Page 45 of Top Scorer
She grabs a bag. Then another. “They discontinued these in 2019.”
“As they should. That’s disgusting.” I make a face at the pictorial rendition of the worst flavor combination imaginable. “Are you sure they aren’t reselling an expired lot?”
“Expired? These will outlast the human race. Now where’s the whipped cream?”
CHAPTER 22
LIGAYA
I’m sweaty and breathing hard. Tristan is pressing me against a wall with his sculpted body, hands rough on my hips. His mouth tickles my ear while our bodies grind.
“This cunt is for me. I’m going to worship it, Ligaya. And then I’m going toruinit for anyone else, because you’re mine. Only mine.”
Tristan is suddenly on his knees, licking his way to my core. His tongue presses against my clit, stimulating that delicious ache between my legs. I moan and writhe, wanting more of his mouth. More of his cock.
“You need my cock, don’t you, sweetheart?” he says before ripping my underwear off. “First I’m going to eat you out so good, you’ll beg for it over and over—”
My alarm cuts through the erotic dream. Without my explicit permission, my hand has lowered to my wet center. Half-awake, my skin is flushed and my thighs are pressed tight to ease the ache between my legs. My extreme horniness must be the result of the rampant hormones coursing through my body.
Body:Liar. You were horny for him before you got pregnant.
Brain:I suggest you focus on the wordruin,since that is the most likely scenario.
I shut off my alarm, but I’m slow to get up. Not sure if it’s because I want to hang on to the sensual dream, or if I want to bolster my resistance to his seduction. There appears to be no resolution to this internal debate between my body and my brain, so I haul myself out of the bed to get ready for the day.
Catching my reflection in the mirror, I wince at the reality of my situation.
What is this pregnancy “glow” people speak of? I’m about as glowing and attractive as a microwaved potato.
I ease into a routine that includes herbal tea and cantaloupe. For some reason, that combination is the only one that calms my morning queasiness. The other part of my routine is less comforting. It consists of sending thumbs up emojis to my parents whose new hobby is to send me links to articles on prenatal care. Today is about the dangers of bowling for pregnant women in their third trimester. The unlikeliness of that being relevant to my circumstances—since I never bowl and am nowhere near the third trimester—is not worth pointing out.
I told them about the pregnancy the day after I told Tristan, although I’ve not shared the name of the father.
What if he changes his mind about being involved? My parents have known him for so long, they’ll be hurt if Tristan walks away from this obligation. And somehow, their hurt will worsen my sense of abandonment. Nothing truly locks Tristan into this decision, after all. If he isn’t involved in the long run, I don’t want them seeing my baby and thinking ofhim.
Only Ami knows, and I’m fine with that.
This afternoon is my first ultrasound. Tristan asked for the medical facility address and promised to be there, but I’m not holding my breath.
I’m going toruinit for anyone else, because you’re mine. Only mine.The dream-induced seduction haunts my every thought.
The more it repeats in my brain, the more it sounds like a promise, and not a threat.
***
Centerstone Women’s Health is tucked between a dentist and a Pilates studio. The waiting room has fake ferns in the corners, framed watercolors of generic sunsets, and a bowl of lollipops at the check-in desk. This is the first medical appointment I’ve had since I confirmed my pregnancy and fully decided to keep the baby. As I look at the generic room with couples on benches and baby magazines on the coffee tables, I’m struck by howordinaryeverything is.
But how can it be ordinary? This is the first time I’m meeting my baby!
“We’re running a little late,” the receptionist says apologetically.
“No problem,” I reassure her, looking at my phone to see if Tristan sent a message since he’s running late, too.
I sign in and then sit across from another couple holding hands while waiting. There’s a tinge of insecurity blossoming in my chest, but I quell it. I don’t need anyone’s hand in the waiting room.
Another twenty minutes pass as I wait to be called for my appointment. No text from Tristan, and that’s fine.
I’m ready to do this on my own.
