Chapter 35
1775 Words
Next thing I knew, nasa banyo na kami.
Ako, nasa 100th level ng shower room habang binabasa ko ‘yung buhok niya gamit ang showerhead. Siya, nakaupo sa toilet bowl (takip naman, of course), mukhang magsisisi na sa buhay choices niya. His hair was soaked and his soul looked damp too.
I tried to comb it pero ang hirap. Ang tangkad niya. Tapos parang kabayo kung lumalaban ‘yung buhok niya.
Andrè noticed my struggle. Next thing I knew, hinawakan niya ang bewang ko—GIRL—and lifted me to sit on the bathroom countertop like it was normal. Napasinghap ako.
“Wag kang sumimangot,” I said habang suklay-suklay ang buhok niya.
“This is against my will.”
“You agreed, okay? Consent was given. Verbal. May eye contact pa nga.”
He rolled his eyes. For a moment, kamukha niya si Jax. Alam mo ‘yung disappointed-but-resigned look ni Atty. Santiago kapag may sumagot ng “moral obligation” sa tanong niya sa class? Ayun ‘yun.
Then—he had the audacity to part my legs and stand between them like it was his damn throne. May kamay pa sa legs ko. Dati kinikilig ako. Ngayon… okay, fine, kinikilig pa rin ako. Pero ‘wag siyang masyadong confident.
“Do you want bangs?” I asked, serious.
“I want my normal hairstyle.”
“I think bagay sa ‘yo ang bangs.”
“I’ll get bangs if you get bangs.”
I glared. TRAUMA TRIGGERED. Because yes, college days. I once had a haircut na kamukha ko si Dora the Explorer, kung si Dora ay nag-pursue ng pre-law at naging permanently stressed. Never again.
“Ha-ha. Funny.”
He grinned. “Pikon.”
“Epal ka kasi.”
“Just an undercut, Maricon.”
“Do I look like I have a razor, Andrè? Do I look like a human barbershop?!”
He laughed. “This is getting funny, and I hate it. Just cut my hair and get this over with.”
So ayun. Gamit ang kitchen scissors na supposedly pang sibuyas, sinimulan ko na. Dahan-dahan. Like I was sculpting Michelangelo’s David pero mas cute at mas madaldal.
I made the sides shorter and left the top a little long para stylish-stylish boy. ‘Yung parang CEO ng startup na nagba-barista din sa umaga for fun.
“Satisfied?” he asked, now holding my waist with a smug smirk.
I tilted his chin and examined. “Hmm… Try mong ‘wag mag-shave ng ilang days.”
Umiling siya agad. “No. I’ll look like Pablo.”
My mouth dropped. “Selos ka dun?”
He scoffed. “Why would I be jealous of that fossil?”
I laughed. Grabe, si Pablo. I completely forgot about him na nga! Thanks for the red flag, King! If not for Pablo randomly telling me na may thing ako for Andrè, baka hanggang ngayon iniisip ko pa rin na magkaibigan lang kami ni Mr. Veiny Arms.
I reached for the blower and plugged it in. Pinatuyo ko ang buhok niya habang siya ay parang dog sa grooming station—nagtitiis, pero may pride.
Pagkatapos, I stepped back, proud. Parang nanalo ako sa Project Runway: Barbero Edition.
“Feeling ko mas gumwapo ka,” I said, arms around his neck. I smiled at him like I just painted the Mona Lisa.
He stared at his reflection. Head tilt to the left. Then right. Pursed lips.
“Ano? Okay, ‘di ba?” I asked.
He turned back to me and locked his hands behind my waist. “Yeah... but this won’t happen again.”
I pouted. “Fine. Basta ‘wag kang magpahaba ulit ng buhok. Ayoko nang mag-gupit habang hawak ko ‘yung gunting pang manok.”
He nodded solemnly. “Will put it in my monthly reminder—right between gym day and ‘Avoid Pablo’s name at all costs.’”
I laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re welcome, Mr. Haircut.”
He smirked. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
I c****d my head to the side and smiled at him again. I loved how stupidly comfortable we were with each other. We were more best friends than lovers—parang kami ‘yung tipo ng mag-jowa na mag-aaway sa kung anong sauce ang mas masarap sa Chickenjoy.
But seriously, I could literally tell him anything and not be afraid of what he’d think of me.
Because I knew him.
I knew that Andrè Ladezma would ask first before jumping into conclusions. He’s just too mature. Like… disgustingly emotionally intelligent. Sometimes, gusto ko talagang mag-thank you sa mga exes niya. Thank you sa collective character development ninyo, mga ate.
“Andrè,” I said, staring into his smug, pogi face.
“Hmmm?”
“When will you kiss me?”
He arched his brow. “Are you asking me?”
I nodded. “Yeah… when?”
He removed his hands from my back and leaned sa edge ng countertop—still standing between my legs, the bathroom’s yellow light making him look illegally gwapo. I mean… wow. It’s unfair.
