I twist around from where I'm kneeling in the dirt and glance back at Mack. He's sitting on the porch steps, wearing only a pair of jeans, his broad chest gleaming in the sunlight, rippling with muscles. His elbows are on his knees, his phone held loosely between his hands. He's expecting a call.

He's watching me again. Mack is always watching, tracking my every movement with those incredible eyes. He's always been that way, but it's become somehow different since the day ...