My mouth becomes ajar when I spot his grinning reflection leering at me in the full-length dressing mirror in the corner of the room. If I didn’t take such over-the-top precautions, he would have had a full view of my entire body. My nakedpost-pubescentbody.
I gulp.
The smirk etched on his rugged face falters when I throw the drenched towel from my hair over his head, concealing his view as I swiftly pull a pair of black panties up my quaking thighs. I only just get the hem of my dress to a respectable level when he yanks the towel off his head. I stick out my tongue at the playful wiggle of his brows before ambling to the vanity mirror to run my fingers through my freshly shampooed hair.
After adding a sheen of lip gloss to my naked lips, I place a splattering of mascara onto my already dark lashes. I’m uncapping a black eyeliner pencil and adding a dash of blush to my cheeks when Hugo wraps his broad arm around my waist and pulls me backwards. A yearning of desire clusters low in my womb when the Woods of Windsor aftershave I bought him for his seventeenth birthday filters through my nose.
“Time’s up,” he declares, breathing heavily into my ear.
My breathing shallows when my backside brushes against his impressive crotch. I already knew from his nickname in high school that his manhood was impressive, but until I was awarded with a full frontal visual of it, I had no idea it was that remarkable. I remain quiet, silenced by embarrassment as he carries me to the front door. It is no hard feat for Hugo, considering he is a foot taller than me and a hundred pounds heavier.
“My purse,” I beg, pointing to the black clutch bag hanging on the coat rack near the front door. “I’ll need my ID.”
Even though I’m nearly twenty-five, I get carded every time I order an alcoholic drink. Hugo’s lengthy strides don’t falter as he snags my clutch off the rack and a pair of black heels from the entranceway. He strides down the long hallway to the elevator banks located in the middle. The hotness of the blood pumping through my veins has a fine mist of sweat forming on my freshly cleaned skin. The night air is already suffocated with humidity from the downpour of rain earlier today, but in Hugo’s firm clutch, the heat is even more pulverizing.
When the elevator doors snap shut, I wiggle, attempting to get out of his tight grasp.
“You can put me down now,” I say when my squirming effort comes up fruitless.
Hugo shrugs as an indescribable grunt sounds out of his mouth. I grit my teeth and suck in a breath of air.
“I’m not a child,” I reprimand him, even though I’m being carried like I am.
Because of my small height and petite frame, people often say I look like I’m still a teenager. You’d think that not aging the past seven years would be an invigorating experience I would happily shout from the rooftops. It isn’t. My colleagues don’t take me seriously, as they think I’m the female equivalent of Dr. Howser from the television show “Doogie Howser M.D.” Grown men assume I’m jailbait, so they won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole, and for the past three years, my professor has called me one of the most ridiculous nicknames I’ve ever heard in my life.
Baby face.
That hideous nickname was the sole reason for my latest makeover. I worked hard throughout college, my nose rarely leaving the inside of a book. Now it’s time for my dedication to pay off. But unless I can get my colleagues to take me seriously, I’m never going to attain the stellar reputation I need to remain viable in the thriving dental conglomerate. So with a hefty increase in my credit card limit and nothing but my pride at stake, I went a little crazy.
My naturally dark brown long afro curls were chemically straightened to wispy waves of shiny locks that now sit an inch past my shoulders. My wardrobe had every baggy pair of boyfriend jeans, sweatshirts, yoga pants, and soccer mom outfits confiscated and given to Goodwill. And my natural plane-jane makeup was replaced with a more daring and bold color palette.
Although I’ve been sporting this new look for six months, this is the first time Hugo has seen the spit-polished version of Ava. But with him once again wearing his infamous beer-googles, he probably still sees me as the braces and baggy jeans-wearing, pimpled-face teenage girl he recalls from years ago. To be honest, until I ran into the hot-blooded male version of Hugo this afternoon, I was still imagining him as the teenage boy who both tilted my axis and shattered it……
Unless you have battled the wrath of a Jorgie Marshall storm, you will not understand the next part of my story. An hour after I was planning on borrowing a dress from Jorgie’s vast collection of clothing and tootling home to hide my embarrassment under my gaudy pink sheets, I'm walking into the converted den in the attic of the Marshall residence, preparing to team up with Jorgie in a game of pool against two graduating seniors who were, I quote, “dying for the chance to meet me,” unquote.
