Page 14 of Top Scorer
“I’m more a man of action.”
“Sure you—”
My rebuttal is interrupted by spine-chilling screeches emerging from the table across from our booth.
“Chloe!”
“Oh my god!”
“Help! She’s choking!”
Women’s voices rise, drawing focus to their friend whose long blonde curls fall into the marinara sauce. The woman’s jerky head movements are erratic and unnatural.
Before my brain fully comprehends the situation, Tristan has leaped off the booth, hooked his arms under the woman’s armpits, and lifted her up with a heaving tug. He proceeds to administer the Heimlich maneuver multiple times.
When she doesn’t respond, dread floods my veins.
Her face is nearly purple, and her limbs are as limp as a ragdoll’s.
What if he’s too late?
Tristan’s face speaks volumes even as he seems determined to keep going. There’s an unmistakable anxiety in his eyes.
Ambient terror fills the room as alarm descends.
Oh shit, what if he’s too late?
Then, a lump of gray meat shoots out of her mouth.
I’m standing between the booth and the table, so I see the blob before the trajectory delivers its slimy wetness on my chest. Disgust and relief clamor inside me. The injured woman coughs while her friends wail in relief.
Meanwhile, Tristan is stoic. He guides the woman back on her seat and throws me a look of someone ready to bolt. I grab my sweater and jog to the hostess table, Tristan close behind. He reaches for his wallet with shaky hands.
“Run my card,” I tell the server and turn to Tristan. “Go. I’ve got this.”
Tristan rushes out the door. By the time I sign off on the bill, the first responders have burst in. Confusion raises the noise to unbearable levels. I exit, looking down at my phone to order a Lyft. A horn blares from the side of the restaurant. The sound comes from a black SUV, Tristan’s arm hanging out the window to wave me over.
“I’m good! I’ll order a ride.”
“Get in, Ligaya. For fuck’s sake, I said I’d take you home.” Something about his tone brokers zero argument.
I slip into the passenger seat. The seatbelt hasn’t even clicked before Tristan pulls out of the parking lot. We drive in silence for a few minutes.
“That was quick thinking. You saved her life.”
He makes a gruff sound between a harumph and a growl.
“Why are you mad?”
“I’m not mad. I’m . . .” He pauses.
Tristan is driving to my parent’s house instead of my townhouse, but I don’t correct him.
“For a moment, I thought I wasn’t doing it right. Her body went completely limp. Like, actual deadweight. Fuck, what if shedied?”
“She didn’t.”
He visibly shivers. Tristan continues to stare into space when the light turns green.
