What Am I To You (Prequel to Before I Do) #Wattys2016

Chapter 12

Still, I dress the best I can. So what if I blew half of my paycheck on a ridiculously expensive sheet of black satin dress that looks like it can fall off or get blown away anytime? The silk texture feels good and the thin straps scream "sex" in all direction. The sky-high stilettos feel like needles on my feet. But the overpriced blow dry helps pull everything together. I look goddamn spanking hot.

When I arrive at the venue, I look like everyone else. It would be nice to know that the venue was overflowing with models and celebrities but I soon blended in a sea of black-wearing, stiletto-wearing, lipstick-smacking women whose every pore scream "sex" all around.

In a sea of black, I feel more exposed than ever. I want to take another long elevator ride down 71 floors, get a car and drive back to Katipunan where Tristan's friends are having a small drinking session before he goes to Marinduque. But my strong will to support Matthew in his crazy world keeps me from turning my back on the all the beautiful people, even if that means spending the rest of the night standing painfully in heels and talking to a slightly tipsy Denver.

I see him first from a distance. His face, like the rest of this features, are easy to spot and for some women, easy to admire. Denver is a dead ringer for Piolo Pascual, a male celebrity in the Philippines who has been the object of many women's fantasies in the past five years. I met Denver in college, when he was still a philosophy major who worked as a staffer for The Literati.

We stayed friendly through the years but I never told him about Matthew and me. I had seen him in several glossy magazines, posing for one brand to another until he landed a small role in an indie film that also featured a less popular Coco Martin in his early years in show business.

"Kit!" he nearly shouts my name, and despite the blaring music, some people turn their heads. "Are you covering the launch?"

His breath smells like whiskey. I am about to tell him that I'm here as a guest when a tall, blonde girl – who clearly looks like a model and who clearly looks like she doesn't live here – grabs Denver's hair, pulls him close and delivers a massive, wet kiss that makes my head lean sideways.

The kiss lasts for a good five seconds that Denver raises a hand, asking me to wait. When the scene ends, the blonde model turns to me with her glazed eyes and walks away as if nothing happened.

"My date," Denver says, grabbing another glass of whatever the passing waiter was holding. He gulps it down in one solid, smooth gulp, winces and motions for me to follow him to one of the cocktail tables occupied by a group of college-looking girls. They stifle a round of squeals when Denver arrives but decide to leave the table when the male model politely brushed off a request for a selfie.

"Heartbreaker," I tease.

"Underage bitches," he says, "If you can't f*ck them, why mess with them?"

"So, are you and blondie f*ck buddies, then?"

He smiles and hands me a glass of whiskey he grabs from another roving server. He looks like he's about to sexually assault any woman who dares stand beside him, but I've known him for so long that I know he will never dare touch me. Contrary to tabloid reports, Denver isn't a moron. In fact, he has a bachelor's degree in philosophy and two years of law school under his belt. He comes from a rich family but attended Ateneo Law School under a scholarship until he got kicked out because of a fraternity fight.

In fact, he is probably one of the smartest guys I know but in the succeeding years following his dismissal from law school, he spent his days partying in Bonifacio Global City until one agent "discovered" him and groomed him for the pageant industry wherein he won a Ginoong Pilipinas title a few years back. The title opened several doors for him, including – maybe – some back doors that rarely open, and gave him more modeling projects, which probably explains why he's here tonight.