Текст книги "Taking Connor"

Автор книги: B. N. Toler

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Friday rolls around, and I rush out of work and head to the grocery store to buy enough food to feed the army of children staying at my house this weekend. When I pull in the driveway, Connor is under a truck, his legs peeking out as he works. When he hears me pull in, he rolls out on the creeper he’s using to help roll under the truck and sits up.

“Hey stranger,” he chirps as I pop open my trunk. We haven’t spoken since the night he brought his friend Roxy over. I hate how odd I acted that night, and in turn I’ve been avoiding him, so I haven’t had to think about it.

“Hi there,” I respond cheerily. “How are you?” I busy myself pulling groceries from my trunk. When I feel his hand on my lower back, I startle.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckles as he reaches in and grabs some bags.

“Sorry, wasn’t expecting you,” I laugh nervously. When my gaze meets his, I notice he’s sweaty, and there are smudges of grease on his face. He looks delectable.

“Did you buy the entire store?” he snorts as he moves to carry the five bags in his arms in the house with me following behind him.

“I’m babysitting Wendy and Jeff’s kids this weekend to give them a break. Those kids eat like they’ve never been fed in their lives.”

As soon as we’re in the kitchen, Connor drops his bags on the kitchen table, and I set mine on the counter next to the sink. “They’re staying all weekend?” he asks with disbelief.

As I move to the cabinet and grab a glass, I answer, “Yeah. I’m nuts, right?”

I fill the glass with cold water at the faucet then hand it to him as he says, “And you plan on watching them by yourself?”

“Lexi is supposed to come and help.”

I start unpacking groceries when I notice he’s just standing in the same place, unmoving. When I look at him, he’s staring at the glass. “Why’d you give me this?”

“Because you’ve been working outside, and you look like you’re hot,” I answer honestly. “You can dump it out if you don’t want it,” I say when he doesn’t respond.

His mouth curves softly before he chugs the water down in a few large gulps. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Well, I’ll be around, so I’m happy to help out as well.”

I smile as I open a cabinet and put the peanut butter away. “I appreciate that. They’ll be here in two hours. Thinking about just ordering pizza tonight. Thought it might be a nice treat for them.”

“I’ll order,” Connor informs me as he heads toward the back door.

“You don’t have to do that, Connor. It’s a lot of pizza,” I chuckle.

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

I stare at him blankly. “Uh . . .”

“I got it, Demi,” With that he exits and as I finish putting the groceries away I try to mentally prepare myself for the weekend ahead. Not sure that’s even possible.

The Tuffman children descend upon my house like Cicada bugs on their seventeen-year return; sudden and loud. Wendy and Jeff basically shoved them out of the car as they did a slow drive by, honking their horn as they sped away.

So far, McKenzie has sat on my back porch, sunglasses on, ear buds in, listening to her iPod and ignoring the rest of us. Wendy called me earlier to inform me McKenzie was less than thrilled about coming to stay here. I was surprised to hear this. It’s been a long time since I’ve kept her—before Blake passed away—but she used to love spending the night here. At least the other children seem fine with sleeping over. Mark has been glued to Connor’s side as he works on a truck someone dropped off for a tune-up, and Mary-Anne and J.J. are playing hide and seek in my house. Grayson is sitting at my feet poking invisible buttons in front of him. My insides twist as I watch him.

“Grayson,” I call his name gently, but he doesn’t respond.

“Grayson,” I say louder. Still . . . nothing. Bending down, I put my face level with his. “Grayson,” I sing his name in a goofy voice, and he turns his head, his big brown eyes darting everywhere, but at me. I snap my fingers in front of his face and repeat his name again, with no acknowledgment.

Twisting my mouth, I stand and put my hands on my hips. How could I have missed this? “Umizoomi!” I say, and Grayson stands, his eyes finally meeting mine.

“Umizoomi. Umizoomi,” he repeats before sprinting in my house beelining for my television in the living room. I stare after him for a moment, my heart sinking. The signs are there. I should have noticed sooner, but every time I’m around the Tuffman family it’s chaos, and I missed the giant indicators.

