“Five pizzas,” Connor mumbles in disbelief as he pulls the trash bag from the bin and holds it open for me so I can shove some paper plates in it.

I laugh. “They’re kids. How much could they possibly eat?” I jest.

“That’s one pizza per kid,” he notes, ignoring my stab at him.

“Yep.”

“Mark almost ate three of those pizzas by himself,” Connor continues, his tone still laced with disbelief. “I knew three hundred pound men in prison that couldn’t eat that much.”

Connor and I haven’t even eaten. The three pepperoni and two cheese pizzas we ordered are gone. I even made a salad with the vegetables the Jenson’s brought over and cut up strawberries. All of it—gone.

“Three of them aren’t even teenagers yet,” Connor adds.

“I know. I have no idea how Wendy and Jeff do it.”

As he ties up the trash bag, I grab the empty pizza boxes, and we head out to the garbage cans by the garage.

“That Mrs. Jenson was something else,” he states randomly.

“I know,” I squeeze my eyes closed, cringing. The way she eyed Connor was so rude. There’s no way he missed it. “Sorry you had to deal with that. Mr. Jenson is pretty nice, but she can be a total asshat sometimes.”

“He seems fond of the children,” Connor surmises as I shove the pizza boxes, down in the trashcan.

“Always has been and they love him.”

“McKenzie didn’t seem real fond of him,” he adds as we head back for the porch steps. As we reach the screen door, he moves to the side as he opens it, and as I pass by his large hand finds the small of my back, guiding me in. My body straightens as I pass by him, his touch affecting me more than I care to admit.

“Beer?” I offer as I open the fridge to grab one for myself. Five Tuffman kids can certainly drive a person to drink.

“Definitely,” he groans. When I hand him one, he nods in thanks. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Other than surviving?” I laugh as I twist the cap off my bottle. Taking a long swig, I moan as I pull the bottle away. Damn, there’s nothing like a cold beer after a long day. When I look at Connor, he’s staring at me, his dark eyes fixated on my mouth. I lick my lips, a nervous habit of mine, and his chest rises as he inhales deeply. Am I imagining this—this attraction between us? I can’t deny it’s there, for me anyway. His rough exterior; muscles and tats, draw me in, but it’s the soft side of him that awes me. Every day he shows a little more of that beauty inside of him and every day he draws me in more and more. Tearing his gaze from mine, he turns and chugs his beer.

I blink a few times, wondering if I read that look wrong. Did I see it right or was it that I wanted to see it that way?

“Who is Vick and what does he mean by ‘it really is tiny’?” Kenzie says, as she bursts into the kitchen. My eyes widen as I yank my phone from her hand.

“Hey!” She pouts as I thumb through my texts. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No. We’ve been on one date,” I answer, not sure why I’m telling a fifteen-year-old this.

“He says he regrets not kissing you for real the other night,” McKenzie drones on. Damn, will she ever stop talking? I’m dying of embarrassment but not before I dart my eyes to Connor. It was only a moment ago I was wondering if we were sharing a moment. Now he’s staring out the kitchen window, his back to us.

“Thank you, McKenzie. I think you’ve had enough phone time for tonight.”

“Can I use it tomorrow?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with hope.

“We’ll see,” I grumble. “Please let everyone know it’s almost bedtime.”

“It’s only ten o’clock.”

“The little ones need to go down soon,” I argue.

“Ugh,” she groans as she stomps off into the living room.

Powering my phone off, I lay it on the table. I’ll text Vick back tomorrow. After I chug the remainder of my beer and toss it in the bin, Connor finally turns around, his mouth in a pressed flat line. He crosses his arms over his massive chest and opens his mouth to speak, but J.J. and Mary-Anne rush into the kitchen whining.

“We don’t want to go to bed!”

“It’s late,” I point out.

“Will you guys sleep with us?” J.J. asks as he looks at me and then at Connor. Connor is smiling when his gaze meets mine.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been part of a sleepover. Pallets on the living room floor?” he asks me and my eyes widen. He’s willing to sleep on the floor?

“Uh . . .”

“I’m not sleeping on the floor,” McKenzie interjects as she reenters the kitchen.

“Fine,” I grumble as I shake my head. “Mark can have the master bedroom, and you can take the guest room. J.J., Mary-Anne, Grayson, Connor, and I will sleep on the living room floor.”

“Yay!” J.J. and Mary-Anne squeal in unison.

After I scrounge up every spare pillow and blanket I can find, the kids and I make our beds for the night while Connor showers. By the time he walks in the living room, the kids and I are snuggled in watching the muted television. He’s shirtless, again, and wearing a pair of black basketball shorts. In the dark room, with only the light from the television illuminating him, he looks bigger and if possible, sexier. Before I handed my room over to Mark, I changed into a pair of pajama shorts and a white V-neck T-shirt that used to be Blake’s. I look like a bum.

Connor places his hands on his hips and stares down at us while I seemingly stare up at him, but really I’m looking at his abs. Blake never had abs. He was a thin man; no weight or mass to him. He wasn’t able to exert himself too much physically with his heart condition. But I still found him incredibly sexy. A different kind of sexy than Connor. Blake had a gentle look to him while Connor looks hard; rugged. Internally, I cringe. Why am I comparing Blake to Connor? Ugh!

“Looks comfortable,” Connor laughs.

“Oh, it is,” I jest. He lies down beside Grayson, who’s furthest from me. The kids are stacked between us and silence falls. It isn’t long before the kids stop the little wiggles and shimmies they’ve been making, and when I look over at them, I see Grayson curled up on Connor’s chest, fast asleep. Connor’s hands are behind his head, and his chin is to his chest as he looks at Grayson. If my heart wasn’t already melted, the faint smile on Connor’s face would finish the job. I watch him for what seems like an hour, even after his breathing seems to slow, his chest rising and falling slowly indicating he’s asleep. I can’t help wonder if he ever slept well in prison. I can’t imagine it would be easy sleeping in the heat and sharing a tent with other men. This floor is ungodly uncomfortable, but it’s worth it. Clicking off the television, I close my eyes, hoping I’ll get enough rest to make it through a full day of the Tuffman children.

I’m upstairs preparing to climb in the shower. My back is killing me after sleeping on the hard floor all night, and I’m covered in pancake batter from breakfast. Connor said he’d take the kids out so I can wash up. The water is running as I strip off my white shirt and remove my bra when I hear it; the most blood-curdling scream that is so loud it makes my stomach drop. Yanking my white shirt from the floor I fly out of the bathroom as I tug it over my head. Somebody is hurt—badly. I’m pretty sure no one in the history of mankind has moved as fast as I do as I rush down the stairs and outside to the backyard where the scream came from. Bursting out the screen door and down the steps, I halt abruptly when I see Mark and McKenzie rolling around in the grass as Mark tries to stop McKenzie from clubbing him with her fists.

“What the hell is going on?” I shout as I rush over meaning to break them up.