Take the Chance (Top Shelf Romance #9) - Brittainy Cherry Page 0,344

as much as I want things to change, one thing I want to keep her away from is my family, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that forever.

Which is exactly how long I want to keep Charlene.

Momma Domme

Charlene

Tonight the girls are coming over to watch the hockey game. I tidy up the living room, having passed out on the couch last night. I’ll blame it on lack of sleep prior to Darren going away and the Hoarders marathon. The whole him showing up unannounced, flowers and chocolate thing was a shock, not to mention the normal-people sex and the all-night spooning. But I’ll admit, I enjoyed every moment of it, and I’m not opposed to a repeat.

I go about setting out all the snacks—the Doritos and onion dip are perfect since the boys are away—and make sure I have wine and sparkling juice for Sunny and Violet. The doorbell rings in the middle of setting up. It’s only five-thirty, and the girls aren’t supposed to arrive until closer to seven, but Violet often shows up early, bestie privileges and all.

I open the door, ready for the shenanigans to begin, and Violet’s snide comments about pearl necklaces and anal. Except it’s not my bestie.

“Mom?”

“Char-char!” She drops her bag and throws her arms around me, enveloping me in a tight, painful hug.

I pat her back, glancing over her shoulder. Laverne, the old lady next door is busy tending her garden—or was. She’s currently staring slack jawed in our direction. It takes me a moment to realize why. My mom is dressed in her work gear.

“Why don’t you come in?” I maintain the hug while dragging her inside the house and away from the neighbor’s eyes. I hope Laverne’s pacemaker is working these days, because she looks like she might be going into shock.

I grab my mom’s bag from the front porch, give Laverne a quick wave, and disappear inside.

“I didn’t realize you were arriving today.” My voice has that high-pitched quality to it, much like a prepubescent boy who’s accidentally zipped up his man noodle.

My mom is decked out in a black leather corset, complete with buckles and chains—hence the painfulness of the hug. Her skirt is short and barely covers her butt, and she’s wearing fishnets and huge heeled boots with buckles that end mid-calf. Her makeup can only be described as goth, or maybe emo. Her hair has been dyed jet black, and her lipstick is the color of a rich cabernet sauvignon.

“Oh! Did I forget to tell you I was coming in today? I swore I left a voicemail for you, or maybe that was in my head. I thought it might be nicer to stay with you than at a hotel. We can catch up and have some real quality mother-daughter bonding time!”

“Right. Sure. I have a spare bedroom. How long are you going to be in town?” I’m beyond relieved that Darren has already left Chicago for a variety of reasons.

“Just three days, so I want to make the most of it. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. You look . . .” She seems to struggle to find the right descriptive word and finally settles on “Good.” Her pinched expression tells me she does not, in fact, think I look good.

I would describe my outfit as cute. As soon as I arrived home from work, I changed into my Westinghouse jersey and a pair of black and red leggings boasting the Chicago logo.

My mom flits around the kitchen, adjusting the dishcloth draped over the edge of the sink. “Anyway, tonight’s a bit of a rush. I have a client meeting at eight that will probably take a few hours, depending—” She’s interrupted by another knock.

Shit. It’s still too early for the girls to be here.

“Oh! That’s for me.” My mother struts to the door.

“Did you invite your client here?” I choke the words out, mortified by the possibility.

She throws a look over her shoulder. “Of course not, Char-char. I’ll explain it all. Just give me a moment.”

She throws open the door and a swarm of people flood my kitchen. With video cameras. And there’s some guy wearing one of those latex face masks with only eyeholes and a mouth hole, dressed in leather chaps, his entire ass on display. Thankfully his penis isn’t hanging out.

“Mom?” There’s that high pitch again.

She turns and claps her hands excitedly. “They’re casting for a reality show this weekend. It’s called Momma Domme! Isn’t that cute?