I’m jarred from my thoughts by the screech of the screen door when Connor enters, wiping oil from his large hands on a shop rag. “You okay?” he asks, his eyes narrowed in concern. I have to blink a few times before I manage to turn my head. He’s shirtless. Again. And all my eyes want to do is rove over his body. Geez, I need help. I should not want to stare at him like I’m doing at this moment and every time his shirt is missing.

I take a deep breath and nod yes. I can’t tell Connor my concerns while McKenzie is in such close vicinity. Not that she’d care. Her brother’s problems would seem slight to her in comparison to her own world-shattering issue; no cell phone to talk or text on. “We’ll talk about it later,” I answer.

“Demi!” Connor and I both turn as Mr. Jenson from next door rounds my porch heading for the stoop. His wife follows behind him carrying a metal bucket of tomatoes and cucumbers. Mr. Jenson is the friendliest neighbor I’ve ever had, and Wendy’s children adore him.

“I see my buddies are over for a visit,” Mr. Jenson chuckles as he climbs the stairs slowly, his feeble hand holding the banister while Mrs. Jenson follows, her mouth flat and expression unfriendly. I don’t know why she comes over here with him when she clearly hates it so much, but to keep the good neighbor peace flags flying, I smile and welcome them both into my home. Connor holds the screen door open for them, and as soon as they’re on the porch, they both fail miserably at hiding their scrutinizing gazes as they take in Connor. It’s not hard to see they don’t share my appreciation of the shirtless Connor Stevens.

“This is Connor Stevens,” I say. “Blake’s cousin. Connor, this is Mr. and Mrs. Jenson from across the street.”

“Oh,” Mr. Jenson’s mouth rounds around the word as his brows rise in understanding. “Blake spoke very highly of you.”

Connor’s mouth goes flat, and he gives a curt nod. It’s still hard for him to believe Blake boasted about him. “Nice to meet you, folks.”

“We brought some vegetables from the garden,” Mrs. Jenson interjects as she thrusts the bucket at Connor. It hits his hard chest and a small humph escapes him. Connor darts his gaze to me that says he’s thinking, Is this lady for real? I roll my eyes in apology and decide to move things along. As soon as Mr. Jenson says hello to the kids, hopefully they’ll leave. If it were just the old man, I’d pour him a glass of tea and offer him a seat on the porch, but since he brought Lady Butthead with him, I need to get them gone.

“Connor, would you mind taking these in the kitchen and bringing the bucket back, please?”

“Sure thing,” Connor agrees and moves quickly into action.

“My, my,” Mr. Jenson preens. “Is that McKenzie? She has grown up so much.”

“McKenzie,” I say as I tap her leg. When she looks at me, annoyance strewn across her face, I jut my chin at Mr. Jenson, and her face falls when she takes notice. Apparently, she hadn’t even realized they were here. Then, her mouth quirks into a sneer that I assume is meant to be a smile, before she returns to staring off into space.

“Sorry,” I apologize to the Jenson. “Teenage years.”

“No worries.” Mr. Jenson waves his hand dismissively. “Are Mary-Anne and J.J. here?”

I quickly call for the children and they almost knock Connor over as he returns with the bucket. He laughs as he catches his balance, and the children flock to Mr. Jenson. Mrs. Jenson stands back, arms crossed, practically glaring at her husband as he dotes on the children. I look to Connor, wondering if I can communicate my annoyance through a glance, but I find him watching McKenzie. When I look at Kenz, she’s sitting up now, her lips flat as she watches her brother and sister with what appears to be a look of annoyance. Her sunglasses hide her eyes, but by her posture she seems almost ready to pounce. I’m guessing she senses the rudeness radiating off of Mrs. Jenson and doesn’t like it directed at her siblings. I smile a little. I thought all of her sweetness had evaporated years ago, but it’s nice to see she’s still got it.

“Look what I brought for you?” Mr. Jenson smiles as he hands Mary-Anne and J.J. a Werther’s Original candy. The children waste no time ripping the wrappers open and shoving the hard candies in their mouths.

“What do you say?” I prompt the kids to show their manners.

“Thank you,” they reply in unison and hug the old man again.

“We need to go, Ned,” Mrs. Jenson snaps and walks to Connor, snapping the bucket out of his hands before moving to the screen door. Connor doesn’t even have time to react because Mr. Jenson moves on.

