“If you aren’t dressed in five minutes, Ava, you’re going to leave your apartment in only your towel. The choice is yours.”
With that, he saucily winks before sauntering out of the room. I stand motionless staring at the door he exited, utterly flabbergasted. I’m not just shocked by Hugo’s sudden interest in me; I’m also surprised he knew the location of my bedroom. I’m not bragging, but my apartment is decent in size. I worked hard throughout college and saved every single penny I made so I could afford the down payment.
I was called naïve and stupid when I signed on the dotted line after only viewing the blueprint designs for this building. Even living all the way over the other side of the country, I knew one day I was always going to return to Rochdale. It wasn’t a matter of if; it was a matter of when. But the only way I could afford an apartment in this area was by investing my money in the concept of an idea, not a physical building.
It was a risk, but it was one I was willing to take it. The taunts on my so-called stupidity continued when people discovered I was placing my hard-earned cash into the hands of a businessman who was younger than me. Now, nearly two years later, I’m the one laughing in their faces. Purchasing this apartment was the best financial decision I ever made. The value of the apartments in this building skyrocketed the instant the project was completed, meaning I’m now sitting on a very lucrative nest egg.
I dash to my wardrobe like a frantic woman when Hugo’s deep voice loudly declares. “Three minutes.”
“Can you at least tell me where we are going?” I yell, digging my hands deep into my closet, trying to find something suitable to wear.
“What does every twenty-five-year-old on the planet do on a Saturday night?” he asks.
“Shave their legs? Or is that just losers like me?”
My cheeky snickering is replaced with a gasp when Hugo comes strolling into my room unannounced.
“What if I were naked?” I query.
His lengthy strides have him crossing the room in two heart-thrashing seconds. “It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t seen before,” he mutters under his breath.
My brows furrow. “You haven’t seen me naked.”
My pulse quickens when he stops rummaging through my vast collection of clothing and turns to stare at me. His eyes are glistening, but there is something more tangible beneath the devious spark that has my interests piqued.
My breathing returns when he says, “Camp Levitt, the lake house, and that time you vomited after we went trick or treating because you ate your candy as it was handed to you, instead of putting it into your pink powder-puff collection bag.”
My jaw drops. Not just because he’s seen me naked on at least three separate occasions, but because he remembered a bag I used for Halloween over fourteen years ago.
“Those times don’t count. Nothing before puberty counts.” My voice comes out extra high as my embarrassment places a stranglehold on my vocal cords.
“Like you can talk,” I say, my tone having a whip of edginess to it when I catch sight of his pompous smirk. “I’ve seen you naked more times than I can count.”
“Pfftt, name three times you’ve seen my junk.”
“The morning of spring fling, that time you lost your board shorts surfing after Hurricane Claudette hammered the coastline in 2003, and the night Jorgie and I arrived at a party at your frat house in college,” I respond, ticking off each item with my fingers. “Shall I continue? As I’m sure I have at least a dozen more memories I can recall.”
That’s a total lie. Including tonight, I’ve only seen him naked four times.
“You and Jorgie came to one of my frat parties?” he asks with his brows scrunched together.
I roll my eyes before accepting the little black dress he is handing me from my extensive collection of LBD’s. I shouldn’t be surprised he doesn’t remember my admission, because lo and behold, Hugo was drunk.
“Your five minutes is up, Ava,” he says, pacing closer to me with a wicked grin etched on his mouth.
I freeze as my panicked eyes flick between the skimpy towel wrapped around my body and the beast of a man prowling stealthily towards me.
“I was waiting for you to turn around,” I remark, blurting out the first excuse that pops into my head. “Even though youmayhave already seen me naked, there are no free peep shows happening here tonight.”
My heart rate soars when his deep chuckle sounds through my ears. “Party pooper,” he mutters.
“Turn around,” I ask, wriggling my finger in a circular pattern to enhance my request.
When he does as solicited with a broad grin stretched across his face, I unlatch the side zipper of the black dress and step into the small opening. With a few tugs, a couple of rough yanks, and a handful of grunts, I manage to get the skin-tight dress onto my body without even needing to remove my towel.
“If you weren’t going to remove you towel, why did I need to turn around?” queries Hugo.
My brow cocks.How did he know I didn’t remove my towel?
