Page 77 of The Love Playbook

“Um, I don’t know. Three?”

Tyler snorts. “Three. She’s such a girl.”

I feign offense while Chris pokes me in the side. “Lightweight.”

“And how many tacos doyoueat, big guy?” I ask, trying to pinch an inch, but finding nothing but muscle.

“Big guy, huh?” His eyes glitter, and I can sense the dirty joke he’s holding back as a goofy grin spreads over his face. “I like that nickname,” he says with a wink, and I flush. “I mean, I hate to brag, but I hold the record in this house for twelve tacos eaten in one sitting.”

I nearly choke on my spit. “Twelve?”

“My wallet has definitely seen a difference since you left for school,” Barb calls out behind us.

“You’re welcome,” Chris says, rubbing a hand over a stomach I know firsthand is as hard as a washboard.

“I hold the second title at nine,” Tyler proudly announces.

“That’s because you’re both fat asses,” Joey says, taking the seat beside Tuck.

“Language!” Barb admonishes, piercing him with a look as she brings a tray with two bowls of refried beans and two even bigger dishes of ground beef to the table. “And this isn’t a competition.” She rolls her eyes, then mutters. “Lord knows my grocery bill is high enough.”

My jaw drops at the spread. It’s enough to feed an army. “Holy cow. How much meat is that?”

Barb chuckles as she passes by and settles into a chair at the head of the table while Chris guides us to the remaining seats beside her. “That’s?”

“A shit ton,” Chris answers for her.

Barb whacks him lightly with the back of her hand. “Now I just yelled at your brother for that. Don’t make me yell at you, too. I’ll get the wooden spoon out.”

My mouth gapes, and Chris bursts out laughing when he catches my expression, but Barb shoots him a glare and shushes him before she reaches out and takes my hand, then does the same with Chris. Tyler on my right takes my other hand while the rest of the table falls in line.

My throat swells with emotion as I glance at everyone’s bowed heads and try to think of one family tradition we had of our own that wasn’t somehow interrupted, destroyed, or discontinued throughout the years. Clearly, this is routine for the Collins’ household, just another family meal, just another blessing. Tuck says grace, ending it with a chorus ofamensfrom everyone around me.

“Mom didn’t actually use a wooden spoon,” Chris chimes in, interrupting my melancholic thoughts. “She’s too soft for that.”

“No, I’m just more creative than that.” Barb smirks as everyone starts to pass dishes around the table, building their tacos.

Chris groans, taking two flour tortillas and two hard shells. “Right. Her punishments were way worse than getting paddled. Hell, I would’ve taken a wooden spoon any day over some of her more creative ideas.”

A grin tugs the corners of my lips while I take two hard shells and pass them to Tyler. “Like?”

“Like the time I shot Mom with a NERF gun right between the eyes and she made me read through an entire gun safety manual, then write a report on it.”

Barb grins. “I was okay with play guns as long as there was no shooting each other in the face.”

Chris snorts. “But shooting each other in the extremities was okay?”

“Nothing is worse than the T-shirt, though.” Tyler shakes his head, his expression solemn as he fills a taco.

“What’s the T-shirt?”

Chris only grunts while Barb smiles, but it’s Quinton that fills me in as he crams half a taco in his mouth. “The ‘Get Along shirt,’” he says, setting his taco down to make air quotes with his fingers. “It’s one of Dad’s old white T-shirts that literally hasGet Alongwritten in permanent marker across the front.”

The mention of his father is so casual and smooth, like it doesn’t faze him in the least, and I wonder what that must be like?living in an environment where sadness doesn’t last forever and instead is turned into something resembling happiness.

“When we fight bad enough,” Bailey continues, “Mom makes whoever is fighting put the shirt on, so imagine two of us”?he motions between the boys?“sharing a shirt, each with one arm out one hole, and our heads and necks both crammed through the neck. It’s torture, and she makes us wear it forhours.”

“She once made Joey and I sleep in it,” Chris chimes in with a shudder. “Two teenage boy footballers in one shirt on a twin bed all night. We had to spoon just to keep from rolling off.”