Just My Type

by Tara Sivec

  She’s so fucking beautiful.

  I can’t believe she actually thought her being a mom would scare me a way. If anything, watching her with Lincoln, watching how happy she is just being his mom, it makes me want her even more. My mom’s face never lit up when I walked in a room, she didn’t build forts with me, she never did anything special for me that made me scream and jump up and down with excitement, we didn’t have any kind of secret pinky swear thing, and she definitely never hugged me like she hadn’t seen me in weeks, when it had only been a handful of hours. Ember is strong, and she’s amazing, and you can tell within seconds of being around the two of them that Lincoln adores her.

  “We still didn’t get any work done,” Ember says softly, her eyes never leaving mine.

  “Guess I’ll just have to stay for dinner then.” I shrug.

  “Okay.”

  The shocked look on her face tells me she didn’t mean to say that so fast, and I decide to keep the smirk in check for now.

  “Lincoln!” I shout over to him, finally tearing my eyes away from Ember. “You like pizza?”

  “I love pizza!” he yells. “Ron Jeremy says he loves pizza too!”

  “Looks like it’s pizza with a porn star night,” I tell Ember, which earns me another jab to the ribs from her elbow.

  “Here you go.”

  I look up as a bottle of beer appears in front of me, grabbing it as I turn my head and watch Ember move around me. She sits down next to me on the top step of her porch, bringing her own bottle of beer up to her mouth.

  “Thanks. Lincoln asleep?” I ask, watching the smooth column of her throat as she tips her head up to take a drink before answering me.

  “He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.” She laughs softly. “I’ve never seen that kid hoover down so many slices of pizza, or be so excited about playing hide-and-seek. Thanks for humoring him and playing like, ten thousand rounds of it.”

  During my Google searching today, I learned that hedgehogs like to play hide-and-seek. After we gorged ourselves on pizza, I told Lincoln we should see if R.J. could do it. Which led to two hours of me helping Lincoln find new hiding spots, then getting R.J. out of his cage and putting him on the ground to try to sniff Lincoln out.

  “He’s a hard kid to say no to. I think I had as much fun as he did anyway. That furry little porn star made me laugh every time he found Lincoln,” I tell her.

  And it’s true. I laughed a lot tonight. I had fun. It was easy and comfortable and goddammit, I’m getting attached fast.

  Fuck that. I’m not getting there. I am there.

  “We should probably get to work,” Ember reminds me, waving her phone up in the air.

  Pressing the record button on the audio app, she sets the phone down between us on the concrete stoop.

  “This audio recording is going to be shit with us sitting out here,” Ember complains as the loud wailing of a police siren can be heard a few blocks away.

  “Do you want to go back inside?” I ask, hoping she says no.

  I don’t know if I can handle sitting next to her on the couch again, while she’s all soft and relaxed, and not want to climb on top of her like a fucking caveman.

  “No.” Ember sighs, while I let out a relieved breath and my dick weeps. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to all the noise, no matter how long I live here, but it’s still nice getting fresh air.”

  I take a minute to glance out at the busy side-street Ember lives on, letting myself focus on the noise she’s talking about. More than one siren wails in the distance, dogs are barking, somewhere on another street people are playing loud rap music, the thumping bass the only thing you can hear, somewhere else a car alarm is going off, and above all of that city symphony, a few houses down, there’s a couple having a heated argument about a mysterious hotel room bill and, “That redheaded twat you only like because she swallows!”

  “Your neighbors seem nice,” I tell her, which makes her laugh. “I didn’t actually hear the noise until you pointed it out. I’ve gotten so used to it that I just sort of tune it out.”

  “I wish I could tune it out. God, it’s so quiet back home you can hear your heart beating,” Ember muses, resting her elbows on her knees as she starts peeling the label off the bottle in her hand.

  “Tell me about it. Home, that is,” I encourage.

  She looks back over her shoulder at me with almost as much joy all over here face as she had when she saw Lincoln when he got home from school.

