by Tara Sivec
When we realized there wasn’t enough time for him to leave before my son got here, Baker was the one who freaked out, not me. Until I realized I wasn’t freaking out, and it freaked me out, so I called Brooklyn. But his freak-out was so damn adorable. He didn’t get all jittery and nervous because it really hit him that I was someone’s mom, even though I’d tried to warn him away with that line a few times. He got all jittery and nervous, because he was afraid Lincoln wouldn’t like him. Or that he’d say something stupid and Lincoln would think he was a loser and, “Not at all cool and awesome, like his mom thinks I am.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t yell surprise. It might scare this sweet little guy,” Baker states, pulling his head back to look down at the monster he’s cradling to his chest. “Should I be holding him? Should I put him in his cage and let Lincoln come over on his own? Should I be sitting or standing? Standing might be too intimidating. I should sit.”
As soon as I get within arm’s reach of the two of them, that beady-eyed motherfucker turns and hisses at me. And the sound of that thing is not like a normal cat hiss. It’s a sort of clicking-hiss, like an overloading radiator that sounds like it’s coming straight from the bowels of hell.
“Oh, you just shut the hell up,” I mutter to the animal before addressing Baker. “Don’t worry; it will be fine. Lincoln is easily impressed. Just last week, he found a rock at school and wouldn’t stop talking about it for days. You’re slightly more interesting than a rock, so you should have at least six days before you start to bore him.”
Baker shakes his head at me, but at least he’s smiling and doesn’t look like he might throw up. The doorbell chimes again, and Baker quickly puts the asshole hedgehog back into its cage we set up on the coffee table.
Walking over to the door while Baker secures the cage, I unlock it and open it with a big smile on my face, expecting to see Lincoln standing on the front stoop. Instead, it’s just Greg, Brandon’s friend and co-worker.
“Oh, hey, Greg. Where’s Lincoln?” I ask, looking over his shoulder to see his car parked at the curb.
I met Greg a few times when we first moved here, and have seen him off and on over the last year and a half at school functions for our kids. Brandon kept trying to push me to be friends with his wife, but she’s one of the stuck-up, snobby mothers at the school, who wanted nothing to do with me. At least Greg was a friendly enough guy, and I knew him well enough to let him bring Lincoln home from school.
“Oh, he’s still in the car with Alec. They were in the middle of playing some game on Lincoln’s iPad, so I thought I’d come up and see how you’re doing while they finished up,” he tells me.
Sliding his hands into the front pockets of his black dress pants, he leans his shoulder against the doorjamb and looks at me with a serious expression.
“So, how are you?” he asks. “I’ve been meaning to stop by and check on you since the divorce went through. I feel like such a dick that I haven’t made the time.”
Greg and I have only made polite small talk all the times we’ve seen each other. The way he’s studying me right now, with concern all over his face, is… weird. We’re not friends. We’re acquaintances, because he works with my ex and our kids go to the same school. There’s no reason he should feel like a dick about anything. Especially about not stopping by to check on the ex-wife of his co-worker, who he’s only ever spoken to about the weather and how bad traffic is here.
“I’m great. Fine. Just… great,” I tell him, wishing I could telepathically inform my son to get his butt moving and get out of the car.
“Well, you look great.” He smiles at me. “Listen, I have four tickets to a Cubs game next week. They’re for the Lexus Dugout club seats, right behind home plate. Most expensive seats in the park. Why don’t you and Lincoln join Alec and me? We’ll make a day of it. Have some fun. Wait till I tell you how much I paid for these seats. It will blow your mind.”
Eew, gross. He sounds just like Brandon. What the fuck is happening right now?
“Um, that’s really nice of you to offer, but… you should probably, I don’t know, take your wife?” I suggest.
Greg chuckles at me.
“You’re just so adorable. I tell Brandon all the time what an idiot he is for letting you go. Grace is visiting family in Italy for the next two weeks, and these tickets really shouldn’t go to waste. What do you say?”
No, seriously. What the fuck is going on?
