Page 60 of Unrivaled

But knowing she wasn’t having a great time goes a long way toward soothing my jealousy. Jealousy I have no right to feel. I know this. But it makes no difference.

The snick of a door opening has my ears perking up. And when I hear the unmistakable sound of quiet footsteps, I throw off my blanket and stand up. I’m not sleeping anyway, and clearly neither is Tiffany.

I stand in the entrance to the hallway, and Tiffany freezes in the bathroom doorway, little more than a shadow in the dim light. If I didn’t know better, I could think she were a ghost conjured by my incessant thoughts of her.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I was awake.”

She flicks on the bathroom light, brightness spilling into the hallway. “Sorry,” she says again at my flinch. “I feel weird talking to a big, hulking shadow.”

A low chuckle rumbles in my chest. “Hulking shadow, huh?”

She shrugs and gives me a half smile. “Well, you’re not exactly small.”

“No, I’m not.”

When she sucks in a breath, I realize that sounded like a double entendre, which wasn’t what I was intending. I open my mouth, though I’m not sure if it’s to make a denial or apology.

But then she lets out a soft laugh. “No, you aren’t,” she agrees. Crossing her arms, she leans against the doorframe, scanning me up and down.

I return the scan, noticing that my shirt fits her like a dress, and she doesn’t appear to be wearing the shorts I got out for her. Does she have anything on beneath that shirt? If I slid my hand up that smooth expanse of thigh, what would I find at the top?

Shifting my stance to disguise my growing chub, I force my mind away from that train of thought, no matter how much I’d love to stay there.Later, I promise myself. After Tiffany’s safely tucked in my bed.

“Couch too uncomfortable for sleeping?” she asks. My dick wants me to interpret that as an invitation of some kind, but my brain knows better. This is Tiffany. While she may have thrown caution to the wind and taken me up on my invitation into a bedroom once, that was years ago, when we were both younger and dumber, and there were no children involved.

I grunt. “Something like that.”

She glances back toward the bedroom door. “He conked right out as soon as I got him into bed. I lay down with him for a little bit, but I’m too wound up to sleep.” Her eyes meet mine. “I should be tired. But I don’t go to bed this early normally, so my brain just won’t shut off yet.”

“Come hang out with me,” I say before I can think better of it. “I’m not gonna fall asleep anytime soon either. Crack the door if you want to listen for Ben. We can watch a movie or just talk or whatever.”

The way she eyes me with that inscrutable mask in place makes me think she’s going to say no. But after a moment she nods. “Alright. Let me go to the bathroom first, and I’ll meet you out there.”

“Cool.” We stare at each other for another beat, and then move at the same time, like we were released from some spell simultaneously. I step back toward the living room, and she slips into the bathroom, the door closing and cutting off the light, leaving me in darkness.

In the living room, I switch on a lamp and then the light over the stove. Nothing too bright, but enough not to trip over anything, my pulse kicking up in anticipation.

Down boy, I scold myself. We’re just going to hang out. Nothing’s going to happen. Yeah, you kissed her twice. But she had a date tonight. With another guy. She clearly doesn’t want a relationship with you. And you’re not supposed to get involved in a relationship now anyway, remember?

But would it be so terrible if I did? I mean, I’ll be seeing Tiffany plenty after I leave because of Ben anyway. Wouldn’t it be easier—and more enjoyable—if we were together? And better for Ben in the long run? Am I just coming up with reasons to justify letting my dick get its way?

Probably, I acknowledge with a sigh as I sit in my usual spot on the couch, pulling the blanket and pillow out of the way to make room for Tiffany to join me.

The TV adds its bluish glow to the room as I navigate to the home screen so she has her choice of streaming options. I don’t even know what kinds of movies she likes. We have a kid together, but I literally know nothing about this woman.

Except the way she tastes, and the way she feels as I sink into her …

Though it’s been so long ago, do I actually remember that? Or is it just the memory of a memory that’s been layered over by so many other encounters and experiences that they’re all really just echoes of each other?

Before I can spend more time pondering that question, she emerges and settles on the opposite end of the couch, her legs folded beneath her. As the hem of her T-shirt slides up her thigh, I can’t help wondering what she has on underneath the shirt once again.

Setting my jaw, I force myself to focus on the TV and pretend that Tiffany’s wearing a jumpsuit or something. Though that’s only one piece of clothing, too. Unzip it, and she’s naked—assuming she has nothing on beneath.

Good god, I really need to stop thinking about Tiffany naked, wondering what all those luscious curves look like now …

Clearing my throat, I gesture at the TV. “Any preferences?” God, I sound like a fucking moron, my voice all low and husky, like I’m offering to find a pay-per-view porn or something.

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