“Is everything okay?” I query, my voice coming out shaky due to the quickening of my pulse from his avid stare.
He leans his broad shoulder against the doorjamb as one corner of his plump lips tug higher. “It is now,” he croons.
Breathing becomes a thing of the past when his eyes scorch my skin as he rakes them over my body.
“Go out with me, Ava,” he says, returning his eyes to mine.
“W-w-what?” I stammer, certain the words I’ve wanted to hear seep from his mouth for years didn’t just occur on my doorstep while I’m wearing a skimpy towel, not one ounce of make-up, and with only one leg shaven.
He smirks. “Come out with me. Tonight,” he clarifies.
Ouch.A slap to the face would have hurt less than that.
Suddenly, a notion hits me. “Are you drunk?”
That would be a very plausible reason as to why he has suddenly arrived at my door.
The flutter of my heart increases when his lips lift higher. “Maybe a little,” he replies with a laugh.
A rueful grin stretches across my face. Tonight isn’t the first time I’ve had to handle an inebriated Hugo. The very first time was at his eighteenth birthday party…..
“Sugar,” I mumble as my eyes leap around the desolate walls of a coatroom, seeking anything but the visual of a female with cascading blonde hair on her knees in front of a pair of trouser-clad thighs.
Even with the light from the entranceway beaming into the small closest space, the female’s slurping sucks and frantic movements don’t falter a bit as she continues with her mission to unravel the man whose rough pants of ecstasy have my cheeks warming and pulse hastening.
I spin on my heels, preparing to give the couple a small moment of privacy in a house overrun by out-of-control, frantic teens. I freeze, half out of the coatroom, when “Yeah, Vicky, baby, just like that,” comes sounding from a voice I’ve heard many times before.
My brain signals for my legs to move, but instead of pacing away from the train wreck that is inevitably going to shred my heart into a million pieces, my head cranks and my eyes roam over a well-splayed pair of thighs, a half-tucked-in disheveled shirt, and the ecstasy-riddled face of Hugo. His head is flopped back, his eyes are snapped shut, and his mouth is gaped open. He is the exact visual I’d conjured of him many times before.
The twisting of my stomach amplifies when he fists Vicky’s hair to increase her pace, forcing a muffled gag to sound from her throat. Hugo’s eyes snap open when a vile grunt tears from my throat. His pupils widen as his eyes absorb the repulsed expression on my face.
“Sorry,” I mumble, scrambling.
Mortified that he busted me ogling him during a sexual activity, I throw my red coat onto the floor, slam the door shut and dash towards the dense crowd gathered in the sunken living room. Since I had to wait for my parents to go to bed, I’ve arrived to the party fashionably late. Blaring music, hot sweaty bodies, and half of the school population has congregated in the Marshall residence this Friday night.
When Chase, Hugo’s older brother, discovered Jorgie and Hugo were going to be left unattended, he decided to throw an early eighteenth birthday party for Hugo. I don’t normally attend these types of events, but since it is a significant milestone in Hugo’s life, I chose to bend the normally unbreakable rein my father has gripped tightly around my neck. By scaling down the thorn-riddled latticework on the side of my house, I’ve arrived at Hugo’s birthday party a little after eleven PM.
Barging my way through a mass of bodies grooving to the latest club beat, I continue with my pursuit of the even more crowded backyard. Even with it being overpopulated with drunken teens, I need fresh air, and I need it pronto. A blast of brisk night air relieves my overheated skin when I yank open the glass sliding door that leads to the wooden deck.
My heart stops beating when, “Ava,” is shouted across the room from a deep rumbling voice that invades my dreams every single night.
In the reflection of the glass, I spot Hugo standing in the entranceway, adjusting his shirt to a more dignified configuration. Once his clothing is back in place, his eyes shift in all directions, no doubt seeking me amongst the crowd. I cowardly hide. Due to Hugo’s large size, he spots me across the vast span of the living area within a matter of seconds. I dart out the door when he commences striding through the sea of partygoers. My urgent dash to evade Hugo is aided by the numerous party attendees who stop dancing to pat him on the back in greeting when they spot him striding by.
I rush down the short flight of stairs that lead to the fire pit and take a sharp left. When I reach the edge of the paved fire pit, my elbow is seized. I don’t need to look up to know who is grasping me. My body’s reaction is all the indication I need to know that Hugo’s long strides have finally caught up with me. Sucking in a deep breath, I neutralize the expression on my face before pivoting on my heels. I smile sweetly, vainly pretending I didn’t witness what just happened. The longer Hugo’s glassy eyes roam over my face, the more his brows furrow.
“Damn, Ava, I’m sorry you had to see that,” he mutters.
The repentance in his eyes adds strength to his apology.
“Did you not see the scarf wrapped around the door handle?” Due to his closeness, his whiskey-laced breath flutters my lips.
“The what?”
The tautness on his face firms. “The scarf around the handle,” he repeats.
I return his stare before timidly shaking my head. Blood rushes through my veins, flaming my skin with heat when his eyes bore into mine, calling bullshit on my false statement. I did see the scarf, but I had no clue why it was there. I assumed it was lost property. But from the glimmer in Hugo’s eyes, and the scowl on his face, I guess my assumption was wrong.
“Happy birthday,” I say, thrusting the gift I’m clutching into his chest, praying for a moment of reprieve from the awkwardness suffocating the air surrounding us.
