Saint’s kid lives in… a hotel?
That’s where he stops the car, at least.
I step out so I can stretch my legs a little while we wait for the kid’s mom to bring him down. One of the hotel’s staff members comes out towards us — probably because Saint’s car is blocking the entrance — but one look at Saint has him nodding respectfully and stepping back.
I’m not sure who I’m expecting the mother of Saint’s child to be, but somehow it catches me off guard when a leggy blonde in a miniskirt and rocking some Louboutins struts out, a little boy wearing a backpack trailing after her.
The boy looks somewhere between the twins’ ages and Zach’s. He has Saint’s eyes and the blonde’s rosebud mouth, and he’s so stinkin’ cute. I smile at him as he ducks into the backseat of the car, but my smile waver
