“It’s fine. Hawke can fucking wait,” Hugo replies, his tone gruff and dangerously low.
Gritting my teeth at the hurt projected in his tone, I snatch the washcloth out of his hand. The room shrinks in size when Hugo stands from his crouched position, filling it with his large frame. My heart physically aches when I notice his shaking hands has spread to his entire body.
“They have waited years for this day, Hugo. Please don’t ruin it for them.”
Surprisingly, my tone comes out stronger than I’m expecting. Hugo stares at me as he runs his hand over the top of his head.
After a beat, he says. “Are you sure?” His tone sounds dejected.
Absorbing his clenched fist and standoffish demeanor, I nod.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask, quoting the words he has said to me numerous times before.
When I hand him his shirt I collected from the floor, his brows furrow and he shakes his head. “Keep it,” he says, his voice low.
His twitching mouth causes my lips to tingle when he places a kiss on the edge of my mouth. When he walks towards the door, his steps are urgent and quick, having him reach it in two heart- thrashing seconds. Hawke’s loud bangs stop the instant Hugo unlatches the door lock. Just before he exits, Hugo’s head cranks back, and he peers at me. His forlorn eyes are misting with fluid. I muster up the best fake smile I can, pretending the devastation in his eyes isn’t shredding my heart into pieces.
Once the bedroom door closes with Hugo standing behind it, I crumble to the floor. Gathering my legs within my arms, I rest my tear-soaked cheek on my knees. Tonight was better than any fantasy I could have fathomed, but I never predicated the aftermath of finally handing in my V card.
It was never my intention to stay a virgin to the age of twenty-four. Life just happened, and sex never did. Growing up, I regularly used the excuse of my grandmother’s trust for why I'd never go further than third base. When my father refused to let me to go to prom, my grandmother trusted me enough to drop me off at the dance without a single qualm. Unlike my father, she didn’t believe spending time with her should overrule my need for social interaction.
Because she trusted me so much, I did everything in my power to keep her trust. When she passed away the year I began college, I thought my V card would soon expire. It never did. It was only after a third date with a guy I’d been lusting over in Bio-Chem did I realize it wasn’t just my grandmother’s trust I was striving to keep, it was also Hugo’s. No man ever held a candle to him. Even though I’ve always denied it, I compared every man I dated to Hugo. When they failed to withstand my stringent Hugo test, my interest in them wavered.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is why until forty minutes ago, I was a twenty-four-year-old virgin.
Twenty-One
Ava
I glance at Jorgie, who is eyeing me dubiously. She’s been eyeing me with the same suspicious look since I entered the kitchen this morning. Her eyes have the same glimmer Chase’s held when he topped off my champagne flute with a mimosa during breakfast.Obviously, the giant stamp on your forehead announcing to the world that you are a virgin disappears the instant you hand in your purity credentials.
“Is it good having Hawke home?” I ask, using any tactic I can to shift the focus off myself. “I know it’s only for a week and you won’t get to go on your honeymoon until after the baby is born, but it must be nice waking up to a warm body lying next to you.”
The smile Jorgie’s been wearing all day widens. “Yes, you'd swear we are already on our honeymoon, if you know what I mean, ” she says with a wiggle of her brows.
I laugh before taking a sip of the fruity wine in my champagne flute. Even though my heart is hurting from my exchange with Hugo last night, I’m not going to let anything ruin my best friend’s day. This is her day, and she deserves the focus to be solely on her.
“See, I told you all your worries wouldn’t amount to anything. Even if Hawke wasn’t a fan of your basketball belly, you could have gotten on all fours, because from your backend, you can’t even tell you’re pregnant,” I jest.
Jorgie’s gorgeous giggle bounces around our elaborate surroundings. I love seeing her happy. All the worry fretting her beautiful face the past two weeks instantly vanished when Hawke walked in the door a day earlier than Jorgie was expecting.
When he was deployed, Jorgie was only a few months pregnant and wasn’t showing yet, so she was petrified about Hawke’s reaction when he saw her the first time with an expanded stomach. I was somewhat shocked by her admission. Jorgie and Hawke have a relationship every couple should strive to achieve. There are no two souls better matched than them.
“Are you ready?” questions Pierre, the eccentric hairdresser who has spent the last hour wrangling my unruly hair into smooth, straight locks.
Placing my champagne flute on the countertop, I chew on the corner of my lip before nodding my head. Only people who have African American heritage like mine would understand the complexity of maintaining my hair.
Because my hair was always a mass of ringlet curls, I never had it colored, and it most certainly never sat above my shoulders. I always envisioned that a shorter hairstyle would make it look like I stuck my finger into an electrical socket or even worse, like a poodle. Feeling daring, and with a gentle push from Pierre and Jorgie, I agreed to have my hair cut in a wispy wave design for the wedding. Pierre guarantees it will enhance my facial features while also being easier for me to maintain during the work week.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I flutter my eyes open. “Wow,” is the only word I can formulate, so it’s what I use.
I swivel in my chair to face Jorgie. “What do you think?” I ask, my voice cagey.Or better yet, what will your brother think?
Jorgie’s vibrantly painted lips twist as her eyes absorb every inch of my hair and made-up face in meticulous detail. My heart thrashes against my ribs, eagerly awaiting her reply.
“Remind me to hide a stick in my wedding dress,” she says, her tone playful.
I arch my brow, clearly confused.
