She nods once.

“I’m a friend of Miller’s dad, and I have a feeling that Randall might need to stick around here for a bit. If you would like, I can drive you and your friend home. Your other option is to be part of the dad wrath. Neither is ideal, but I’m probably the less awkward of your choices.”

She bites her lips together. “Do you know where Randy is?”

I tip my head toward the kitchen. “Right here. Would you like a moment?”

“Is that—Can I?”

“Absolutely.” I motion for her to go ahead while I move away from the doorway.

They whisper frantically. She’s clearly panicking, and as bad as I feel for her, it’s also hilarious. A minute later, the pounding of feet on the stairs ends their conversation.

I step out from the hallway just as a young man who is definitely Sidney’s son, but with lighter hair, appears at the bottom of the stairs. His face is beet red, and his eyes are wide as saucers. A young woman with sandy brown hair appears behind him, followed by Sidney.

He looks from the group of red-faced teens to me. Apology is written all over his face. And mortification.

“I can take the girls home if you’d like to deal with the boys,” I offer.

His son’s head whips my way, and his face goes impossibly redder as he mumbles, “Oh my God.” He looks like he’s trying to sink into the floor. He’s a big kid. They’re both tall, but where Randall is lanky, Miller is broad, so either of them blending in is impossible.

“I can take Claire and Millie home,” Randall all but shouts.

Miller elbows him in the side and Randall grunts.

Sidney crosses his arms. “You two need to explain yourselves.”

The girls look at me. I motion them forward.

Sidney’s gaze shifts my way. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, I’ll text when I’m home.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry about this.” His gaze flicks to the boys.

I smile, irrationally turned on, because managing the boy’s behavior is his top priority. “It’s okay. We’ll talk soon. Girls, let's go.”

They scamper down the hall after me. I stoop to pick up Sidney’s suit jacket and my coat from the floor. His I hang on the hook; mine I slip through my arms so my boobs are no longer in full force.

The girls shove their feet into their shoes and follow me to my car, whispering to each other. I unlock the doors and they climb into the backseat while I take my place behind the wheel. “Where are we heading?”

“My house.” The girl who was upstairs says.

“Are you Millie or Claire?”

“I’m Millie, this is Claire.” She thumbs over at Randall’s friend.

“Are you going to tell my parents?” Millie asks.

“I wasn’t planning to.” I set my phone in the holder. “Address please?”

Millie rattles it off and I plug it into the navigation system. It’s a twenty-minute drive. Should be lots of time to school these girls.

“How old are you two?” I ask, conversationally.

“Eighteen,” they say in unison.

I tap the wheel.