Wright Rival (Wright)

“Fine. It’s mutual.” He smirked at me. “Either way, I won.”

“Are you able to be anything but insufferable?”

He stepped closer, pinching my ass. I yelped softly. “No. And you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Maybe keep your hands to yourself in front of my family.”

“Oh, I will do my best. I just had to get the ass grab out before I was around you for hours on end without being able to touch you.”

“Ridiculous.”

“What? You have a nice ass.”

Despite myself, I laughed. He was wild and handsy and as insufferable as I’d said he was. But he was interested in me. Just me, apparently. Something I’d never expected from him. Actually from very few people. Even Bradley had dated other people in the midst of our off phase. He’d always looked up Instagram “models” and tried to convince me it was normal while rarely complimenting how I looked. So, I vowed to accept the fact that Hollin was attracted to me enough that he could barely keep his hands to himself. That felt like a good thing.

We took the walkway to Abuelita’s house together.

“I feel like I should have brought something,” Hollin insisted. “Wine at least.”

“You’re fine. Don’t worry.” I glanced over at him. “Also, I’ll apologize in advance for what is about to happen.”

“What is about to happen?”

The door swung open, and Peter stood in the doorframe. The little shit sure looked self-satisfied. “Piper, you brought a friend.”

I rolled my eyes. “Peter, you remember Hollin.”

“Hey,” Hollin said, offering his hand. They shook even though they’d known each other for years.

I hadn’t exactly warned Hollin, but he was about to endure the third degree. Even Bradley had gotten uncomfortable, and he’d been around my family for years. He usually didn’t do a lot of my Mexican family traditions because he didn’t—quote—“get it.” Whatever that had meant.

But Hollin barreled inside with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop. He hugged Peyton and Abuelita, who was seated at the dining room table, shook hands with Isaac and my dad, and then swung Aly up into the sky and back down. She giggled dramatically. Hero worship was already there in her six-year-old face. Anyone who could throw her up like a rag doll was a friend of hers.

“What is going on in here?” my mom, Hannah, asked. She wiped her hands on her apron and put them on her hips.

“Mom, this is Hollin,” I said.

“He’s Piper’s new boyfriend,” Peter chimed in.

“It’s about time,” Peyton said. “We’ve all been wondering when this would happen.”

“I thought he was flirting with me,” Abuelita said.

She winked at me, and I shook my head.

My whole family was wonderful. I’d had a great upbringing. Better than most people that I knew. But sometimes, they were a little…much for new people. Not overbearing, but overtly friendly and always making little jabs at you. Not because they didn’t like you, but because they did like you. If they treated you with quiet resolve, then that meant they weren’t big fans. I’d know. That was how they’d treated Bradley.

“Why was I uninformed about all of this?” Mom asked.

“Me too, Hannah,” my dad said, putting an arm around his wife. “Here I thought, she was going out with that Sinclair guy.”

“Dad!” I grumbled.

“Boring,” Peter said.

Peyton nodded. “Can’t help but agree.”

“Whoever is dating my Piper, I’m happy about it,” my mom said. Hollin went to shake her hand, and she pulled him in for a hug. She kissed his cheek and smiled brightly. “Make her happy, or we’ll run you out of town.”

Hollin coughed out a laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

“There are your Southern manners. Mira, let’s finish the cooking, so we can eat.”

“Matthew,” Abuelita said, gesturing to the kitchen. “Save mija from herself. We know she only belongs in the kitchen to make tamales.”

“Mother,” my mom groaned. “I can cook empanadas.”

“Out of the way, Hannah,” my dad said. “I’ll get the rest.”

My mom sighed. She had never been a great cook, except for the traditional meals that Abuelita had forced her to learn. My dad was the main cook. He loved spaghetti and fresh bread and random casseroles, of all things. He never cooked Mexican food. Just helped Abuelita as her sous chef. It was a perfect compromise.

“I’ll help,” Abuelita said, getting slowly to her feet.

“Mom,” my dad said, “you should stay off your feet.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead.” She elbowed past him and into her kitchen.

“Well, have a seat, Hollin,” my mom said. “Tell us all about yourself.”

We entered the kitchen table, which was barely big enough for the lot of us. We squeezed in extra seats and had Aly in a booster. Normally, she’d complain that she wasn’t a baby but not at Abuelita’s. She had the ability to make us all feel young again.