“I’m joking, Ava,” he mutters to my pensive expression.
He takes a large gulp of the beverage in his hand. “Besides, I prefer my nuts attached to my body. I’m pretty sure Jorgie would castrate me if I took Hawke to a strip club.”
He coughs, splattering whiskey all over the mahogany table when I rib him with my elbow, pretending to be offended by his comment. In all honesty, I’m loving his playfulness. He is the most relaxed and carefree I’ve ever seen. His cheeky disposition has me doubting my initial reaction to his lack of contact. Maybe he hasn’t been avoiding me. Maybe he’s just been busy?
A waitress in a skin-tight black mini skirt, crisp white blouse and a top hat saunters to our group with a wide smile. “Hi guys, welcome toThe Chapel. My name is Keke and I'll be your server today. Some platters will be arriving shortly, but how about we start you all with a few drinks?”
A loud cluster of hollering bellows through the air from the frat brothers. They bang their hands on the table, throw their heads back, and howl like wolves on a full moon night. My eyes snap to Hugo, expecting to see him undertaking the same ritual since he pledged at the same fraternity. I’m taken aback when I discover his eyes are focused on me instead of his rowdy frat brothers. His passionate gaze has my pulse quickening.
My focus returns to the rowdy crowd when Keke says, “I’m not even going to take your orders. I’m going to keep it abigsurprise.” After snatching the drinks menu off the black polished tabletop, she saunters to the private VIP bar.
“Ava is it?” asks the cute blond gentleman sitting next to me.
I believe Hawke introduced him as Aspen, but I’ve never been good at recalling names. Aspen has charmingly handsome good looks, a lean-built body, and wholesome eyes.
“Yes, nice to meet you,” I say, offering him my hand.
“Is Ava short for anything or is it just Ava?” he queries, accepting my handshake.
“Just Ava,” I reply, intertwining my fingers and resting them in my lap, inwardly battling not to squirm. The instant Aspen spoke, Hugo brushed his fingertips over the exposed skin in the middle of my back, sending a flurry of desire straight to my core.
“My dad didn’t want me to have a nickname, so he picked a name that didn’t have one.” I explain, smiling, relieved my voice didn’t give any indication to the hammering my heart is doing.
Aspen smiles and nods his head. “Well it’s a beautiful name. Very fitting,” he says candidly.
“Thank you,” I reply softly.
Aspen scoots across the bench, filling the miniscule space between us. The refreshing smell of sand and coconuts filters through my nostrils. Any time I smell coconuts, it reminds me of weekends at the beach with Jorgie and Hugo.
“Can I buy you a drink, Ava?” Aspen asks, overemphasizing my name by drawing out the last A in a long husky drawl.
Any reply I am about to give is cut off when Hugo abruptly places his whiskey glass onto the table. Its loud clang gains us the attention of everyone in the booth and those surrounding it.
“All drinks are on the house, Aspen, no one needs to buy Ava’s drinks,” Hugo utters, his voice firm and to the point.
Aspen’s eyes lift past my shoulder to peer at Hugo. They don’t speak, but the heat of their silent conversation creates a misting of sweat shimmering on my skin.
“Then perhaps Ava will do me the honor of saving me the first dance?” Aspen suggests, returning his unique greenish-gray eyes to mine.
I nearly vault off my chair when Hugo places his hand on my knee and squeezes. At first, I take it as a silent warning to be attentive of my surroundings after what occurred the last time I went out dancing. But when his hand glides upwards, only stopping once it is high on my thigh, I realize it has nothing to do with being attentive, and everything to do with being possessive.
Not all women like jealous, possessive men, but I love them. Every book I devour is about hot possessive men claiming their women. Just the thought of being possessed by Hugo has my thighs pressing together and my stomach quivering with butterflies.
I drag my eyes to Aspen when he coughs, silently demanding my attention. He stares at me, waiting for a reply to his question. I can hardly breathe, let alone formulate a response. I'm unable to focus on anything but Hugo’s fingers tapping along to the beat of the music blasting out of the speakers. His simplest touch has my every nerve sparked and paying careful attention and my womb coiling tightly.
Aspen’s head shifts to the side as he eyes me with curiosity.
“Maybe?” I squeak out with a shrug of my shoulders.
I try to keep my tone neutral, feigning that I’m not affected by Hugo’s simple touch. But the smallest shudder is still heard in my voice, giving away my deceit. Happy with my response, Aspen grins and nods before turning his attention back to Hawke… and Hugo removes his hand from my thigh.
After gathering my dignity off the floor, I turn my eyes to Hugo. “What was that?”
“What?” he replies, acting innocent.
He can’t fool me. The smugness is written all over his face.
“The hand on my thigh,” I reply, glaring at him through squinted eyes.
