Page 62 of Unrivaled

Her head pops up above the couch so she can look at me. “Are you saying you don’t date lots of women?”

I rub a hand over my jaw, contemplating the best way to answer that question. I mean, I’ve been on my share of dates. But not lately. I’m not exactly a one man sex show. “Let’s just say that I can count on one hand the number of dates I’ve been on since I came to Marycliff.”

“Ohhhh.” She draws it out, like she’s coming to some significant conclusion. “So you don’t bother with the date part. Just bring ‘em home and wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am?”

I start cracking up. I can’t help it. Because holy shit, she just said that out loud.

“What’s so funny?” she asks when my laughter starts to subside, but that just starts me off again.

When I finally catch my breath and wipe the tears from my eyes with the heels of my hands, I shake my head. “I can’t believe you actually said that.” I clear my throat and try to stop smiling, but I just can’t. “But no. That’s not how it is. Like I said earlier, I’ve been busy. Last semester was football and family drama. This semester it’s more football, and I guess more family drama.” I let out my own soft chuckle. “This time I’m the one causing the drama, though. Last semester it was all my sister.”

“Yeah, I caught onto the fact that there was some kind of conflict between you a couple weeks ago. What’s the story there?”

Sighing, I drop my head, not sure how much to tell. “Aren’t you hungry? I thought I was supposed to be getting you a snack.”

She stands from the couch and walks into the tiny kitchen, so close I could just reach out and pull her against me. Instead I grip the counter behind me, keeping my hands to myself by sheer force of will.

She opens and closes cabinets seemingly at random, checking what’s behind each door. “Oh, you have an actual pantry,” she says, turning and spotting the little door near the table. “I didn’t realize that.”

“It’s small,” I say with a shrug, “but it’s a place to keep food.”

Opening the folding door, she peers inside and comes out with one of the Z Bars I keep for Ben. Holding it up, she wiggles it back and forth. “This will do while you tell me that story. If I’m still hungry after, I’ll find something else.”

With a chuckle, I settle at the kitchen table as she rips open the wrapper. “You’re not going to let me get out of detailing my family drama?”

She shakes her head, her mouth already full.

Sighing, I look up at the ceiling, trying to figure out the best place to start and how much of Piper’s story I should tell.

I decide to keep it minimal, glossing over the trouble Piper had in California and the reason we both ended up here, spending more time on how her relationship with McAdam drove a giant wedge between us.

Tiffany listens to all of it, making supportive or encouraging noises to show she’s listening, but doesn’t say anything until it’s clear I’m done.

She folds and unfolds the empty Z Bar wrapper in front of her as she contemplates what I’ve told her. “I’m sorry you and your sister are at odds right now. It sounds like you were close before.”

“Yeah.” My voice comes out as a rasp. I clear my throat, but the emotion clogging it doesn’t go away. “Yeah, we were. But now …” I turn my hands palms up in a gesture of helplessness.

“Have you apologized?” she asks quietly.

I nod, clearing my throat again. “Yeah. I’ve tried to, anyway. She doesn’t really seem to want to hear it.”

Tiffany tips her head back and forth. “She’s not required to forgive you, you know.”

Oof. What a gut punch.

“That’s … I dunno. Growing up, we always had to apologize and patch things up.”

Tiffany nods. “I get it. Well, not really. I’m an only child raising an only child. I never had a sibling to fight with and patch things up with via parental intervention. But I watched friends go through that, and I can kinda get the impulse now from a parent perspective.” She raises her eyes to mine, deep pools of blue that seem to look into my soul. “But you’re not little kids anymore. This isn’t an argument over whose turn it is to do the dishes. I can see how she would object to the way you treated her.” She lets go of the wrapper and spreads her hands. “The best thing you can do is just continue to treat her as an adult—since she is one, after all—and hope she eventually comes around. But it’s up to her to forgive you. You can’t force it.”

I let out another long sigh. “I know. I know you’re right. But it still sucks.”

She nods sympathetically. “It does.”

My eyes wander over her face, taking in the soft affection there, feeling closer to her than ever. It fills me with warmth and … hope. Maybe tonight hasn’t gone according to plan, but maybe—just maybe—it’ll turn out even better in the long run.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Tiffany

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