ONE YEAR AFTER
THE DISCO LIGHTS MADE HIS HEAD DIZZY and into a frenzy as he sipped his glass shot of scotch. He winced, feeling more lightheaded than ever. This is just one of his usual scenarios. Being drunk in the weekends after tying all the shooting scenes with random sexy models.
A stranger flocked into his table, flimsy red clothing that almost bare her soul, makeup that made her look like every w***e he just met in the bar. Perhaps so, she made her way beside him, drinking his scent, and touching his chest.
“Lucas Monteloyola, you’re here…”
“I’m always here,” he smirked, getting another shot of his drink. “And you are?”
“I’m a model, I’m Hera’s friend.”
His brows arched, “Well Hera, wanted me to meet you.”
“Oh,” he mouthed at pinaraanan ito