Before I can ask Greg if he suffered a concussion in the last few minutes, I feel a strong arm slide around my waist, and I’m instantly tugged against Baker’s side.
“Hey there, Craig. How’s it going? I’m Baker,” he says, his arm tightening around me, holding me more securely to him as he leans forward with his hand outstretched.
“It’s Greg,” the man on my front porch mutters as he takes Baker’s hand, looking back and forth between us.
Baker nods, his hand attached to the arm that’s around me suddenly moving away from my side, to slide its way up my spine. His flattened palm gently glides over the back of my neck, to move out and rest on top of my shoulder, where he starts gently massaging it until my knees start feeling weak with how good it feels.
“Right, right.” Baker continues to nod as he drops Greg’s hand, lulling me into a daze as he tenderly rubs my shoulder and my body sags into his side. “Well, Bill, thanks for bringing Ember’s son home. We’ve got a little surprise set up for him, so if you don’t mind….”
If I wasn’t melting into a puddle of goo in my doorway right now, I’d probably laugh at the annoyed look on Greg’s face, as Baker’s hand keeps gently massaging my shoulder. Greg finally turns away, muttering something about going to get Lincoln for us as he walks down the steps, and I look away from him to glance up at Baker. Whose eyes are currently narrowed as he stares at Greg walking down the sidewalk, and a low, barely audible growl comes out his mouth.
All of a sudden, I jerk away from his side and out from under his arm, my back slamming into the doorjamb opposite Baker. I hear the opening of Greg’s car door, and Lincoln shouting my name, but I can’t move. I’m too busy staring at the man who just fucking urinated all around me, marking his territory.
Double son of a bitch!
CHAPTER 17
BAKER
Pizza with a Porn Star
Ember looks like a deer in headlights as she holds herself perfectly still, trying to become one with the doorjamb a foot away from me. I should probably be worried that I freaked her out by acting like a jealous boyfriend with that cheese dick who wouldn’t stop staring at her tits, but I’m not. And it’s not just because she has beautiful fucking tits, especially when she’s wearing a loose-fitting V-neck and I can see every single curve and outline of them hidden beneath the thin cotton material, and I want to chop off the arm of any man who so much as glances at them. I’m not worried, because Ember needs to know I’m not really taking this whole “keeping things professional” bullshit seriously.
The sound of her son’s voice calling for her a second time finally makes her remember how to blink, and she looks away from me toward the street. I watch her demeanor change in an instant. Her shoulders relax, a huge smile lights up her face, and her eyes are practically shooting sparkles and fairy dust out of them as she looks at her son. Her entire body vibrates with excitement and the need to run to him and scoop him up in a hug.
Someone should take away my man card, because the goddamn sight of her looking this fucking overjoyed almost brings me to my knees.
“Mom!” Lincoln shouts again as cheese dick pulls away from the curb, and Lincoln takes off in a full sprint across the small front yard.
Stepping back into the house to give them a little privacy, I watch through the doorway as Ember walks down the steps, meeting Lincoln at the bottom. Bending over, she wraps her arms around him, squeezing him and peppering kisses all over his face until he finally starts laughing and pushes her away. The nerves start coming back as I watch her take his b
ackpack from him and the two of them start slowly making their way up the porch steps, chatting about Lincoln’s day at school.
I like kids. Kids like me. Probably because I, myself, can be an overgrown child from time to time. I really want this kid to like me. I’ve never been with a single mom before, but I’m assuming if her kid hates you on sight, that’s pretty much the kiss of death. I don’t want this thing with Ember ending before it’s even begun. Even though it sure as shit has begun, and Ember just doesn’t realize it yet.
“You swear you don’t have any homework this weekend?” Ember asks Lincoln as they pause at the top of the steps and turn to face each other.
All of a sudden, her hand comes up between them, and she’s making a fist with her pinky up. I’m smiling so hard my face hurts.
“Pinky swear,” Lincoln says with a nod, wrapping his finger around hers as they shake on it.
I’m getting all googly-eyed, because of a fucking pinky swear.
