8-Bad Blood
“What?” He was seriously eating the afritada that Manang Tasing and I cooked when I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him—at his chest.
“W-What’s what?” I grabbed my spoon and fork and start eating. He graciously eats like a prince but what destructs me the most is to know that behind that fitted-shirt was a huge scar.
“I’m done.” Really, but I just started! He putted the utinsels down on the side. Bakit? Ayaw niya sa luto ko? Does it taste bad!?
Masarap naman, ah. I tasted it myself. Saka tumayo si ito and was about to exit.
“I cooked our dinner, how was it?” I hastily query and was hoping he’ll compliment the menu without asking him to.
“Really? Next time, don’t bother to cook.” What!? He left me with that sardonic statement. Masarap naman ang lasa, ah—even Mana
