Chapter 11 Ligaya
LIGAYA
The heat of his words against my neck, the ridge of his cock behind me, the firmness of his hand against my stomach—everything about our bodies touching is somehow both too much and not enough. Tristan Thorne’s groin is the only thing keeping me standing when my knees give out.
“You guys—oh shit, sorry!” A shrill voice makes us jump away from each other. Sydney giggles through her apology. “On my way home! Thanks for everything, Ligaya. Nice meeting you, Tristan. Resume your, um, cooking!”
Tristan gives her a wave, but his eyes are glued to my face. Then, he does the weirdest thing. He grazes my forehead to move my hair. Twice.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he admits.
“Pin me over a counter full of appetizers?”
He shakes his head. “This,” Tristan says, repeating the brush of fingers on my forehead. Twice. “You do it all the time.”
“That’s either the sweetest thing anyone has noticed about me, or the precursor to a stalker movie.”
“The night is young. Things could go either way,” he teases.
Continuing to flirt with Tristan is a bad idea, but I’ve come to realize I’m turning into a collector of bad ideas when it comes to this man.
I am never as reckless as I am when Tristan’s around.
He has always been the one person who forces me out of my comfort zone into the unexpected, the uncertain.
My life is built on certainty, working where I went to school and buying a home minutes from the one in which I grew up.
It’s not simply a matter of familiarity that keeps me close.
I love this town. I adore my family and friends.
Helping students is my passion. I’ve built something solid here. Something good.
But Tristan is different.
He took the most devastating thing that could happen to a kid—losing his sister and having parents who couldn’t help navigate the grief—and soldiered on. He lived every day without losing the energy and creativity of his mischievous nature. He battled through a career that few could even dream of.
He took risks.
I never thought of myself as someone who settled, but with Tristan in front of me, I wonder if I have.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about our kiss,” I admit, before I can convince myself to shut up.
His brows lift, but he doesn’t look smug. “Is that so?”
I swallow. “Have you?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I want you to come over tonight.”
My directness takes us both by surprise. Although a one-night stand is uncharacteristic of me, there’s no regret.
Tristan’s eyes darken. “I want that, too.”
Before I can talk myself out of taking the leap, I whisper conspiratorially, “You leave first. Meet me at my place in ten minutes?”
He doesn’t even answer. Tristan goes to the living room and makes some vague reference to early morning practice.
“Thanks for tonight, Toby. Nice meeting everyone,” Tristan says casually. “See you around, Ligaya.”
I mumble something while tidying up a table.
“Now that your special guest is gone, are you joining us?” Toby asks, eyebrow raised.
My friends are in the middle of a chaotic charades competition. Kai is bent over laughing while Anna mimes aggressively, holding an invisible fishing rod like she’s trying to wrangle a sea monster.
“I’m good,” I state nonchalantly, dusting my hands on my jeans and avoiding eye contact. “I’ll refill the punch.”
“We’ve moved on to bourbon,” Toby says, already holding up a glass. “Pour yourself one.”
“I’m actually exhausted,” I say with a half-smile, fluffing a couch pillow that definitely doesn’t need fluffing. “I’ll tidy up and get going.”
“Do you have an early morning practice, too?” Anna teases, wiggling her brows.
“What? No, of course not.”
Kai releases a mocking “Yeah, right!” while tossing popcorn into his mouth and missing half of it.
I slump down onto the sofa, arms crossed over my chest as I sink into the couch. They’re right. I’m about as subtle as a flashing Las Vegas sign.
“He’s really into you,” Toby states, looking at me over the rim of his glass.
“For a one-night stand, I guess. I’m not mad about it,” I confirm, tracing a loose thread on the pillow I’m hugging. My voice is calm, but inside me is a tempest of need and restraint, excitement and doubt.
“What are you waiting for?” Toby asks. He jumps off the couch, grabs my coat, and pulls me to my feet.
I go willingly to the delight of our hooting friends.
Someone whistles and yells “Get it, girl!”
Anna fans herself dramatically.
When he’s steered me to the door and I’ve slipped into my coat, Toby squeezes my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re putting yourself out there. It’s been, what, almost two years?”
“No,” I correct softly, adjusting my collar. “John and I broke up one year ago.”
“That cheating bastard can go to hell. Maybe this is what you need to jump-start your mojo.”
“My mojo does not need a jump start.”
He lifts both hands in mock surrender, shoulders up in an if you say so gesture.
I roll my eyes but by the time I shut the door behind me, I’m all smiles.