"It's your last chance to tell me you love me,” he looks at me straight in the eye when he utters those words, to which I do nothing but to stare back at him, not knowing what to say or even do. I have been this man’s girlfriend for a few months now and by the way he endlessly threw I-love-you day and night at me, you would’ve thought I’d somehow slipped in the past, somewhat replied him back but no, sorry to disappoint you but I still haven't said those sacred three-words sentence not even once to him. To be honest, I don't plan to ever say it. You can’t say I’m being an ass because I’ve stated clearly right in the beginning of this relationship that this is not permanent. He is well aware of my stand to be best friends, just best friends, so I’m not playing him. He knew what’s going to be in it and he agreed to jump both feet in so here we are, me pretending as if I didn’t hear what he said a few seconds ago. "My Baby is so beautiful," he pushes himself deeper at the word ‘so’,

It's been a month since the boys are here. A month since I've heard of Luca. The first two weeks after our final goodbye was the worst period of my life. Okay, maybe it wasn't the worst because the days were great- I had my kids with me, spending quality time with them making me forget of a certain someone who's been my source of entertainment for the past five months. What's worst was the nights; they were the worst I've ever experienced. Right after the boys went to bed, I buried myself under the blanket. I couldn't get out of it doesn't matter how Abby tried to cheer me up or lure me out, because all I wanted to do after a long day with them, putting a happy front by neglecting my own feelings, after all of those, come night I really wanted to digest those very same feelings even if it's all heartache and pure sadness. I wanted to come to terms with them because I knew I had to process everything in order to let go and move on. I moped around like a teenager who's had her hea

The first thirty-two years of my life, I've never had a taste of alcohol. Pretty sure you get what I mean; not the cooking type of alcohol but the drinking one, normally paired with the meals or taken when adults are hanging out. Or should I say, the only poison you need after a long, stressful day? Luca trained me pretty well into knowing my alcohol tolerance, he said the socialites don't get drunk in public so he taught me my limit the way his Dad did with him. Of course I'm not a socialite but it's important since I'm new in this drinking world so I have to know what my body is capable of to say no to another glass, keeping me safe in case I need to rely to myself to get home. He always reminded me, doesn't matter where I am, how late it is, or how bad our relationship is at that particular moment, I can always call him to ask if he can get me home. He promised he would not judge or say anything, preferred to have me home safely and would never bring up about what happened. That

I remember precisely how we reconciled after four months hiatus since the sugar baby contract ended; he brought me home once I finished the long hour operation, served me a steak sandwich, let me take a shower in the ensuite bathroom, followed by a nap on his bed. I’ve done all those in the exact same order (the only difference is I went drinking instead of working), currently I’m in the walk-in closet picking out an outfit to go to the said appointment. And yes, I’m having this idea that perhaps we will reconcile by the same way. Which I’m okay with it since I’m not sure myself how long would I need to approach him first so I’ve decided I’ll go along with this plan. He hasn’t resurfaced since he left an hour ago so I still don’t know the details of our outing but knowing today is a Saturday, it won’t be a meeting with his family; Sunday is the day the Sinclair’s gather around.I can just go downstairs and ask him but I figured I’d put on something first before doing that, afterall

"She really is?" Contrary to how it sounded in my ear or in this brain of mine, that he was both fascinated and surprised (yes, surprised eventhough he must have guessed it hence our presence here in my gynae's office), when I turn my head to look at him he doesn't seem that shocked though. Instead, I spot a half smile curved on that beautiful face. "Yes." I shake my head hearing Allie's firm answer, objecting the professional's statement. I'm fully aware that she has been a certified gynaecologist for more than a decade but I know my own body. I know I'm not pregnant. How on earth am I pregnant when I'm on my period right at this moment? Is this some kind of a joke? Did my result got switched with someone else's? "Did you see the note?" I ask in urgency, "I told a nurse about the, uhh, isn't there supposed to be a note?" She picks up a yellow sticky note and raises it for me to look at it clearly, "You mean this one?""Uhh yeah?" I'm not sure if that's the same note the nurse sc