Page 32 of Top Scorer
“It is what it is,” I say with a shrug like this isn’t an impossibly vulnerable conversation. “It’s cute that Toby keeps inviting you to things. He seems to think there’s something between us, but . . .”
“But?”
“You’re the last person I should have a fling with. We’ve got a complicated history. It’s weird when my parents ask about you. Besides, what’s the point? You’re leaving at the end of this season, right? It’s been fun, though. Reconnecting.”
“You’re so full of shit, Ligaya.”
“Excuse me?”
“That night was more than reconnecting, sweetheart. It’s not like that with just anyone, and you know it.”
“I don’t know a damn thing, Tristan. Except that I’m not a puck bunny.”
“I never said you were. And for the record, I’ve never been interested in puck bunnies.”
His fingers brush my wrist tentatively. Then he cups my cheek with one hand, thumb brushing under my jaw.
“Ask me to stay tonight.”
My body swerves closer to him. “Why?”
“Because you’re really hard to walk away from, Terror.”
My knees weaken, but I manage to take a step back. With some distance between us, I cling to the fact that there is a world of difference between finding it difficult to walk away and actuallywanting to stay. Tomorrow, I will thank myself for remembering that Tristan has no intention of staying.
“I’m sure you’ll manage,” I quip dismissively. “And although you’re surprisingly good at sad-boy karaoke, we both know this isn’t going anywhere.”
Our usual barbs give me a sliver of strength. We end this now. No random texts or sultry stares or karaoke serenades organized by nosy friends.
“Don’t do that,” he says with a shake of the head.
“Do what?”
“Use your sharp tongue to keep me away.” He pulls me close. “Use it for something else, sweetheart.”
Tristan pauses for a fraction of a second, checking if I’ll stop him.
I don’t.
I can’t.
His hands skim my sides and then spread, one splayed on my back and the other at my nape. My body is crushed to his. We pause for a half second and then our mouths slam together. Our kiss is impatient and fierce, with a tinge of roughness. The sensation straddles the jagged line between pain and pleasure.
I lean into his delicious taste. Our tongues lash hungrily. The hand on my nape tugs my hair with perfect pressure, eliciting a needy moan. My bones fail to hold me up. His other hand covers the expanse of my lower back, tugging me till there’s nothing I can do but surrender to his hard, confident body.
Eventually, I find the willpower to push away from his chest.
“We shouldn’t.”
Tristan steps back and drops his arms to his sides, fists clenched like he’s summoning control.
“Sure. If that’s what you want.”
I cross my arms, not because I’m cold, but because I need the barrier.
“Goodbye, Ligaya.”
“See you around.”