I ran my fingers through his newly trimmed hair. He looked like a K-drama heartthrob who studied civil law and played basketball on weekends.
“When the time’s right,” he said.
“I don’t believe in perfect timing. We could die tomorrow.”
“So… you’re asking me to kiss you?”
“Yes, you idiot—”
But my insult was instantly shut down when he cupped my face with both hands like he was about to propose a merger, and the next thing I knew, he was kissing me.
Not just any kiss.
Andrè Ladezma, this French-toast-loving demon, was French kissing me on our first kiss! As in?! May tongue agad?! Gago, di ba dapat may pa-cute muna?
He kissed me thoroughly like gusto niya akong lunurin sa laway niya. He kissed and pulled and made me forget how lungs worked. His right hand left my cheek and started caressing my thigh, making my brain go: ERROR 404: MODESTY NOT FOUND.
Shit.
Don’t give in, Maricon! Kiss lang ‘to! Wala munang kama-kama! Focus, future attorney ka!
But then he left my lips and started raining kisses on my cheeks and neck like it was part of the weather forecast. “Thunderstorms and passionate neck kisses in the northern region—”
He used his hand to pull my hair back, forcing my neck to tilt like a lamb being served to a predator. GAGO ANG INIT NG HININGA NIYA.
“Don’t leave marks,” I gasped when I felt his lips sucking the side of my neck like a low-key vampire na may abogado ambitions.
“Just one,” he said, AS IF THAT’S A VALID COMPROMISE.
“No! Makikita!”
Apparently, I chose the wrong words because this f*****g asshole mistook it as an invitation to SUCK THE TOP OF MY BOOB.
“HOY!” sigaw ko, sabay tulak ng ulo niya na ayaw paawat. “KISS LANG SABI KO, ANDRÈ!”
I yanked his hair like I was trying to remove weeds sa garden. He finally stopped, but then he bent over my chest and started laughing like a psychopath. As in full-on tawa habang naka-dantay ang noo niya sa boobs ko like it was his favorite pillow.
“Anong nakakatawa?!” I smacked the back of his head.
“Di mo alam meaning ng ‘kiss lang’?” he asked between snorts.
“Sorry, baby.”
“Are you really sorry though?” I squinted.
He shook his head. “Nope. Sorry for not stopping agad. Got… a little carried away.” His smile was stupidly sweet. I wanted to punch it.
I pulled his head up and stared at his criminal face. Tangina. May red mark na sa boob area ko. I looked like a victim of lust and betrayal. This man cannot be trusted.
“Hindi ka na pwedeng pagkatiwalaan. NEXT MONTH NA ULIT ANG NEXT.”
“WHAT?! That’s unreasonable!” he cried as I pushed him down from the countertop like he was a misbehaving cat.
I marched out of the CR, grabbed his unfinished burger, and bit into it like it owed me money. He followed, of course, with the audacity of a man who just tongued your soul and expected cuddles after.
I sat on the couch and started channel surfing, but in reality, I was eavesdropping on his very dramatic self-defense presentation about why I should forgive him.
His reasons were so stupid I started laughing.
“You’ll be forgiven if…”
“If?” he asked, looking hopeful.
“You let me color your hair.”
His face dropped. “What is your end goal here, Maricon Santiago?”
I shrugged. “Gusto ko lang makita kung bagay sa ‘yo ang light brown. Alam mo ‘yung parang pwede ka nang i-print sa cover ng Precious Hearts Romance habang nakasakay sa kabayo?”
He clenched his jaw. “Fine, you devious girl. But we define terms. I want a clear agreement. Walang loopholes. Walang vague provisions.”
“Nagiging Oblicon na tayo, ah.”
He pointed a finger. “French kissing, Maricon. Full-pledged kissing. With tongue. Otherwise, no hair coloring.”
GAGO ‘TO.
I slapped him—pero na-catch niya agad kamay ko like a freaking k-drama ML.
“Manyak ka!”
“Just a man who knows what he wants,” he said, smirking like the infuriating idiot that he was. “It includes me touching you—”
“Just my face and legs!”
“Between your legs included?”
My soul left my body. “ANDRÈ!”
He doubled over laughing. “Joke lang! Gising ka na agad, ah!”
“Siguraduhin mo lang. Baka magising ka bukas, kalbo ka na.”
“I promise,” he said, raising his hand like a soldier pledging allegiance. “So, color my hair first or make out? Or both?” he asked habang ‘yung kamay niya, ayun na naman, nagsi-sidestep papuntang hita ko like it paid rent there.
We argued for a solid ten minutes, calling each other names like “Morally gray,” “Certified lapastangan,” and “Future disbarred.”
But in the end? We ended up multitasking.
Hair dye in one hand, lips on each other, and full chaotic stupid energy engaged.
Because when you're in love—with someone stupidly hot and emotionally available—you multitask.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
- Writer
