“I apologize on behalf of my son,” I said, leading the way into the living room. I placed two bottles of beer with coasters on a low table. “I didn’t realize what he and Dre were up to until it was too late.” Ben sat on the couch and I sat on a nearby chair.
“It’s okay. I’m sure they were trying to be helpful, in their own way. I think it’s sweet.” He leaned back against the couch, not taking one of the beers.
“You don’t drink?” I asked, grabbing one of the bottles.
“Hardly ever. I prefer water, mostly. Not a fan of soda—too much sugar.”
“Are you worried about diabetes or something?” Despite his poor fashion choices, he looked pretty damn healthy to me.
“It runs in my family, and I was borderline diabetic at one point. Thankfully, I dodged that bullet. Changed my habits. I feel a lot