“You kids come and see me before you leave, and I’ll have a special treat for you, okay.” Mr. Jenson pats their heads and tugs gently on one of Mary-Anne’s pigtail braids.

“Okay!” The kids yell and jump up and down.

“Thank you for the vegetables,” I say, remembering my manners. It seems I need some prompting as well.

“Anytime.” With a wave, he follows Mrs. Jenson out and off the porch. When they’ve passed my house and are out of view, I turn to McKenzie, and she’s already resumed her prior stance; looking away, arms crossed, hating the world. Shaking my head I look to Connor, but he’s staring off to where the Jenson’s just disappeared. His brows are furrowed, and his arms are crossed as well. Looks like Mrs. Jenson leaked her bad mood into all of us.

Clapping my hands, I say loudly, “Who wants pizza?”

“We do! We do!” The kids yell and suddenly Grayson is running around my legs repeating Pizza over and over again. The screen door screeches open again, and Mark enters.

“Did someone say pizza?”

The kids are showered and bathed, curled up on the couch in the living room eating chips, popcorn, cookies, and whatever other junk food I could provide while they watch a movie. Grayson is playing a game on my Kindle, my last resort to get him to sit still for a little while when after dinner he got crazy hyper. I also folded and gave McKenzie my cell phone. I think I saw her smile a little. Thank goodness I have unlimited text and data.

“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.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Connor is suddenly behind me, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me back. The way his arm is positioned, it’s touching under the swell of my breasts, and I quickly scramble out of his hold, realizing I’m not wearing a bra.

If Connor noticed I was wearing one or not, I have no idea. He turns and with great ease¸ yanks Kenzie off of Mark and sets her on her feet. Now that she’s standing, I can see she is soaked from head to toe, her eye makeup is smeared down her face, her clothes are plastered to her. Looking back I find J.J. and Mary-Anne scrubbing my car with sponges and Grayson sitting on the ground a few feet away nibbling on animal cookies. None of them seem at all phased by Mark and McKenzie. I guess this is a norm for them.

Mark hops up and brushes his chest. “You are craayyzzyyy,” he yells at McKenzie.

“You dumped an entire bucket of soapy water on me, asshole!”

“McKenzie!” I scold. “Watch your mouth!”

“I won’t watch my mouth!” she seethes. “He is an asshole!”

“McKenzie Tuffman, don’t make me call your mother!”

“Ohhh,” she laughs with disdain as she raises her arms and flaps her hands, feigning fear. “Don’t call Mommy.”

“Okay,” Connor interjects. “Everyone needs to calm down.”

“Good luck getting her to calm down,” Mark snorts. “Kenz is bat-shit crazy.”

McKenzie darts toward him to attack, but Connor reaches out an arm and stops her, pulling her back. She growls and pushes away from him as she stumbles back. “Don’t touch me,” she snaps. Connor raises his hands in apology, his brows rising in shock. “My parents talk about you, ya know?”

“Shut up, Kenz!” Mark yells. But Kenz is on the maddening and often runaway train of teenage hormones. There’s no stopping her.

“You killed a man, right?”

My heart drops as I watch the ridiculing glare she gives Connor. I don’t know where it comes from or why, but my need to protect Connor from such rude scrutiny seizes me. I lurch forward and grab her arm, yanking her, so she’s facing me.

“This is my house,” I growl, through gritted teeth. “That,” I point to the garage apartment, “is Connor’s house. You are a guest here, and you will speak to both of us with respect. Do you understand me?”

Kenzie yanks her arm from my grip and backs away. “I hate this house,” she affirms, her tone angry, but far lower than before. “My mom knew it, too.” With that, she spins around and sprints inside. I shake my head not understanding why she’d hate my house. She used to love sleeping over here.

“This is her every day, Dem,” Mark comments, but flinches a little when I whip around on him, my anger apparently quite evident in my expression. “No more cursing and leave her alone. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” he answers quietly.

“Now go in and start making bologna sandwiches for everyone.” He groans under his breath but does as I ask. Turning to Connor, I shake my head. I can’t believe McKenzie said all that. I’m so embarrassed.

“I’m sorry—”

“Not your fault,” Connor interrupts holding a hand up.

