The doorbell rang, along with the phone app, to signal someone was outside. “Look, I gotta go.” I pushed off the kitchen island. “Someone’s coming.” “That someone better not be you,” Kieran tutted. “Last time you came, it ended in an unwanted pregnancy, a runaway groom, and a small-town scandal.” “You’re being a prude.” “No. I’m being a bitter old hag,” Kieran corrected primly. “If I’m not getting some, neither should you. We need to start a Hot Sexless People club. We’ll be the founding members. We’ll have bingo nights—”
