The birthday party had been over for just under an hour, and my three-year-old was fast asleep. He and his friend started watching a movie and passed right out after the chaos of the birthday party.
The boy’s mom, on the other hand, was sitting in my living room pissed off at her husband.
“I’m so sorry,” said Meghan. “I don’t know where he is.”
Meghan and her son, who was fast asleep in my bedroom beside my son, had been stranded at my house since the party ended. She was a bit of a hot mess, always stressed out or hung over. She was a good five or six years younger than me, and still enjoyed a night life. She was covered in tattoos and was usually dressed for, well, you know.
I was being very helpful, maybe even too helpful. I offered to drive her home after the kids woke up.
She was sitting beside me on the couch and was leaning forward to pretend to interested in the news. I had a great view of the frilly top of her boy-brief panties and her scoop-top T-shirt wasn’t hiding a lot, either.