to figure shit out on his own when those six months are up, because he knows we’re not going anywhere.”

“And Lincoln’s really okay?” he asks again, my heart pitter-pattering that he cares so much about my son.

“He’s a little upset, but he knows we can visit, and he knows his family will come here and see him. I also told Brandon that Lincoln wouldn’t be going back to that stupid, snobby school next year. I talked to Blake, and she’s going to set up a meeting for me with the principal of the school where Skylar will be going to kindergarten. So, Lincoln is really excited about that.” I shrug before biting my lip as I look at him guiltily. “And I also already kind of told him you were buying him another hedgehog, and he’s decided to name him Turd Dumper, sooo, that should be fun.”

With the loud, noisy chaos of people talking and working out around us, Baker wraps his arms around me again. He tugs me across his legs so I’m straddling his lap, and I sit back on his thighs, resting my hands on his shoulders.

“You know Skylar is going to school a few blocks from here, right? Which means the school is closer to my place than yours,” Baker reminds me, a hopeful look in his eyes that takes my breath away.

“I am aware of that, yes. Your loft is really big, and empty, and boring. Honestly, Lincoln and I would be doing you a favor by adding some color and chaos to that place,” I tell him.

The smile on his face is so big, and he’s so damn happy as he looks up at me, that I wouldn’t be able to stop the tears pooling in my eyes if I tried.

“Are you sure about this? I’m just a dumb, baby-oil-wearing—but only after a shower in the summer when my skin is dry—creepy stalker, gym owner, with no redeeming qualities,” he reminds me, running his hands up and down my back.

“No, you’re just my boss, just an asshole, and just a jock. But you’re also just—”

“Don’t say it,” Baker warns, his grin lighting up his hot face.

“I’m saying it.”

“Oh, God,” he mutters, still smiling as he shakes his head.

Wrapping my arms fully around his shoulders, I pull him closer.

“You’re just my type,” I finally finish.

“I can’t believe you said it.”

“I said it, because I mean it. Because I’m in love with you, you below-average asshole.”

Baker pulls back a little, bringing one of his hands up between us.

“Pinky swear?”

Wrapping my finger around his, we shake on it.

“You’re goddamn right I pinky swear. You don’t fuck with the pinky swear,” I remind him.