She doesn’t respond for a few minutes, so I attempt to concentrate on a report that’s due this afternoon. However, as soon as my phone vibrates, the financials are forgotten, and I read her response.
Charlie: The usual. How was your meeting?
Me: Fine. I think the big guys are trying to see how we handle pressure, and they’re doing a great job throwing it at me.
Charlie: Lol. You’ll be fine. I have no doubt. Have you talked to your mom lately? I think I want to go see her soon.
Me: Want me to pick up food, and we can meet at her house, then we can go back to your place and watch a movie or something?
Charlie: Ooo…I like that idea. But only if you let me buy.
Me: No deal.
Charlie: Come on, Levi. You aren’t trying to get in my pants, remember? Which means you don’t need to pay for my food all the time. I feel guilty. Especially when I know there’s so much financial crap going on with your mom.
I shift in my seat as an image of her tight ass in a pair of cotton shorts like the ones she was lounging in the other night comes to the surface. She’s right. I’m not trying to get into her pants, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the way she fills them out. After adjusting my NRB––or at least that’s what I tell myself it is––I type a response.
Me: My mom raised me to be a gentleman to ALL women. Even the ones that I’m not trying to get into their pants. And I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation. When have you ever had to pay for anything with me? It’s non-negotiable. And I’m fine. The internship pays really well, and once I get the official position, money won’t be a problem for my mom, either.
Charlie: You sure? I really can help, Levi.
Me: Positive. I’ll see you tonight at my mom’s. How does 6 sound?
Charlie: Works for me. See you then!
Me: See ya.
Chapter Fourteen
Levi
Shit. I’m late.
Fisting the paper sack in my hand, I stomp up the steps to my mom’s house. I texted my mom to let her know I wasn’t going to make it until six forty-five, and because she’s a saint, she told me there wasn’t any rush.
Still, it doesn’t stop the guilt from taking up residence inside of me.
Twisting the handle, I push the front door open and hear Charlie’s tinkling laughter echoing through my childhood home. The sound makes me pause.
Tinkling?
I shake my head to disperse the thought.
“Hey, Mom!” I call out, rounding the corner to the family room that connects to a tiny kitchen.
“Hey, you!” She goes to stand from her recliner, but I stalk closer before she has the chance and plant a chaste kiss against her cheek.
“Sit. I’ll go dish up in the kitchen and bring it to you.”
“I’m not an invalid, Levi. I can stand and help you,” she argues.
Charlie interrupts, “You do plenty for us, Ms. McCoy. And like you were saying, you’ve had a long day. Let us help you out once in a while, will ya?”
Waving her hand through the air, she says, “Fine. But only because you’re both more stubborn than I am.”
“Debatable,” I joke as I retreat to the kitchen. Charlie follows behind and opens the cabinet holding the dishes before setting three onto the counter.
“Sorry, I’m late,” I apologize.