Page 4 of Top Scorer
“I have an unassigned time block in the morning. A free period, because it’s my only break of the day. I run the drama club through lunch hour.”
“When does lunch start?”
She looks at her watch. “In an hour.”
CHAPTER 3
LIGAYA
Because we were both banging on the door, our bodies are nearly touching when I face Tristan. I’m eye level with the V between his collarbones, trying to be subtle about inhaling his aroma of mint and sugar. The man is a freaking mojito in a tall glass of muscles.
That doesn’t even make sense! What the hell is wrong with me? Leave it tothe Turdto provoke the most incoherent jumble of metaphors.
His insistent hotness is muddling the facts: This is Tristan who put blue food coloring in my makeup so I looked like a faded Smurf for a week. The guy who wrote a fake letter from Liam Anderson who I had a crush on foryears. My nemesis who drove me up the wall all of senior year.
If I knew he would be here, I’d have called in sick andmeantit.
The rapid pulse at the base of his neck calls my attention. It is nearly as fast and jagged as my own heartbeat. I close my eyes and shake my head to undo the spell he has over me. It doesn’t work. The second I open my eyes, they roam over the terrain of Tristan’s sculpted torso, the granite sharpness of his jaw, the pouty shape of his lips, and those darkened hazel eyes.
They stare back at me without mirth or guile. He almost looks . . . amazed? That can’t be right.
“You’ve changed, but you haven’t changed.”
“In a good way?”
“In a great way,” he says, eyes falling to my lips. “And me? Have I changed?”
“Stop fishing for compliments,” I reprimand. “You know you’re hot.”
He offers a crooked grin and an arched brow. “I hadn’t realized you noticed.”
“But not in a good way,” I quickly add.
“There’s a bad way to be hot?”
“Like Gaston fromBeauty and the Beast. Muscles and nothing else.” I point my finger to poke his chest.
“Seriously? I have a bachelor’s degree in business administration. How dare you compare me to an illiterate brute.”
“Fine. You’re not stupid like Gaston,” I concede. Before I can pull my finger away, he circles my wrist and rests my palm over his chest.
“Thank you,” he responds, reaching for my other hand and likewise placing it on his chest.
“For what?”
“For your compliment.”
“I take it back. You’re not like Gaston. You’re like the sidekick inTop Gun.Who is he again?” I ramble on while my hands remain glued to his body. “Actually, it doesn’t matter. You’re good-looking like all the sidekicks in theTop Gunfranchise. Handsome and smart, though ultimately disposable.”
He leans down with a chuckle, and the result is that my arms end up on his mountainous shoulders. Tristan’s forearms bracket my back.
“How am I going to keep my ego in check when I’m around you, Terror?” he rasps lazily.
“I said don’t fish for compliments.” My fingers fail to relinquish their grip on his neck.
He chuckles.
“Do you even know what a compliment is, Ligaya? Because calling me dumb and irrelevant is the farthest thing from one.”