  “It’s so beautiful. My brother took over my family’s pumpkin farm, in the house we grew up in. It sits on fifty acres,” she tells me, a dreamy look in her eyes. “Being outside at night under the stars… there’s nothing else like it. It’s pitch-black as far as the eye can see, and there’s nothing but the sound of crickets and bullfrogs. It’s peaceful, and calming, and safe, and I hate that I’m not raising my son there.”

  Her eyes start to well up with tears and she quickly looks away from me and out at the street, blinking a few times to push the sadness away.

  I’ve always thought people sounded like pussies when they said they would move mountains for someone. I want to tear down every mile that separates Ember from Montana, and yank everything she loves closer to her so she never has to feel like this again. If that makes me a pussy, so fucking be it.

  “Uuugghh,” Ember suddenly groans in complaint, pushing her elbows off her knees to sit up straight next to me. “We’re supposed to be talking about you, and once again, it somehow gets turned around so I’m the one oversharing. Stop using your voodoo magic on me.”

  “I like it when you overshare.” I smile at her.

  “Of course you do. Because for some reason, you bring out the word-vomit in me. Sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”

  Setting my beer bottle down on the other side of me, I lean closer to Ember, putting my fingers under her chin and lifting her face up so our eyes meet.

  “Never fucking apologize for who you are,” I tell her, watching her eyes slightly widen at the seriousness of my voice. “I’m sorry that dipshit you married wouldn’t let you be you. I bring out the word-vomit in you? Good. I like knowing you’re comfortable enough around me to speak every word in your head without analyzing the shit out of it.”

  I want to wrap my hand around the back of her neck and yank her mouth to mine, so she can feel the proof of the words I’m saying, but I can’t.

  “We’re supposed to be talking about you. Can we get back to business now?”

  And that’s why.

  For some reason, she won’t let herself cross any lines with me while we’re doing this interview, and she’s doing a shit job of pretending she doesn’t want to. But I’m a fucking gentleman, as much as it sometimes pains me. Like right now. It’s paining me right in the dick. She can keep thinking this is nothing but business between us, when we both know it’s not. It will be fun when she realizes what’s been happening this entire time.

  “Fine.” I smile, dropping my hand from under her chin. “Ask me a question.”

  “How were you able to start your very first business, and have it become such a success?” she immediately responds, pretending like she’s all business and she wasn’t just staring at my goddamn mouth through my entire spiel.

  “By not fucking apologizing for who I am,” I deadpan.

  “Cute.” She smirks.

  “I’m completely serious.” I shrug. “When I came home from overseas wounded, I was a fucking wreck. I felt guilty that I was thankful I hadn’t been hurt worse. I felt guilty that I had to leave my brothers behind and come home. I felt guilty that I couldn’t do anything on my own and Blake had to take care of me. My uncle on my mom’s side came to visit, made me pull my head out of my ass and not apologize for anything, including what I wanted to do with The Barracks. I didn’t want it to be a regular gym, open to the public, and Uncle Butch made damn sure I never apologized to anyone for what I wanted it to be.”

  “And is i
t everything you wanted it to be?” Ember asks.

  Moving my arms behind me, I lean back on my hands.

  “It is. When I was in rehab, I was miserable. I was tired of being in a hospital setting, tired of people in hospital scrubs standing there trying to make awkward small talk while I was grunting, and sweating, and feeling like absolute horse shit,” I tell her. “Uncle Butch got tired of listening to me bitch about it. He took me to a boxing gym about an hour away that one of his military buddies owned, so I could get in my physical therapy in a more relaxed environment. Walking in there with a leg brace that goes from your hip to your ankle, all eyes in the place were on me. And for the rest of my time there, everyone either made it blatantly obvious they were doing everything they could to avoid looking at me, or stopped me a hundred times to ask me what happened to my leg.”

