Don't Go Baking My Heart

She opened the door, barely giving him a moment to step away and compose himself, bringing them face-to-face with his mother. Finger raised as if preparing to ring his doorbell again, she looked just as shocked as Devon felt. Ah, shit.

“Is that why you haven’t been answering your phone? If I knew you had company, I wouldn’t have come over.” His mother looked from Reba to him, eyes landing on Reba’s bag.

The situation looked exactly like whatever his mother was thinking.

“What are you doing here?” He had just been fingering a woman at his front door—he really didn’t have the capacity to be polite, even to his mother. Not with all the blood in his body currently in his dick.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls and emails. I figured you’d be true to your routine and be at home, so I decided to stop by.”

“Hi, Ms. King,” Reba jumped in, giving a small wave. “I work with Cherisse.”

“Yes, I remember. Didn’t know you and my son were close, though.”

“We’re not,” Devon said, not looking at Reba’s face to see her reaction to that. Technically, he wasn’t wrong. They may have been as physically close as two people could be last night, but not in the way his mother was implying.

Or maybe sex was exactly what his mother was referring to. Dammit, Reba’s chaos was already affecting his perfectly ordered life. He quickly assessed his options. The more they all stood around his front door, the more awkward this got.

“Reba is assisting me with a baking thing.” As much as it pained him to finally admit it, given the situation, this was the best course of action. Throw his mother off the scent.

He felt Reba’s stare on the side of his face. He still didn’t look at her.

“Oh? Reba looks like she’s leaving, though.”

“Well, actually, I just got here and realised I left something in my car, so I was heading back to get it. Didn’t even have a chance to put my bag down.”

He looked at her then. What was she playing at? She wouldn’t actually drive away, would she? Leave him to explain to his mother why Reba had left when she’d just said she had gotten here.

“I’ll be right back,” Reba said.

Devon stepped aside so his mother could move past him. It also gave him a few seconds to calm himself down. He closed the door behind Reba and took two deep breaths before facing his mother.

“Baking thing, huh?” she asked, draping herself over the lone armchair.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I just woke up, so before you get into me about that, I need to refresh myself.”

“What happened to your alarm?”

“Forgot to set it. Reba woke me up when she got here.”

His mother crossed her legs and gave him a look that said she wasn’t exactly buying any of this. “That’s very unlike you, but then again, so is you having a baking thing you need help with. That you didn’t bother to ask me for help.”

“We’ll discuss it later.” More like never. He had only revealed this so she wouldn’t question Reba’s presence.

While she still looked a bit sceptical, dropping their baking sessions into the mix was less awkward than sex talk. He made his way upstairs, brushed his teeth properly this time, jumped in the shower, and took a quick bath, willing his erection to calm the fuck down. At least this bathroom smelled as it should, with its regular Febreze scent. Not a trace of vanilla to be found. Something that made sense when everything else was currently in shambles.

He had been about to fingerfuck Reba at his door, for God’s sake. What had gotten into him?

He would need to change the guest room sheets too. Later. After everyone was gone and he could focus without Reba or his mother around. Jesus, how was this his life right now? What happened to his quiet work weekends?

Reba happened when you invited her in.

All because of that ridiculous call-out at work. He shouldn’t have fallen for it.

He shook his head and retrieved his phone from where he’d left it on his nightstand. Sure enough, he had a couple of missed calls and texts from his mother. The messages were only about one thing: her insisting he have the damn housewarming/blessing.

Now that she was here, she wouldn’t leave until he agreed to the damn thing. Maybe he did need a priest to come exorcise Reba’s lingering energy after they were done with these baking sessions. But he couldn’t say that now, could he?

Enough stalling, he had to get back downstairs. Leaving Reba and his mother in the same room was asking for trouble. Who knew what Reba would say?