We stand across from each other with nothing but the noise of beer being swallowed between us. I fight to keep the repulsed expression off my face when I swig on the malted liquid. Even though beer has never been my drink of choice, the coolness of the beverage is helping to dampen the cluster of spasms twinging my womb.
Hugo’s jean-covered hip is propped against the counter, replicating my position. He doesn’t speak, but I can feel the heat of his gaze on me. I keep my eyes on anything but him. I don’t want to run the risk of the visual of him fully clothed replacing the more stimulating images of him naked in my mind.Oh my god, did I just say that?What I meant to say was,I don’t need to see any more of him than I already have….
Yeah, don’t worry, I’m not buying my pathetic excuse either.
As the minutes tick by, the silence between us becomes unbearable. We were never like this when we were younger. We may have been complete opposites on paper, but when we were alone, away from prying eyes, we were friends. I push off the counter to go in search of Jorgie. Interrupting a pregnant lady in the bathroom would have to be more entertaining than being stuck in the awkwardness plaguing this small eat-in kitchen.
Just as I'm about to exit the room, Hugo questions, “So are you a fully qualified dentist now?”
“Yes,” I reply with a little too much dramatic flair, but talking about dentistry comes easy to me as it is one of my greatest passions. “Well, kind of, I’m halfway through two years of clinical training. I work at a surgery downtown and assist in the free clinic every Thursday morning at Rochdale Village. I’ve already been offered a partnership at the surgery office once my practical training is over.”
I lean my hip back against the counter. “In the main practice, I only work with children, but at the clinic I also work with adult patients. It’s a demanding job, not like a surgeon at a major hospital or anything dramatic like that, but it’s still an important industry. I really enjoy it,” I babble.
Hugo’s nose scrunches up as a grin tugs his lips high.
“What?” I query when he remains quiet.
“Nothing,” he replies with a shrug and a vast smirk.
“Oh come on, Hugo, spit it out,” I jest, dying to know what has caused the odd expression on his face.
He chuckles softly and takes another sip of his beer. My eyes zoom in on his mouth when his tongue delves out to gather a small smear of beer glistening on his lips.
“I just find it amusing that you enjoy torturing little children for a living,” he mutters.
My eyes snap from his mouth to his gleaming blue eyes. “I don’t torture kids.”
His brow cocks. “Yeah, you do; you are the equivalent of every child’s worst nightmare.”
I balk. “I am not,” I reply with a stomp of my foot, chucking a childish tantrum like a five-year-old instead of the twenty-four-year-old woman I am. “My patients love me. I even get cute little paintings in the mail and thank you cards.”
My heart flutters faster when a broad grin stretches across his face. “That probably say, ‘thanks for not drilling my teeth today, Doc.’”
My immature tantrum stops, and a small grin tugs the corners of my mouth. “That’s only in every second card,” I retort, crossing my arms under my chest.
The quickening of my pulse makes the warmth of the kitchen more noticeable when Hugo's hearty chuckle bellows through the room. It was that very laugh that captured my attention well over ten years ago. It was also the laugh that made me realize my feelings for Hugo were more than just a small schoolyard crush.
Years ago, Jorgie and I were undertaking a bitch-fest on the queen of bitches herself, Victoria Avenke, completely oblivious to the fact Hugo was eavesdropping on our private conversation. When he impersonated my mimic of Victoria's pompous hair flick, I sneered at him through my brace-covered teeth before I dove over the sofa and tackled him to the ground.
When I straddled his hips and commenced a tickling onslaught on his stomach, that also became the first time a tingling of excitement dashed through my body and clustered in my womb. Mortified with embarrassment from the husky moan that spilled from my lips and unable to comprehend why my body was reacting the way it was, I scrambled off Hugo and bolted out the front door without a backward glance.
I don't know whether Hugo sensed my body's reaction to him or if I was just paranoid, but things were different between us from that day. Then as the years went on, Hugo's presence in my life became less and less. But even with him dating a range of beautiful ladies, attending college parties, and being the cool guy on campus, I still saw him at least five to six times a year. The past six years have been the longest we've gone without physically seeing each other in nearly fifteen years.
When Hugo’s laughter dies down, his tear-glistening eyes lift and lock with mine. “What about in your personal life, Ava; any changes there the past few years?” he asks.
It may just be my overactive imagination or the fact I feel like I've time-warped back to my teenage years, but I swear there is a whole heap of sexual innuendo laced in his simple question.
I uncross my arms and pick at the plum polish on my thumbnail. “Yeah, a few changes,” I mumble with a small shrug.
I hate talking about my private life. My parents are extremely strict and Catholic, and I'm also an only child. By the time Jorgie came into my life, I'd become so accustomed to keeping my feelings locked away that I've never openly expressed them.
I lift my eyes to glance at Hugo. He is watching me with a spark in his eyes I've never witnessed before. When he catches my curious glance, the unidentifiable glimmer is replaced with his usual cheeky blaze that regularly fires his vibrant blue eyes. He smirks against the rim of his beer before taking another mouth-filling gulp.
"What about you?" I query, my voice shaky and low. "How are things with Vicky?"
Four
Hugo
