Page 91 of Top Scorer
“The pregnancy is her priority.”
“The pregnancy is definitely the priority, but that does not change the fact that she deserves to hear how you feel about her. Whatever she does with your love, that’s up to her. You can’t force the issue. But you man up and offereverythingat her feet. Whether or not she returns your love is not the point. Your commitment to her should be crystal clear, whether or not she’s ready to reciprocate.”
The words hit my chest as hard as a sledgehammer. It cracks something inside me, allowing me a peek beyond my self-imposed barriers. What he’s advising is both the scariest and the most amazing scenario in the world. Could I really do that? Openly tell her I love her?
“It’s risky, but you’re right,” I admit.
“Brother, this woman is taking a risk carrying your beautiful children who might have heads as disproportionately large as yours—”
“Hey!”
“Ifshe’staking that risk, the least you can do is put your wussy heart out there and tell her how you really feel. Don’t be a coward.”
“You’re right, Novie.”
“I like the sound of you saying that. Let me record you so it’ll be your special ringtone.”
His teasing barely reaches my ears as I think about Ligaya.
I want her to be mine. Instead of blurting out “marry me” and hanging around her house like a grifter, I should go on my knees and beg her to give us a chance. A real one that will be the true foundation for our family.
The pregnancy was unexpected, but my feelings for Ligaya are inevitable.
What fool of a man wouldn’t jump at the chance to be with a woman like her?
It’s time to admit it out loud.
I am unexpectedly and irrevocably in love with the mother of my children.
CHAPTER 37
LIGAYA
I’m erasing the whiteboard when the knock comes and the door swings open.
“Oh my god, that’s Tristan Thorne,” someone says with a dramatic gasp.
Tristan steps inside the classroom in a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, jeans, and a baseball cap tugged low.
“Ms. Torres, I was told your classes are done for the day,” he says with mock seriousness.
Tristan is already absurdly good-looking. That flirty tone turns my Honors English kids into gawking mutes who are only pretending to put their things away.
“I’m wrapping up. I thought we would meet there,” I say while gesturing for my students to hurry along. They grab their bags and flit to the door, giggling as they pass Tristan.
I sling my tote over my shoulder and grab my water bottle. He crosses the room to carry my bag for me. When the sound of passing students eases, he leans in and kisses the side of my head. His hand slides down my back.
“I thought I’d drive us. We can pick up your car later.”
“Are you still using the rental?”
“I’m test-driving a Subaru. Best safety rating and all that.”
That’s unsurprising, considering Tristan is all about safety ratings of car seats, cribs, and strollers. He’s a veritable inspector of infant-related merchandise.
On the drive, we pass the same houses, the same tired strip malls, but there’s a hum of anticipation between us. Our second ultrasound. Second trimester. Second time seeing the babies.
“You nervous?” he asks.
