Leo had taken a seat across from Easton, who motioned with his head down the table. “Ask Grant. He was usually the instigator.”

“Tucker stupidly claimed he could eat more than I could. Then Flynn chimed in, and Barrett said he could eat twice as much as the three of us combined. So I challenged all of them.”

“This was when I was outside working in the garden one day,” Lydia said as she passed the salad around the table. “We were having company over that night, so I had hamburgers and hot dogs in the fridge. The boys snuck into the kitchen and took all fifteen packages of hot dogs out of the refrigerator, threw them on the stove and cooked them up, and proceeded to try and outeat each other.”

Katrina looked at Grant. “How old were you?”

Grant lifted his gaze to the ceiling, obviously thinking. Then he looked at her. “Flynn was like twelve, I think. Which would have made me eleven and Tucker and Barrett eight.”

“Foolish boys,” Lydia said. “By the time I came into the house, they’d eaten every hot dog and their faces were green. I made them all throw up outside.”

Leo snorted out a laugh. Even Katrina couldn’t resist laughing.

Flynn pointed his steak knife at his brothers. “Yeah, but I won.”

“I don’t think so,” Grant said.

“We all know I won,” Tucker said with a smug grin. “I threw up four times.”

“Can we please not discuss this during dinner?” Lydia said. “I don’t think we want Katrina and her family fleeing the table because of our choice of dinner topics.”

Katrina couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, trust me. I’ve heard worse during dinner.”

“This is true,” Leo said. “We talk about really disgusting topics while we eat. Bugs. Vomit. Blood. Brain matter. We aren’t squeamish.”

Katrina leveled a glare on her brother. “Thank you so much for that, Leo. I’m sure you’ve endeared us to the Cassidy family quite nicely now.”

“Actually, you have,” Tucker said. “You’re our kind of people.”

Lydia cut into her steak. “Don’t worry about it, Katrina. After dinner I’ll tell you about the time Easton decided to discuss every detail about his gallbladder surgery during one very graphic dinner conversation.”

“With photos,” Grant added with a proud glance over at his father. His dad grinned.

This family was wildly amusing. And so obviously close-knit.

Katrina leaned over to whisper at Grant. “I can tell you have some kind of obsession about hot dogs. This worries me.”

He winked at her. She shook her head.

“How long can you stay, Flynn?” Easton asked.

“Just two nights. I leave Tuesday morning. I need to get back to San Francisco, because we have a meeting, then we fly out to Denver for the game next weekend.”

Easton nodded. “Your defense is looking solid this year. How are the rookies?”

“They’re doing good. Our line is strong, our safeties better than ever. I think the D is going to kick some ass this year.” Flynn looked over at Katrina, then the kids. “Sorry for saying ass.”

Katrina laughed. “Nothing they haven’t heard before.”

“You play with Mick Riley. He’s really good,” Leo said.

Flynn gave a quick nod. “He’s the best quarterback there is.”

“Hello,” Grant said. “I’m sitting right here.”

Flynn shot Grant a smug smile. “I know you are.”

“Asshole,” Grant muttered, then looked over at Flynn. “San Francisco’s on our schedule this season, you know.”

“I know. You prepared to be flattened by your brother?”

“I’m prepared for my offensive line to kick your ass. You won’t get anywhere near me.”

Flynn calmly cut into his steak and slid a piece into his mouth. “We’ll see, won’t we, Brother?”

“Yeah, we will.”

Katrina watched the interplay between the two of them. “Does this happen a lot? Brothers having to play each other?”

“On occasion. None of us play in the same division. Barrett plays for Tampa, too. So yeah, we have to play each other.”

“And how does that work?” Leo asked. “I mean, you all are brothers. But on the field, you’re competitors, right?”

“We put our best play out on the field,” Grant said. “Family is for off the field.”

“As it should be,” Easton said.

“But what about you, Lydia, and you, Easton?” Katrina asked. “When your boys play each other, who do you root for?”

“I expect them to play the best they can,” Easton said. “Their best game, and leave it all on the field. If Flynn as a defensive back had an opening, but pulled up and didn’t lay Grant down because he’s his brother, I’d be disappointed. And if Grant saw a wide open receiver who was beating Flynn and didn’t take the shot and put the ball in that receiver’s hands for a touchdown, I’d be disappointed in him. Their best game. That’s all I’ve ever asked of any of my sons.”

“I root for all of them. I feel bad when they lose, and I’m happy when they win. When they play each other, it’s awful for me,” Lydia said. “My stomach is in knots the entire game, because I know one of them will lose.”

“Awww,” Flynn said. “We’re big boys, Mom. Honestly, we talk crap to each other, but really. We can take it. Win or lose, we can handle it.”