Ava
Even with my insides dancing like they are performing onAmerica’s Got Talent,I maintain a calm, rational façade. Although I tried to keep my tone laced with cheekiness, there was no denying the sexual undertone in my voice when I brazenly said I would love to christen Hugo’s new apartment. Ever since I issued my bold statement, the air in the elevator car became roasting, and the buzz of energy crackling between Hugo and me has my skin prickling with goosebumps.
In all honesty, half of me is jittering in excitement, and the other half is a shivering in terror. Although Hugo and I kissed last week, I have no clue what that means. Do friends kiss? Is this crazy sexual connection we have just the lust required for two people to be fuck buddies? And before I get ahead of myself, does he even want to be more than friends? I guess that’s something I should’ve sought clarity on before I brazenly stated “I would love to christen your apartment.”
While I’m being totally forthright, even though I’ve never found the idea of casual relationships appealing, I would consider entering one with Hugo if it means my years of fantasies may actually have a chance to transpire. I would be willing to give up anything just to be with him for one night.
When the elevator car arrives at my floor, Hugo laces his fingers with mine and heads towards my apartment door. My struggle to secure enough air to fill my lungs ramps up more the further we pace down the hallway.
The air between us shifts when he releases my hand before I grasp my gold engraved door handle. My nipples bud when my eyes meet his rapacious gaze. After running his scorching eyes over my body, he licks his lips before returning his eyes front and center.
Pushing the key into the lock, I ask, “What time does your party start?”
His eyes shift from the door he had me pinned against last week to me. “Most people are arriving in around an hour, but whenever you’re ready is fine,” he answers.
“Okay, I’ll be there in an hour,” I say with a smile.
He smiles an uneasy grin. “Alright, I’ll see you then.”
“Bye,” I say, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
He arches his brow. “You don’t say goodbye--”
“You say, I’ll see you later,” I interrupt. “And I will.”
After placing a second peck on the edge of my mouth, Hugo ambles down the hall. While unlocking my front door, clarity forms in my mind, which always muddles when Hugo is in my vicinity.
Spinning on my heels, I shout, “I don’t know your address!”
“Jorgie’s going to pick you up,” he replies, not turning around.
My mouth gapes. “What if I had plans?”
He spins on his heels and walks backwards. My heart flips in my chest when I see the boyish grin stretched across his face.
“I would’ve rocked up to your door, thrown you over my shoulder, and dragged your ass there myself.”
Feeling cheeky, I reply, “I have plans!”
He graces me with a huge heart-fluttering grin and a cheeky wink before pivoting on his heels and increasing his brisk stride. Once his frame retreats into the elevator car, I enter my apartment. I have a ridiculous grin on my face and am feeling the most carefree I’ve ever felt.
Smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary, I throw my keys onto the entranceway table. My feet pad along the corkwood floors, eager for a quick refreshing shower to remove the stickiness from the sweat-producing heat in the elevator car. The sparks firing between Hugo and me were like watching a meteor shower in a dark sky. It was nerve-rattling and awe-inspiring. We’ve always had a weird, unexplainable connection when we were younger. Now isn’t any different.
After a quick shower, a flurry of perfume, and a splattering of make-up, I rush to my apartment door. My plan to arrive at Hugo’s party within an hour are foiled the instant Jorgie glances down at my denim jeans and long-sleeve printed top. With her brow cocked, she elongates her finger and silently demands for me to return to my room like she did every time we attended a party during our high school years. Stomping my feet like a child, I drop my bottom lip before doing as solicited.
Like always, our twenty minute mini makeover has two hours ticking by on the clock before we know it. Dressed in a curve hugging pale blue strapless dress and high altitude stilettos, I snag my purse off the nightstand and amble to the door feeling like a cast member fromSex and the City.
“What did Hugo say when you told him we were going to be late?” I query, using the mirrored elevator doors to dap a tissue on my over-sheened lips.
Placing the tissue into my black clutch purse, I secure a grip on the bottle of wine in my hand and turn to face Jorgie. Her eyes are riddled with guilt, and she has a crass smile etched on her face.
“You did text him to tell him we were going to be late? Didn’t you?”
She doesn’t need to answer my question, the guilt in her eyes in the only answer I need.
“Jorgie!” I reprimand as we walk into the elevator.
“It’s a housewarming party, Ava. You’re not going to get a tardy slip for being a few minutes late,” she quips.