“She was out of line and—”

“Let’s just drop it Demi,” he interrupts me again. He won’t make eye contact with me. Realizing that maybe he’s embarrassed, and I’m only making it worse, I push aside the urge to press on and make him hear my apology.

Instead, I try and change the subject hoping to smooth things over. “That’s nice of you to wash my car.” The three youngest Tuffman children are still busy with car washing and eating animal cookies.

“Thought I’d keep them busy,” Connor snorts. “Didn’t realize it would start World War III.”

He finally looks at me, his mouth quirking on one side, and I smile at his joke. “I don’t know how Wendy and Jeff do it.”

He sighs loudly. “Me either.”

“Demi!” J.J. yells and as I turn to acknowledge him, I’m blasted by cold water. J.J. hits me right in the chest with the jet stream setting on the nozzle, soaking me. Connor rushes and yanks the hose from J.J.’s grip, cutting it off, as J.J. giggles and points at me. As I shake my arms out, still shocked I got hosed down, Connor looks up at me and his brows rise.

“Demi,” J.J. laughs and points. “Why are your nipples all pointy like that?”

My jaw drops as I look down. White T-shirt and water; I’m pretty much topless right now, and my nipples are hard because I’m cold. My mind is moving in slow motion because I look up to Connor again, who’s still staring directly at my chest. His eyes meet mine and lock. His eyes are wide and it’s not hard to see his struggle: to look or not to look.

“Shit!” I mumble as I slap my hands over my breasts and rush into the house. Connor Stevens just saw my hard nipples. So did J.J. Oh my God. J.J. will be scarred for life. I’ll never be able to look at Connor again. I practically fly by Mark, who’s making sandwiches in the kitchen and rush back upstairs to the bathroom where my shower is still running. I’m red all over with embarrassment as I tear off my sopping wet pajamas and climb in. The water is freezing now, but I stand in there anyway, wondering if Connor can man the kids alone for the next twenty-four hours, so I never have to come out.

When I finally emerge, Connor and the kids are cleaning up lunch, minus McKenzie. She still refuses to leave the guest room. Grayson is sitting in his seat repeating “baby dinosaur” over and over again. My heart breaks a little. Something is not right, and I know it’s the last thing Wendy and Jeff will want to hear. But I have to say something. Grayson needs help, and the sooner they get it for him, the better.

“Thanks for handling lunch.” Grabbing the sponge from the back of the sink I start wiping the table down. It doesn’t look like it needs a wipe down, but I’m desperate for a reason to avoid eye contact with him.

“I just wiped it off Demi,” J.J. volunteers.

“Oh, well you did a great job,” I say. “Thought I saw a little spot. Guess my vision is getting bad in my old age.”

“I want to see Mr. Jenson. He said he’d give me candy,” Mary-Anne pipes up.

“Maybe later,” I tell her as I run a hand over her blonde hair. “But don’t go over there without me, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Can we go outside and play?” Mary-Anne begs. “I brought sidewalk chalk to draw on your driveway Demi.”

“If Mark will go with you and keep an eye on the three of you, you can go out. And I want to see my entire driveway covered in art. If you do a good job, I’ll have a treat for you.”

“Yay!” The two barrel off to find Mark, arguing who will draw the most or best pictures, and Grayson, noting the commotion, climbs down off his chair and runs after them.

“How many hours until bedtime?” Connor chuckles as he does his signature head rub.

“Approximately nine,” I jest. “You’re saving my life this weekend, ya know? Thank you for all the help. I’m afraid I was incredibly ambitious to think I could handle them by myself.”

“It’s been pretty fun, minus the sibling drama. They’re good kids.”

“Yeah, they are. I love them to pieces. They might be the closest thing I’ll ever have to children.”

Connor cocks his head slightly and looks at me. “Why do you say that?”

The comment was off-handed. I hadn’t meant it to sound like I was throwing myself a pity party. “Who knows if and when I’ll remarry? Maybe children aren’t in the cards for me.”

His mouth quirks up in a smirk, a smirk conveying disbelief. “No way. A woman like you Demi . . . you need babies. Lots of them.”

He always says the kindest things to me. And every time he does I find myself eager to hear another compliment or praise; somehow his opinion of me has come to matter much more than it should.