Suddenly, it means a hell of a lot more to me, those pinky swears we’ve been making, knowing it’s something she also shares with her son.
Jesus, don’t fuck this up, Baker.
Ember and Lincoln finally step into the doorway, and I take a few more steps back to give them room.
“Lincoln, this is my friend, Baker. Remember the gentleman I told you about who I’ve been interviewing?” Ember asks, tossing Lincoln’s backpack to the ground by the wall before closing the door behind them.
The handsome young man in front of me, who looks so much like his mother it’s almost freaky, cocks his head to the side and looks at me curiously, while I swallow nervously and smile at him.
“You mean the asshat?” Lincoln asks innocently, looking away from me and back over his shoulder at his mother as she moves to stand next to him.
I snort loudly, and Ember mutters, “Oh my God,” under her breath with a shake of her head.
“You can actually call me Baker.” I smile, holding my hand out for him to shake.
“Nice to meet you, Baker,” Lincoln says politely before dropping my hand.
“Baker was nice enough to go with me on an errand today, to help me get you a surprise,” Ember tells Lincoln.
He starts jumping up and down immediately, but Ember quickly holds up her hand in the universal stop signal.
“First, no more using the word asshat.”
“But you said asshat,” Lincoln points out, making me snort again, which earns me a glare from Ember before she looks back down at her son.
“I’m an adult. I’m allowed to use that word, as well as many other colorful words, which you shouldn’t repeat.”
“Your mom doesn’t think I’m an asshat anyway,” I whisper loudly to Lincoln, leaning in his direction conspiratorially with my hand up by my mouth. “I think she just likes to say the word asshat.”
Lincoln gets a case of the giggles then, which makes me feel damn proud of myself, even when Ember glares at me again.
“Can I have my surprise now? Pleeease,” Lincoln begs, folding his hands together under his chin and giving Ember big, fat, puppy dog eyes.
“Go ahead. It’s over there on the coffee table.” Ember laughs, pointing behind me.
Lincoln scrambles around me, racing into the living room as we follow behind him.
“It’s a hedgehog! Oh my gosh, it’s a freaking hedgehog!” Lincoln screams when he gets to the coffee table, dropping down on his knees to look in the cage. “They’re so cool, and awesome, and we learned about them last month in science class, and they like to cuddle, and take naps, and they don’t really have quills even though it looks like it. They’re just stiffer hairs, and they can eat dog or cat food!”
I nudge Ember with my elbow as Lincoln continues to rattle off every fact about the hedgehog that we spent the last few hours learning from the internet.
“See? Cool and awesome. You’re welcome,” I whisper to her.
“At least that little fucker isn’t hissing at him,” Ember whispers back.
Moving away from her, I walk over to the coffee table and turn the cage slightly away from Lincoln, so I can reach the door and unlatch it.
“This little guy kind of hates your mom at the moment,” I explain as I pull the hedgehog out, both of us looking back at Ember and sharing a laugh at her expense. “Just be careful with him at first, and see how he does with you.”
“There was a cow on my grandparents’ farm that hated her too,” Lincoln tells me as he inches closer to me on his knees when I sit down on the couch with his new pet resting on top of my thighs. “Mom, remember Beefy?”
“You named a cow Beefy?” I chuckle. “No wonder he hated you.”
“He’d spit on her whenever she walked by.” Lincoln giggles.
“Pipe down, both of you. That cow was a jerk. And his name was Buttons. I only renamed him Beefy to put a little fear into him that he might get demoted from milk cow to dinner,” Ember complains.
“Does he have a name?” Lincoln asks me, holding his fingers out in front of him for the hedgehog to smell, just like he would to a dog.
“Of course. Of course he loves you too,” Ember complains good-naturedly when the hedgehog starts immediately licking Lincoln’s fingers, waddling down the length of my legs to get closer to him. “And no, he doesn’t have a name. But I’ve already come up with Lucifer, Beelzebub, Voldemort, or Bob.”
