Vic was nearly asleep when he realized that thinking about Livy made him feel surrounded by her scent. He was surprised how much he liked it, and how well it mingled with his own.

Vic’s eyes popped open and he used his elbow to prop himself up. He sniffed the air, letting his nose lead him until he was halfway off his mattress so he could look under his bed. And that’s where he found Livy.

“Olivia?”

“Yeah?”

“Was there a problem with your room?”

“No.”

“Then why are you under my bed?”

“It’s higher than the other beds.”

“It’s . . . what?”

“The other beds are lower to the floor and harder for me to get under. This one had more room. It’s almost a little too roomy.”

“And being in an actual bed—on the bed, I mean—just doesn’t work for you?”

“Do you have an issue with me being under your bed?”

“Yeah. Kinda. It makes me feel like a bad host.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s nice under here. And whoever cleans your house while you’re away does a great job. It’s clean as hell. I get under some beds and come out the next morning covered in dust bunnies.”

“And you’re sure you’re comfortable?”

“Very.”

“Well . . . okay then.”

Vic stretched back out on his bed and stared up at his ceiling. It was really strange having someone under his bed who wasn’t lying in wait to kill him. Something he had to be more wary of when he worked for the government. Now, though, he just had to tolerate a honey badger under his bed . . . snoring.

Vic blinked. She was asleep? Already?

“Lucky her,” he muttered, because Vic didn’t see himself going to sleep anytime soon while he had a woman asleep under his bed. Especially a woman with such smooth skin, dark eyes, and hair that always smelled like honey . . .

Wait. What was he doing? This was Livy he was thinking about. Livy. Honey badger and occasionally whiny artist. Livy. Who was like a sister to him? No. He never thought about Ira’s smooth skin. Did she even have smooth skin? He didn’t know, but Livy sure did. Really pretty, smooth skin . . .

Confusing himself even more with this internal dialogue, Vic turned on his side and covered his head with his pillow. If nothing else, maybe the pillow would block out the honey scent coming from Livy’s hair. What did she do? Bathe in honey?

Wait. Did she bathe in honey?

Vic growled. What the hell am I doing?

CHAPTER 7

Livy woke up the next morning still under Vic’s bed, but now with a six-year-old cub staring at her.

“Yes?” she asked, keeping her voice low so as not to wake up Vic.

“Why are youunder my uncle’s bed?”

“It’s comfortable.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Livy and Igor continued to stare at each other for a few more minutes before Livy asked, “Hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Pancakes work?”

“Is there honey?”

“I think I left at least ajar or two in the cabinets.”

“African?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Okay.”

Livy followed the little boy out from under the bed and out of the room, carefully closing the door behind her so she didn’t wake up Vic.

Together, the pair moved through the house full of sleeping hybrids and a panda until they reached the kitchen.

Livy split the work with Igor, letting him carry things from the refrigerator and pour things she’d measured out into the bowl. Once Livy added the eggs herself—she couldn’t risk shells getting into the batter—she placed Igor on the kitchen table and put the bowl in his lap. She gave him a wooden spoon and taught him how to stir the batter without getting it all over himself and her.

She didn’t really think much about what she was doing because she’d seen Toni’s mom do it with her own kids so often over the years. At the time, it had just seemed logical to get the kids to help because it cut down on their fighting. But now, as Livy looked into Igor’s glowing face, she realized it had more to do with letting the kids feel involved and less with creating baby slave labor.

When the batter was pretty well mixed, Livy released Igor’s hand so he could continue on for a little bit longer. As he did, a wide grin on his cute face, he glanced over his shoulder and crowed, “Look, Uncle Vic! I’m cooking!”

“I can see that.”

Vic stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, as he leaned against the frame and watched them. How long he’d been standing there, Livy didn’t know. Nor did she ask.

Still wearing his black sweatpants, Vic had also pulled on a plain white T-shirt that appeared kind of old and worn. It was also a little tight, so that Livy could make out Vic’s muscular arms and chest pretty well. And she had to admit . . . those muscles were damn impressive.

“You ready for tonight?” he asked Livy.

“Yes.”

“What’s tonight?” Igor asked.

“None of your bus—”

Livy cut Vic off with, “I get to do what I learned when I was your age.”

“Make batter?”

“Pick locks.”

Vic immediately pushed himself away from the door frame and clapped his hands together. “Okay! Let’s get you in the shower, kid.”