Ember
Just My Type
“You are such an asshole!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
Probably not the wisest decision, standing in the middle of a gym filled with a bunch of military vets who probably know how to kill me in two-point-three seconds, but I can’t help it. I’ve been pissed for an entire twenty-four hours. That’s like seven years in female anger time.
In the same grungy yoga pants and T-shirt I’ve been wearing since I woke up at the ass crack of dawn to help out at the farm, spent all day catching up with people, had a goodbye dinner with my family, and then flew back without even stopping at home to change, I look up at the idiot I’m in love with, who’s covered in sweat and panting in the middle of the boxing ring.
Jesus Christ, he’s hot.
Focus! We’re pissed!
But it’s been years since he fucked me on the couch.
It’s been forty-eight hours; get your shit together.
Baker’s eyes came right to mine when I stormed in here, stopped next to the ring, and yelled at him. I’m trying really hard to remain pissed off, but the shock in his eyes at initially seeing me here has been replaced with blatant want. His eyes trail up and down my body, and I know I look like shit, but I don’t feel like I look like shit, not when he’s staring at me like he wants to pull me up into the ring and screw me against the ropes.
He thought you up and moved away!
This motherfucker.
Right when my anger is there, bubbling at the surface, waiting for me to let loose holy hellfire all over him, a fist comes out of nowhere and slams into the side of Baker’s face.
The entire room erupts into cheering and shouts as Baker’s head whips to the side, and then he just goes down like a ton of bricks in the middle of the ring.
“Jesus Christ!” I shout over the cheering and noise, climbing up onto the ring and through the ropes.
I race across the mat and drop to my knees right next to Baker, leaning over his body and pressing my hands gently to either side of his face as I turn his head toward mine. He blinks his eyes a few times as he stares up at me.
“You dumbass, are you okay?” I ask, looking back and forth between his eyes as he continues to blink and stare up at me, making me worried that he isn’t saying anything.
“You pussy! Never get distracted by a woman, no matter how hot of an ass she has.”
I look back over my shoulder with a smile, at the man who just punched my boyfriend.
“Thank you, Dax. That’s very kind of you to say.”
“My pleasure. What are you doing later? Wanna come play with my otters?”
“All right, that’s enough out of both of you dickholes,” Baker mutters, finally saying something and letting me know Dax didn’t just give him permanent brain damage.
I drop my hands from his face and skirt back a bit on my knees when Baker sits up with a groan, holding a hand to the side of his face and moving his jaw back and forth.
“That was a cheap shot,” Baker complains, looking up at Dax, who still stands behind me.
“I know. Now we’re even.”
Dax walks away and I watch him climb under the ropes and jump down from the ring, whistling the entire way.
“You look good,” Baker says softly, his voice making me turn my head back around to look at him.
“Suck my dick. I look like shit, because I just got off a plane and came straight here to tell you you’re an asshole,” I inform him. “Don’t try to butter me up with compliments.”
“So, you got the transcription file.” He sighs, bending his knees and resting his arms on top of them. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Montana.”
“Yeah, to talk to my brother and Brooklyn alone. Which I did. And then I assumed I would relax and enjoy my quiet time on the farm until my fucking boyfriend met me there next week, like we originally planned.”
When his head whips to me and I see his eyes widen, my good friend rage comes back outside to play. Even though I heard it in his audio file, I was still holding out a tiny bit of hope it was a joke. That he was high as a fucking kite or something, and didn’t honestly think I was this much of a badass. Moving without telling him would just make me an ass.
“Jesus Christ, you asshole!” I shout again, shoving him in the shoulder. “You honestly thought I would just pack up my shit and move without discussing it with you first! I don’t know whether to punch you on the other side of your face for insulting me, or just punch you in the face, because you’re a dumbass.”
“But… I saw all the boxes at your place. I just….” he trails off guiltily.
“You just assumed, because you’re an asshole!” I remind him.
“Don’t be mad,” Baker quickly says, his eyes immediately widening again. “I didn’t mean to say that! I take it back. Jesus Christ, why did I say that? You should just punch me now and get it over with. You have every right to be mad.”
I roll my eyes at his dramatics and then scoot closer to him on my knees.
“You thought I left you,” I whisper, my eyes suddenly clouding with tears. “That I would actually do something so cold, and heartless, and just leave after everything… after everything.”