I laugh a little. “I don’t know about lots of them. I think this weekend has proven an effective method of mental birth control. But one,” I smile faintly at the thought, “one would be nice. But maybe it’s not meant to be, eh? What about you? You want kids?”

He crosses his arms and inhales deeply as he looks off in thought. Then his dark gaze meets mine again. “I always wanted kids. I worry, like you, maybe it’s too late. I mean, I’m thirty-six.”

“Hey, watch it now,” I warn. “Thirty-six isn’t old,” I point out. “You’re only four years older than me.”

“No,” he chuckles. “It’s not that old. But these things take time.”

“That they do,” I agree.

“Well, I haven’t completely let go of the idea. I guess the hardest part for me will be convincing a woman to love a man like me enough to have my child.”

This time, I cock my head and look at him. I know what he means; he’s a convicted felon. But I wish for one second he could see what I see; the kind heart and easy attitude underneath the hard exterior. “Any woman would be lucky to have your child Connor. Never doubt that.” The words left my mouth before I thought of how . . . intense they sounded. Connor’s brows rise at my heartfelt statement and the reality hits me of what I said. Did I just, in some backward way, say I’d be lucky to have his kid? No. No, I didn’t. Did I? Shit. I think I did. Was that what I was thinking?

Before either of us can say another word, J.J. and Grayson come flying back into the kitchen with Mark carrying a giggling Mary-Anne by her ankles.

“Do I have to take them outside?” Mark grumbles. “I was sleeping until Grayson jumped on me and kneed me in the nuts.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” I wager. “How about a nice grilled steak for dinner tonight.”

Mark’s blue gaze jerks to mine. Teenage boys; sex and food. That’s all they think about.

“Macaroni and cheese . . . the homemade shit, I mean stuff?” he corrects himself when I cut him a warning eye.

“Okay, that’s fair,” I agree.

“Let’s go guys.” Mark encourages as he heads toward the back door.

As soon as they’re out the door, Connor adds, “I would’ve taken them outside for steak.”

“Good to know,” I laugh. “Now I know how to get you to be my servant.”

Connor gives an easy smile. “All you have to do is ask.” Then he walks out.

By the grace of the almighty, we survive the weekend. Wendy and Jeff don’t stay long when they return to pick up their children, and although I love her dearly, I’m grateful. I have no idea how they survive on a daily basis. Before they leave, I let Wendy know we need to talk. I want to know why McKenzie believes she knows so much about Connor. I also want to know why she hates my house so much. But it’s a conversation that has to wait. As the Tuffman’s speed away, Lexi pulls in the driveway where Connor and I are standing. I roll my eyes as she climbs out of her car, her hair disheveled and sunglasses covering what I know are ‘leftover from the night before’ makeup smeared eyes.

“Your timing is impeccable, as always Lex,” I mumble as I cross my arms and shake my head.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she groans in defense as she uses her body to clumsily shut her car door.

“Yeah,” I snort. “And they just left.”

She curls her lip in annoyance as she looks at my street. “Damn,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry.” She shrugs, then, “Do you have any coffee?”

Connor chuckles and pats my shoulder, I’m guessing his way of sympathizing with me even though he finds Lexi humorous. I ignore her question and turn to him with an exhausted grin.

“You saved my life this weekend,” I admit. And he did. I’m not sure I could’ve survived two days of Tuffman kids without him. It was yet again another time that he has shown a part of himself I didn’t think was in him. And looking up at him now, I can feel the way my view of him has changed in the short time he’s been home. There were stereotypes and preconceived notions that skewed my perception of him even before I met him. But slowly and in the most profound way, Connor has proven something I should have known all along—you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

“I think I need a nap,” he laughs as he runs a rough hand down his face.

“Me too,” I groan as I reach my hands up to the sky and stretch. “Can I cook you a thank you dinner tonight?”

His smile fades a little, his hand moving to the back of his neck for a rub. “Rain check for tomorrow night? I kind of have something going on.”

“Oh,” I say a little surprised. And a part of me wants to ask if he has a date, but I tamp that down and move on because it isn’t any of my business. “How about Tuesday? I have plans tomorrow night.” I won’t push details on him either.