Hugo’s eyes, along with numerous others, lift to gawk at Jorgie and me when we enter the den. This is nothing out of the ordinary. Jorgie has remarkable beauty, the type that draws the attention of every male in the room. Her big blue eyes are prominent against her pale skin, and her dark hair makes them blaze, giving her an alluring combination of both seduction and uniqueness.
I smile warily at Hugo, gauging his reaction to my decision not to go home. The corners of his lips tug into a core-clenching smile before they become hidden behind a glass when he lifts a schooner to his mouth and takes a generous gulp of the liquid inside. Even though I can’t see his smile, I can feel the warmth of his eyes on me as I continue shadowing Jorgie into the den.
Panic sets in when my attempts at concealing my face from prying spectators with my thick curly hair comes up fruitless. Before we left her room, Jorgie pulled my unruly hair back into a tight ballet-style bun, fully exposing my face. My invisibility glasses have been dumped on the vanity of her shared bathroom with Hugo, and the lightest splattering of make-up has been applied to my face. I feel awkward, out of place, like I’m in the midst of an outer body experience. My dash for the door is thwarted when Jorgie strengthens her grip on my wrist.
“They aren’t looking at you because you look weird,” she affirms, her eyes drifting around the room. “That spark you see in their eyes is the spark of interest and intrigue. Trust me, Ava, you want to see that spark.”
Inhaling a deep breath, I endure with my shaky steps towards the blue felt-covered billiard table.After Jorgie scribbles our names onto a chalkboard, advising we are the next set of players for a game of pool, she pivots on her heels to face the mass gathering of partygoers crammed into the space.
A clap of her hands gains her the devotion of nearly every man in the room. My attention is diverted from Jorgie when the trio of cheerleaders from the impromptu pool party stalk their way to Hugo. Head cheerleader and No. 1 bitch of our school, Victoria, leads the pack of scantily clad women vying for his attention. Victoria is dressed in a bombshell, curve-hugging designer dress. Every hair on her head has been straightened and brushed to perfection, falling onto her shoulders in a gloss of blonde waves. Her face, although made-up, looks refreshing and not overly done.
My heart flips when Hugo angles his head to the side, brushing off Victoria’s attempts at re-acquainting their lips. The pulse in my neck thrums when his dark, heavy-hooded eyes lock with mine. Even with Victoria jabbering in his ear and intimately touching his chest, his demanding eyes remain steadfast on me. His alluring gaze spears me in place and has my pulse quickening.
I clutch the hem of my dress, inwardly battling not to squirm from his piercing blue stare. I lose the ability to control my fidgeting when his glassy gaze lowers to absorb the dress Jorgie selected for me to wear. The length of this skirt would be best described as indecent. But by adding a pair of heels, this dress became downright corrupt.
An idiotic smile forms on my face from Hugo’s lengthened stare. Feeling brazen, I grasp the flare of my skirt and do a princess curtsy. A small giggle parts my lips when Hugo’s eyes return to mine and he waves his hand pompously in the air like the paupers in the fairy-tale movies do when the princess saunters by. Our fire-sparking stare down is only interrupted when a pool cue is waved in front of my face. Shifting my focus back to the present, I am met with the charming smile of Rhys Tagget.
“We’re going to play a game of doubles. Did you want to pair up with me or Jorgie?” he queries, his tone friendly with a slight dash of sexiness.
“Umm,” I reply. My eyes lift to seek Jorgie. She grins a beaming smile and nods her head, encouraging me to accept Rhys’ offer.
Before I can accept his invitation, a deep voice at my side says, “You pair up with Jorgie; I’ll play with Ava.”
