“Ava,” he murmurs, his tone lowering as his gaze drops to the black gift box in my hand. “I thought we said no gifts this year.”
The purr of his voice causes a prickling of goose bumps to form on my arms. I push my thick-rimmed glasses up my nose and hunch my shoulders. “It’s nothing major,” I mumble shyly.
A boyish grin stretches across his face as he accepts the gift. I inwardly sigh, relieved that the awkwardness between us has been dodged. I cross my arms in front of my chest, hiding my body’s reaction to the sexy-as-hell grin etched on his face as he pries at a piece of cello tape on the side seam.
For as long as I’ve known Hugo, he has always taken his time unwrapping presents. He has said on numerous occasions he likes to savor the moment, to bask in the glory of being the center of attention. It’s the perfect antidote for the poor, neglected middle child.
Just as the side flap has been carefully opened, the swarm of people milling around the pool realize the birthday man has emerged amongst them. Within a matter of seconds, Hugo is inundated by well-wishers wanting to bestow their birthday felicitations.
As the rowdy crowd congresses around him, I get elbowed and barged out of the way until I'm once again on the outer circle of the popularity contest that always launches when Hugo is in the vicinity. The stabbing pain piercing my heart lessens when Hugo’s gorgeous face pokes out from the heavy crowd. When he spots me standing to the side he grins a heart-flattering smile.
“Thank you,” he says, staring straight at me.
“You’re welcome,” I mouth back, smiling.
When his grinning face becomes nothing but an ambiguous blur in the crowd, I spin on my heels. Quietly, I sit in a vacant chair next to Jorgie, not wanting to interrupt her game of tonsil hockey with her on and off again boyfriend, Blake.
Snubbing the sucking-face noises neighboring me, I spend the next several minutes immersed in the fascinating world of people watching. Even though everyone in eyesight knows Hugo in some way, the gathering of people is diverse. You have your school jocks and Barbie doll cheerleaders gathered in a large group near the edge of the pool. The dark, moody, artsy crowd is milling around the fire pit, and even though they remain hidden in the shadows, I spotted a handful of members from the computer club gathered at the side of the house when I first dashed into the backyard. And then there are the people like me. The awkward anti-social crowd who scatters themselves throughout the groups, hoping one day to work out exactly which faction we belong to.
My people gawking is interrupted when a red plastic cup full to the brim with bubbling soda is shoved under my nose. Lifting my eyes, I absorb an older, although not any more mature version of Hugo. Hugo and Chase are two men cut from the same cloth – their father’s. Same dark, thick shaggy hair hanging loosely on the top of their heads, large round piercing blue eyes, and well-carved facial features that make my pulse and other parts of my body flutter faster.
“Hey, Chase,” I greet him, accepting the cup he is jutting towards me.
“Ava,” he croons in his deep, throaty voice. “Make sure you only accept drinks from Hugo or me tonight,” he instructs, his tone firm.
His inched-high brows lower when I curtly nod my head. He grins, lessening the confused scowl before nudging Blake in the shoulder with his enclosed fist. Blake’s heavy-lidded eyes snap open, furious that his heavy petting session with Jorgie has been interrupted. His angry gaze switches to panic when he realizes who has disturbed his above PG-rated make-out session.
“Beat it,” Chase instructs, glaring at Blake.
“Chase,” Blake drawls with a laugh, “help a brother out.”
Any further slurred words preparing to escape Blake’s mouth become entombed when an angry growl rumbles through Chase’s snapped-shut lips.
“You either leave voluntarily or I’ll walk you out myself,” Chase advises.
His stern tone causes an ice cold chill to run down my spine. Even with Chase attending college two towns over, his protective big brother stance hasn’t eased when it comes to men getting close to his baby sister. But I must give credit where credit is due. Even after a vicious caution from Hugo and Chase, Blake continues to pursue Jorgie with just as much vigor as he did before he found out she was the Marshall Brothers’ little sister. A lesser man would’ve run for the hills. Many men before him have done exactly that.
“I’ll show you out,” Jorgie says, swinging her gaze from glaring at Chase to a staggered Blake.
Jorgie places her hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she says with a waggle of her brows.
I smile and nod my head. That was one of our secret friends’ code. Saying she will be back in a minute while waggling her brows means she will be no less than thirty minutes. I run my index finger under my nose, silently acknowledging I understand her statement and that I’m fine being left unattended. After one last glare at Chase, Jorgie heads towards the house with a broad grin stretched across her face and Blake shadowing closely behind.
Not long later after Jorgie has left, a roaring chant of laughter drags my attention from picking the polish on my nails. A smile gleams across my face when I spot six members of the rowing team hoisting Hugo off the ground and charging towards the vacant pool. Even though Hugo appears to be struggling against their hold, I can tell he isn’t putting in a real effort.
On the boisterous count of three, Hugo is thrown into the undoubtedly frigid water. The sound of men hollering resonates over the roar of laughter when a trio from the cheerleading squad strips out of their clothing and dives into the water squealing, “Pool party!” at the top of their lungs.
A disdained grimace morphs on my face when the bra and panty-wearing troupe circles Hugo like a pack of sharks in heat. I gasp when Victoria Avenke’s lips enclose over Hugo’s and he doesn’t pull away. I try to act brave and pretend I’m not affected, but in all honesty, it hurts. It hurts like a fucking bitch. But then I remember, they aren’t seeing the real Hugo Marshall.
Tonight, he is the popular school jock who is friends with everyone. By Sunday, he will be back to the real Hugo. The one only I get to see. The one who lounges around in his pajamas until midday every Sunday morning and hates when I beat him on Mario Kart. That is the real Hugo – the Hugo I have a mad crush on. Not the boy undertaking a course in the art of resuscitation in the pool.
“A pool party and a bonfire, quite the odd combination,” states a voice from above a short time later.
Lifting my eyes from the dancing embers of the fire, I'm met with a knock-your-socks-off smile. My eyes bug when they roam over Rhys Tagget, my childhood crush No. 2. Rhys screams bad boy with his clipped dark hair, tattooed arms, and impressive swagger. Even when he was a junior, the senior girls fawned over him. He graduated from our high school two summers ago. When he isn’t attending university, studying to become a surgeon, he works at the local tattoo parlor, hence the vibrant collection of artwork on his body.
“Freeze in the pool, thaw by the fire,” I reply, shyly smiling.
Rhys chuckles a hearty laugh. “For some strange reason, that kind of makes sense.”
