24. Sins of the Sons
I waited patiently in the ample living area of Dallas Ringewald’s home for his teenage sons to come home from school. The housekeeper, the only constant female influence in the boys’ lives, had already been taken care of. She was sleeping soundly in her bed, and wouldn’t remember who I was, never mind that I had actually been there.
I was sitting in an armchair, legs crossed and the zip of my catsuit low enough to expose my black lacy bra. It was something teenage boys were sure to notice as they walked or ran past the living area. I thought about the boys. They would have been babies the only other time I’d met their father.
The twins would have been far too young, back then, to know how their father had treated their mother, or to question if he may possibly have