  Like the goddamn thing knows I’m talking about it, my knee starts to twinge with pain. I don’t even realize I’ve winced and Ember saw it, until her hand is suddenly resting on top of my knee. I hold my breath and don’t make any sudden movements, especially when she starts absentmindedly massaging my knee with a gentle pressure that makes me want to purr like a fucking cat. Her face is scrunched up in the most adorable way while she tries to think of another question for me.

  “So, you opened a gym just for wounded veterans, where people couldn’t stare,” she states in a quiet voice instead of asking me a question.

  Her hand still rubs my knee softly as she looks at me.

  “So, I opened a gym just for wounded veterans, where people wouldn’t stare, and where no one gave a shit how you got your injury,” I add. “We just care about making you feel human again, and giving you some control back.”

  Ember’s hand still moves on top of my knee, the tips of her fingers gently pushing into the flesh around my kneecap, and I’m still not moving a goddamn inch, because I’m pretty sure she has no idea she automatically reached out to soothe me when she saw I was in pain a few minutes ago. Plus, she’s starting to sort of sway closer to me, and she smells fucking delicious, and all of this is making my dick hard.

  Christ, this woman….

  “I thought you didn’t like talking about yourself and how awesome you are, and that’s why you were being a big baby about doing this interview. You big, fat liar.”

  Ember tsks and shakes her head at me, her hand still rub-rub-rubbing away until my eyes want to roll into the back of my head.

  “What can I say? You bring out the word-vomit in me,” I tell her, pushing myself off my hands until our noses are almost touching.

  Her mouth drops open with a small gasp, and our faces are so close I can feel her warm breath puffing against my lips.

  “Or maybe you should practice what you preach, and stop apologizing that you might just be a little better than mediocre,” she says softly, not making any move to pull away from me.

  Fuck, I want to kiss this woman.

  “So what you’re saying is, you think I’m hot?”

  “Absolutely not,” she immediately lies.

  “You sure about that?”

  “Positively.”

  Her mouth pinches together as she swallows thickly, all those adorable lies clearly getting stuck in her throat, since she still isn’t moving away from me.

  “And yet, you can’t keep your hands off me.” I smirk, looking away from her to glance down at my knee, where her hand is still taking me to the Promised Land.

  Just like I suspected, when Ember looks down and realizes that she, in fact, cannot keep her hands off of me, she yanks her hand away from my knee like it’s hot lava and was melting her skin off.

  “You’re blushing, Tink.”

  Her eyes narrow on me.

  “Ready to turn that page yet?” I ask, reaching over to brush a strand of hair behind her ear that fell out at some point during the day.

  She smacks my hand away with an eye roll and a huff.

  “You pinky swore,” she reminds me.

  You’re goddamn right I did. Which is why my tongue isn’t currently halfway down your throat.

  “Yep.” I just nod, trying not to laugh as I watch her scramble away from me as quickly as possible, banging her knee on one of the steps and slamming her elbow into the black metal hand railing before she finally makes it to the door.

  One of the most important things the military taught me was patience. I can be patient with Ember while I wait for her to clue in and figure out that we’ve pretty much been dating this entire time, just without the naked parts.

  “I will await your email so we can schedule our next interview,” Ember says formally.

  Grabbing her cell phone that still sits on the steps next to me, I hold it out to her.

  “Do you need this? It’s probably easier to transcribe how much you want me when you have proof.” I smile.

  Ember snatches the phone out of my hand in annoyance, jabbing her finger against the screen to stop the recording.

  “I hope Ron Jeremy eats off your dick the next time you see him.”

  “Take it back,” I order with shocked, wide eyes, pressing my hand over my heart. “Also, you’re talking about my dick again.”

  Without another word, Ember turns around with a flourish, holding her middle finger up in the air as she lets herself back inside the house.

  Oh yeah. It’s definitely going to be fun when she realizes she turned the page the day she replied to my first email.

