Page 48 of Unrivaled

Her chin tips up so she can meet my gaze since I’m crowding her in the tiny kitchen. I should move back, but being so close to her is intoxicating, and I can’t seem to make my feet go anywhere.

She clears her throat. “No. I just … needed a minute.”

“Are you okay? Sorry if everything seems extravagant, it’s just …”

Her hand on my chest makes the air leave my lungs, and I hold my breath, waiting to see how long her willingly touching me will last. Wondering how I can encourage more of this.

“It’s wonderful,” she whispers. “I’m not upset. I’m just …” She shakes her head. “I’m not sure what the right words are. It’s not bad, though. I promise.”

“Good.” My voice is little more than a hoarse whisper as I stare down into her face. My eyes catch on her lips and can’t seem to move away. They part on an indrawn breath, pink and plump, and that question about if she still wears flavored lip gloss floats into my brain again.

Bending my head slowly, giving her plenty of time to move or turn her head or shove me or something if she doesn’t want me to kiss her, I bring my lips to hers. Instead of pushing me away, her fingers flex against my chest, clutching my T-shirt and holding on for dear life as my lips brush against hers.

Not wanting to push my luck, I content myself with just that brief contact, little more than a peck really. But she’s not having it. Pushing up on her toes, she claims my mouth. And that’s all it takes for me to lose myself to her. My hand comes up to cup the back of her head, and I hold her in place, parting my lips, my tongue seeking hers—

“Timber!” shouts a little voice from mere feet away, followed by a crash.

Tiffany’s hand spasms against my chest, and we break apart like we’ve been shocked. She stares at me, wild eyed, her hand covering her lips. Her eyes never leave mine as she drops her hand and calls, “You alright, Ben?”

“Yeah!” he shouts back.

Smiling, she tilts her head toward the living room. “We should get back out there,” she whispers.

Without waiting for my agreement, she slips past me, cheerfully talking to Ben about what he just did like nothing at all happened between us while I stand in the kitchen in complete shock.

I just kissed her.

And she didn’t shove me away.

I’m not sure what that means.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Tiffany

I stomp down any and all feelings for the rest of the visit and do my best to avoid looking at Grayson. Thankfully, he follows my lead and keeps his attention on Ben. When it’s time for us to go, I have to fight a strange mix of anticipation, relief, and regret.

Anticipation because I’ll finally have an excuse to look at him, and I want to see him look at me again with that unique combination of affection and longing he had on his face right before he kissed me. It’s almost like he wants to recapture what maybe could have been had life played out differently years ago. If I’d given him my number. If I’d found him at another party. If I’d actually been able to contact him.

If …

If Disney fairy tales could actually exist in the real world.

At the same time, I’ll be glad to get out of his presence so I can lock myself in the bathroom at home for a few minutes to relive and process that kiss. But I’m also sad to be leaving. Sad that we won’t get another opportunity to try kissing again—which is at least ninety-five percent my fault. I’m quite sure Grayson would happily kiss me some more if we set Ben up with something to distract him and I yanked him into another room.

But that’s a terrible idea.

I’ve already decided that there can’t be anything between Grayson and me. We shouldn’t have kissed today. We definitely shouldn’t consider doing it again.

And yet …

I haven’t been kissed like that in so long. Not at all in like a year. And the last guy I dated had reasonably okay technique, but lacked the indefinable quality that Grayson’s short kiss had in spades.

I really have to get out of here.

With our coats on and our things safely tucked in my tote, I finally bring my eyes up to Grayson’s and force a smile. “Thanks again for everything. As you can see, Ben loves his jersey and his football. We’ll be sure to bring it next time. Maybe the weather will cooperate and you can play again next weekend.”

“I’d like that,” Grayson says, his voice a low rumble, and maybe it’s all in my head, but I feel like there’s some kind of double entendre there, like he’d enjoy repeating more than just playing football with Ben.

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