“That woman from the bar?” I ask, and he beams at me. That’s a yes. “Good for you.”
“It’s our third date,” he replies, and waggles his eyebrows. I just roll my eyes.
“Do me a favor and please don’t give me the details,” I tell him, and he laughs.
“If you ever get yourself back out there we can double. Or maybe even triple, with Carlos and his wife.”
Why is it that the one person I can see myself going on a date with is a skinny, sassy, stubborn boy with freckles and red hair, who looks killer in a skirt?
* * *
“Charlie?” I call his name as soon as I step in the door. I’m desperate to see him, to know if he heard anything in the ten minutes it took me to get home. He texted me twice at work but neither were about his test results. The first was a video he took of himself licking a spoonful of peanut butter and then acting like he was going to stick said spoon back in the jar just to make me squirm. It drove me crazy, in more than one way. I never realized his tongue was that long. And I couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like on my skin, in my mouth. I had gotten more than a little distracted on my lunch break, and may have also gotten a little hard. Damn him.
The second message was to ask about dinner. Pork chops or pasta? I’d texted him back that I didn’t care because I was so consumed with thoughts of his test results, but then responded a little while later with,Pasta please.
He’d sent me a laughing emoji and a thumbs up and sent me a picture shortly after of the pasta boiling.
I hear him speaking as I make my way further into the house. When I see him he’s on the phone, pacing through the living room. His face is pensive and he’s biting his lip as he listens to whatever the person on the other end is saying.
“Okay. Yes, thank you,” he finally says, then hangs up. His gaze meets mine.
“So?” I ask, my chest constricting. “Was that them?”
He nods. “I’m not clear,” he tells me, and my heart rate spikes, my stomach dropping to the floor. “But it’s not serious, either. I tested positive for chlamydia and trich, so they’re putting me on antibiotics for seven days, and then they want to test me again in a few months.”
God, I’m so relieved. I feel like a thousand pound weight has been lifted off my chest and I can finally breathe again. The air seems clearer. My arms ache to hold him, but I’m a filthy mess, so I resist. He doesn’t hesitate, though, and a moment later he’s wrapping his arms around me and burying his face in my chest. “I’m gross,” I say, pushing myself away. But he yanks me back, having none of it, and even gives me a bit of a stink eye that has me chuckling.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he threatens, squeezing my middle.
My arms go around him instantly and I hold him to me, kissing the top of his head, so thankful that we didn’t get worse news. We knew he didn’t have HIV but there’s a slew of other STIs he could have tested positive for. Antibiotics for a week is nothing. He’s going to be okay. My baby will be okay. We just have to make sure he keeps getting tested on a regular basis and doesn’t have unprotected sex anymore. I can’t risk him getting sick, or hurt. I couldn’t bear it.
“You okay?” I tilt his chin to look at me. He nods.
“I think so. I’m just glad to finally have an answer, you know?” I nod and press a kiss to his forehead.
“When can we pick up your meds?”
“Oh, um, they have a pharmacy there. I didn’t know where you usually go so I said that was fine. They should be ready tomorrow.”
“I can pick them up on my way home from work then.”
“Or I can do it. It’s not far from Sunny’s,” he tells me. He started there two days ago and he’s been loving it. They hired him on the spot as soon as he filled out the application. The fact that he didn’t have his high school diploma didn’t deter them at all. The only thing he’s not crazy about is the uniform, but he doesn’t complain, because it’s work, and I know how grateful he is for it. It’s only part time but it’s enough for him to keep busy, and if he stays, he’ll be working on his GED too, and then he’ll really have a full schedule.
My heart sinks at the thought that he only has two-and-a-half weeks before his month-long trial period is up. Surely he’ll stay, right? He seems happy. I know I am. God, I hope he stays.
I kind of hate the idea of him being out there on a bike, unprotected, but I haven’t found a car for him yet, and I can’t very well tell him he’s not allowed to ride the bike I’ve lent him. He’ll be doing it in broad daylight, after all. He should be fine. But I do tell myself to make more of an effort to find him a vehicle. Unfortunately his work hours don’t align with mine at all. His schedule is kind of all over the place because that’s what they need and he’s willing. Besides that, he likes the bike. He says it’s refreshing, and good exercise, and I don’t want to take that away from him.
He’s definitely healthier than he was when he first moved in here. He’s less malnourished and he’s put on a little bit of weight. Although, I have noticed that he still has the bags under his eyes, and he drinks an abnormal amount of coffee. He doesn’t think I notice, but I do. He’s tired even when he sleeps in, and despite his cheery personality, he drags throughout the latter part of the day, always yawning as we’re relaxing on the sofa after dinner. Half the time he falls asleep on my shoulder while we’re watching tv in the evening and I’ve been carrying him to bed the last few days when it’s not even ten o’clock. I tell myself it’s just that he’s got more on his plate now with the new job, but I don’t know if that’s because I don’t want to have one more thing to worry about in regards to him, or because I actually believe it.
“Sounds good,” I tell him, and he smiles at me. God, that smile could rival the sun in its brilliance and warmth. I press another kiss to his head and then unfurl my arms from around him. “I’ll go take a shower.”
We talk about work during dinner. Charlie made chili tonight and it’s amazing. Just the right amount of spice. And there’s cornbread muffins to go with it. He puts so much cheese on top of his I can’t even see the chili underneath and it makes me laugh.
After we clean up, Charlie goes to his room to change. He returns in sweats and a T-shirt. This one is normal, no crop-top, and while he’s still adorable, I’m not going to lie, I miss the crop-top. Hell, I miss the skirt.
I smile when I see that he’s reading the second book in the cowboy series he had started the first week he was here. “You liked it, huh?”
He looks at me from where he’s seated on his chair, then down at his book. He grins. “Oh, yeah. It’s no gay romance, but it’s good. I’m totally shipping Zach and Wyatt, though. Only friends, my ass.”