  CHAPTER 18

  It’s Not Me; It’s You

  To: Ember Hastings

  From: Baker Matthews

  Subject: Re: Love of My Life

  I apologize if the new subject line gave you a fright. After the time we spent together on Friday, I can’t hold it in any longer. Ember… how’s Ron Jeremy? How did he sleep? Did he ask about me? I ordered him a pair of blue, striped socks so his little feet don’t get cold. I did expedited, overnight shipping, so they should be delivered any time now.

  Just thought you’d like to know, I sent the transcripts you’ve done over to the magazine, and they love everything so far. I’d congratulate you on a job well done, but we both know it’s all thanks to me and my charming personality.

  What are you doing Wednesday evening? Next interview at my place, at five. There will be food, and dessert, and games. A good time shall be had.

  Baker and R.J. Forever Matthews

  To: Baker Matthews

  From: Ron Jeremy

  Subject: Re: Go Away

  It’s not me; it’s you. Stop being a stage-five clinger. I need my space, you freak. And stop buying me shit. I don’t need a tiny tuxedo, I don’t need a tiny life jacket for bath time, I don’t need a tiny canopy bed for inside my cage, and I don’t need a lobster costume. But I’m keeping the red cowboy hat and the blue-and-white striped socks, because I look fucking magnificent in them.

  Don’t contact me again. I’m too busy guarding the gates of hell.

  Ron “I Will Fuck You Up” Jeremy

  To: Ember Hastings

  From: Baker Matthews

  Subject: Re: Go Away

  That was just cruel. But seriously, send me a picture of him in the socks.

  Also, why in the hell are we still emailing each other at this point? Texting would be much easier.

  Baker “Only a Stage-Two Clinger, Thank You Very Much” Matthews

  To: Baker Matthews

  From: Ember Hastings

  Subject: Re: Go Away

  Are you seriously asking me to come to your place for our next interview? And I use the term “interview” loosely, obviously. Alone in your loft at night, dessert, games… nice try. This isn’t a date. No funny business. I’d like to spend a little more time discussing your Uncle Butch.

  Oh, and Lincoln told me to tell you that he spent all weekend teaching Ron Jeremy his name, so he’ll come when you call him. Do you want to know how my son taught that fucking prickly rat to come when he calls him? By standing in the front yard, screaming at the top of his lungs
, “COME, RON JEREMY! COME!” So, that’s how the rest of my weekend went. Thanks for asking.

  We are still emailing each other, because we are documenting our business arrangement via email, like professionals.

  Ember “I’ve Become One of THOSE Neighbors” Hastings

  To: Ember Hastings

  From: Baker Matthews

  Subject: Re: Go Away

  My, my, Ember Hastings, aren’t we presumptuous? I never said we’d be alone in my loft. Look at you being all adorable and jumping to conclusions. Or could it be, projecting your fantasies? I’m extremely interested in what type of games you assumed we’d be playing during this hanky-panky time. Because I just finished hanging a Pin the Tail on the Donkey game on my wall, and I don’t know; I do like a great ass, but this doesn’t exactly do it for me. But hey, you do you, boo.

  Wednesday at my loft at five, there will be a 5th birthday celebration for my niece. I’m sorry if that destroys all of your extremely dirty thoughts about finally getting me alone so you can have your way with me. The good news is, you can bring Lincoln if you’d like. Blake and Rachel have a few friends with kids his age, so he won’t be bored. And Blake can help me out with Uncle Butch stories.

  Really? These emails are for documenting our business arrangement? Sooo you’re okay with everyone at Just My Type reading them? Well, alrighty then. I’d like to state for the record that I have a very large and very impressive penis. Call me.

  Baker “You Know You Love It When Ron Jeremy Comes” Matthews

  To: Baker Matthews

  From: Ember Hastings

  Subject: Re: Go Away

  Texting it is then.

  CHAPTER 19

  Ember

  That Motherfucker

  “You’re dating.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Brooklyn, give it a rest. We are not dating,” I remind her for the tenth time in five minutes, my phone perched on the corner of the sink in my bathroom as I finish my makeup.

  “Are you high? You’re dating. You’re going to his place tonight.”