“Ember, no,” Baker stops me, shaking his head back and forth, removing one arm from his knee to press his hand to my cheek and finally touch me. “I never for one minute thought you moving back home and not discussing it with me was cold or heartless. I understood. It’s your home. It’s where you’ve always wanted to be, and I knew that. It’s where your family is, and it’s where you want to raise your son. I would never, ever stand in the way of that, or make that harder on you by talking it to death, or making you feel guilty about leaving.”
Bringing my hand up, I press it on top of his against my cheek.
“I did have big dreams about raising Lincoln in White Timber. I wanted him to experience the simple life, and coming inside from playing only when the barn lights come on, and catching fireflies in between the rows of pumpkins at night, and the responsibility and hard work of living on a farm, to carry him through life, surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins,” I tell Baker. “And then I was forced to move to the city and leave everything behind. And I was miserable, and sad, and homesick, and felt sorry for myself.”
Leaning forward, I rest my forehead against Baker’s.
“And then I met this guy who didn’t make me feel so miserable, and didn’t make the city seem so big, and loud, and lonely. I met a guy who gave me everything,” I whisper, my voice cracking with all the tears I’m trying to hold in. “Everything from his emails pulling me out of my shell, to his interview-slash-dates that yanked me out of my hermit, city-hating lifestyle so I could remember how to have fun and be me. Every moment from first meeting at Starbucks, to hatchet throwing, to just ordering take-out and staying home, and how much he cares about my son. It’s everything, and it’s every reason I want to be here, in Chicago with you, instead of Montana.”
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.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Ember ‘I Can Throw a Punch Now, So Don’t Piss Me Off’ Hastings,” he says.
“That’s what I thought, ‘Not Necessarily Shit Mouth’ Baker.”
“You love my shit mouth,” he says in a low voice, his hands moving dangerously closer to my ass as his reformed shit mouth bends down and starts peppering kisses to the side of my neck. “Wanna go lock ourselves in my office and play some games? I’d like to pin my tail on your donkey.”
His hands finally make it to my ass, and he gives it a squeeze, grazing his teeth along that spot right under my ear.
Scrambling off his lap, I grab his hand and start pulling him out of the boxing ring. By the time we make it to the office and slam the door closed behind us, we’re laughing in between kisses, while our clothes are flung all over the small room.
I never thought I’d be happy anywhere else than on a pumpkin farm, in a small, quiet town in Montana, and yet here I am. Happier than I’ve been in my entire life, in a loud, noisy city, with a man who makes me laugh and turns me on in the blink of an eye.
With a man who is just my type.
The End
Pssst! Remember Dax and Harley? You know, the Dax and Harley *cough* Scorched, the book that never happened *cough*? Dax Trevino, our loveable otter handler, might just have been a detective back in the day, before the Army, and before the otters.
Keep your eyes out for Otterly Scorched: The LOL Dax and Harley Story (Not a suspenseful one where someone probably has to get kidnapped or shot. Dax has been through enough. He just wants to cuddle his otters.)
tarasivec.com/book/otterly-scorched
Want to read Brooklyn and Clint’s story? Check out The Simple Life:
tarasivec.com/book/the-simple-life
“Tara Sivec delivers another amazing book with The Simple Life! This is romcom at its finest!” – FMR Book Grind
Brooklyn Manning thought her life was perfect in every way, until it crumbled down around her and turned into a dumpster fire. With her pride wounded and her tail tucked between her legs, she leaves New York and goes back to her tiny hometown of White Timber, Montana.
No more twenty-four-hour taco trucks, no more shopping at the best designer stores within walking distance, no more giving taxi drivers the finger when they angrily honk at her. She didn’t think it could get any worse. But then Clint Hastings walked into the room and insulted her.
Her arch nemesis from high school is no longer a nerdy computer whiz, masturbating to pictures in PC World magazine in his free time (allegedly). He’s grown up to be a hot-as-hell cowboy, and she has no other choice but to be a smart ass right back to him. After all, it’s what they do. It’s what they’ve always done, and twelve years apart hasn’t changed anything.
Only this time, getting under each other’s skin is a hell of a lot more fun than it used to be.
Tara writes in a wide range of genres from romantic comedy, romantic suspense, erotic romantic suspense, new adult drama, contemporary romance, and psychological thriller. You can check out all of Tara’s books on her website: www.tarasivec.com