Page 133 of Single Mom's Guide to Love

“I need you both to be done now.”

Hearing a little edge to my voice, Logan stops the game, though it’s accompanied by sighs.

“I know, I’m the worst,” I say. “Now go get dressed. Brush your teeth. Both of you be back down here in fifteen minutes.”

The two let out one more groan for good measure before turning off the game and heading to their respected rooms. Well, Jayce does. Logan decides to walk up to me before heading to our bedroom.

“Is it bad that I like it when you’re a little mean? You know, I’ve always thought you had a sexy librarian vibe. Especially when you wear your hair in a bun like that.”

I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to get me worked up. Too bad it’s not working. After nearly three months of marriage, I’m on to his tricks.

“I’m about to be more than a little mean if you don’t get going. Oh, and can you please fix Jayce’s hair for me? Just so it looks like he didn’t just roll out of bed?”

I’ve apparently lost my touch, because my gruffness only makes Logan lean in for a kiss. “I love it when you talk dirty. And yes, I’ll fix his hair.”

“Thank you. Now go!” I say, pushing him away, which only makes him laugh. “Ten minutes now, and if you’re not back, no sex for a week.”

He looks at me to see if I’m bluffing. I am, but I really need my cheeks to not give me away right now. Thankfully they don’t, and he shoots up the staircase toward our bedroom.

Men. So predictable and easily manipulated.

I take the time I have while the guys are getting ready to check my purse and make sure I have everything. Wallet. Keys.Compact. Lipstick. Phone. Bag of Goldfish crackers in case Jayce is not a fan of the food.

Even in a nice evening bag, it’s always going to be a mom bag.

As I toss in the last of my things I hear the buzzer for the gate. Which is odd. We’re not expecting anyone. It’s a Saturday night, so no meetings are scheduled. Kat is taking a well-deserved vacation somewhere unknown and tropical. So when I ask who is buzzing, color me shocked when I hear a familiar voice.

“Bitch! Let me in!”

What in the world is Quinn doing here?

“Quinn?”

“I hope so. If anyone else is calling you bitch besides me and the failed reality star then you have more enemies than I realized. Now let me in!”

I hurry and open the gate, racking my brain as to why Quinn’s here. And not just in my house, but in Tennessee.

Yes, it’s my parents’ anniversary dinner, and of course they wanted her here. We all did. But all of us realize it’s smack dab in the middle of the school year. It’s March, so there were no federal holidays giving her a long weekend. And she was just home not long ago for Christmas. My parents insisted that she not pay for a plane ticket for a dinner.

Now, could they pay for one for her? Absolutely. They’d love to. Hell, they’d buy her a house if that meant she moved back to Rolling Hills. But my sister—the very middle of the Banks children birth order—is the most independent and stubborn woman I know, myself included. She’s never wanted a handout. Always made sure to pay her own way. So whether it’s plane tickets home, a house, or five dollars for a coffee, Quinn Banks refuses any and all help. And I know she’s joked before about using fly miles to come home, but eventually those run out, and you have to fly and pay to earn them, so where else is she going?

As I open the front door, I see Quinn exiting a car, I’m guessing a Lyft, and grabbing a book bag as well as her carryon suitcase. I’m speechless as I watch her pull the suitcase up the steps, but am too stunned to help her.

“Start talking. Now,” I say as she walks in.

“That’s the greeting? No hug? No ‘Oh my goodness I’m so surprised!’”

I shake my head. “No. Talk. Now.”

Quinn shakes her head. “You can ask me all the questions you want, but can I change and go to the bathroom first? We have to leave pretty soon, right?”

How dare she use my love for punctuality against me. “Fine. But we’re not done.”

Without another word, Quinn heads into the first-floor bathroom, bags in hand, leaving me stunned in my foyer.

“Are you talking to someone?” Logan asks as he and Jayce come down the stairs.

And holy shit, there go my ovaries.

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