“Bob?” I ask her over my shoulder, unable to stop laughing that she has to stand so far away in order to keep the animal from hissing at her.
“Have you ever met a Bob that wasn’t squirrely?”
When she takes a tentative step closer, the little shit perched on my knees, loving on Lincoln, immediately tenses up, looks back over his shoulder at Ember, and starts clicking and hissing.
“You mothereffer,” Ember whispers under her breath as the two of them stare each other down before she finally relents with an annoyed huff and takes a step back.
“Jeez, he really does hate you!” Lincoln laughs, squatting down to the animal’s eye level as he soothingly runs his hand down its back. “It’s okay, little cutie guy-guy. You don’t have to be afraid of her. She’s really loud sometimes, but she’s nice. She’s the best fort builder in the whole world. Do you like forts, Ron Jeremy?”
It’s like that moment in the movies when the record screeches on the jukebox and silence fills the room, right before some epic shit is about to go down.
“Did… did you just call him Ron Jeremy?” Ember asks tentatively from behind me, where she’s pressed up against the wall.
“Yep! I’m naming him Ron Jeremy. Isn’t Ron Jeremy a great name!” Lincoln exclaims, scooping the porn star hedgehog off my lap to cradle him to his chest and walk around the room.
It’s like I’m twelve again, and at a great uncle’s funeral who I’d never met, sitting next to my cousin Max, and every time the priest said “Virgin Mary,” we couldn’t stop fucking giggling. But we were at a funeral, and people were crying, and we knew we couldn’t giggle. So we held our breaths until our faces turned bright red, and our bodies shook with silent laughter, tiny little snorts escaping every once in a while when we couldn’t contain it, which just made everything funnier.
A tiny little snort comes out of my mouth that I’m clamping shut as hard as I can, each time Lincoln says Ron Jeremy.
“You can’t name him Ron Jeremy,” Ember says, walking around the couch to stand next to me now that Lincoln has moved to the other side of the room with the animal that hates her. “Where did you even hear that name?”
“Declan at school told me his grandma has a bunch of movies that star Ron Jeremy, but she won’t let him watch them, and I told him it’s probably because there’s guns and blood and stuff in them, and he said she always sighs when she says his name, so that must mean Ron Jeremy is awesome,” Lincoln rambles, holding the hedgehog up in front of his face to study him.
Oh, God, it hurts! How am I not supposed to laugh at this?
“What the
hell kind of school is your father sending you to?” Ember mutters.
“He even looks like a Ron Jeremy,” Lincoln adds from across the room.
“Did I completely miss a nine-inch dick on that thing?” I whisper to Ember out of the corner of my mouth, another choking snort breaking free.
“I don’t know how you missed it, considering he smacked you in the face with it while you tickled his balls all afternoon,” she fires back under her breath.
“Don’t be jealous because Ron Jeremy loves me more than you.”
“He can’t name him Ron Jeremy,” she huffs.
“That man is the top porn star of all time. He’s a legend. Any hedgehog would be proud to be named after a legend. Just think how much fun it will be to hand over a clicking, hissing, hell beast of a legend named Ron Jeremy to your ex.”
And just like that, Ember gets a wicked gleam in her eye that makes my dick hard.
“Fine, but outside of this home, we’re calling him R.J.,” Ember relents after a few quiet minutes of contemplation, as Lincoln lets out a cheer, holding good old Ron Jeremy up toward the sky like Rafiki holding up Simba in The Lion King.
While Lincoln dances around the room celebrating, Ember inches between my legs and the coffee table to flop down on the couch on the other side of me.
“Just think of the pure joy you’re going to bring me every time we discuss your new pet,” I explain, leaning back against the cushions with her until our bodies our touching from our knees to our hips and up to our shoulders. “Did Ron Jeremy spit on you today? Did you give Ron Jeremy a bath? Ron Jeremy purrs if you rub his belly.”
Ember rolls her eyes at me and smacks her elbow into my side.
She watches Lincoln for a few minutes with a contented smile on her face before turning to look at me.