Between All The Almosts (Between Lines #6)

Chapter 3

Attack

Putangina. I live for this. Shen's face was already tightening, jaw ticking, eyes dark as a storm—my favorite version of him, honestly.

All because of me.

He shoved his phone in my face like he wanted to stab me with it. "Clear this issue. Ayokong nadadamay pangalan ko sa'yo."

God, even angry, he was beautiful.

I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, smirking.

"Relax, mahal. You sound jealous."

Wrong thing to say— or the right one, depending on who you ask.

Bigla niya akong sinunggaban, fist bunching my shoulder, and slammed me against the wall so hard the frames shook.
His breath was hot on my face. His anger? Delicious.

"I'm asking nicely here, Boones," he growled.

I touched his chest—slow, teasing—just to piss him off.
"'Mahal, talaga. You should say it with more... interesting. You get what I—"

I didn't even finish. His fist flew. Right hook, clean, solid. My head snapped to the side—pain bursting across my cheek—pero puta, what a rush.

I tasted iron. And victory.

Shen punching me meant I got under his skin. Exactly where I wanted to be.

"You fucker!" he shouted, voice breaking. "The next time I see you, I swear... I. WILL. FUCKING. KILL. YOU!"

He shoved me again, hard enough that I slid on the floor a little.

He stormed out, practically vibrating with rage.

And me? I was sitting on the floor holding my jaw...and laughing. Wild, unfiltered, belly-deep laughter. Because Shen Rivera—cool, composed, untouchable Shen—just lost control because of me.

He reached the gate, ready to disappear, and I leaned out of the doorway, hand cupped around my mouth.

"LOVE YOU TOO, MAHAL!" He froze. Just a second. But enough.

I saw it. That twitch of his shoulder. That flare of frustration. And fuck, it felt good. Because here's the truth: He thinks he hates me. He thinks I'm chaos and headache and scandal.

But that reaction? That punch? That glare that could kill a man? It means I'm getting closer. Too close. And the best part?Shen Rivera doesn't even realize it yet. But I do. And I'm not stopping.

The bruise on my cheek was screaming, throbbing, pulsing with every step I took down the hallway—pero honestly? I didn't give a damn.

Let them stare. Let them whisper.

If anything, it made me walk straighter, chin up, parang runway model na kulang sa tulog at sobra sa kasalanan.

By the time lunch came, I finally reached our table. And of course—OF COURSE—instead of concern, sympathy, or kahit man lang "Ashton, are you okay?"

What I got was—"Siguro nahuli kang nakipag-sex nung may jowa kaya ka nasapak?" Slate announced, laughing like a hyena.

I dropped my tray and glared at him. "Wow. Inspirational quote of the day, Slate. Gago."

"Karma 'yan," Codial added, shaking his head like he was doing some sermon.

"Baka naman binugbog ng magulang ng nilandi mo?"

"Or baka ikaw mismo nagmakaawa sapakin ka kasi trip mo?"

"Pwede rin sinakal ka tapos sinapak, alam mo naman type mo rough—"