“Heading out?”
He jerks up his chin before snagging a bottle of water out of the fridge. “Harlow wants to drag Izzy out for a night of dancing.” He takes a hefty gulp before running his hand over his wet lips. “Means I’m stuck babysitting intoxicated women all night.”
Hearing the jest in his tone, I grin. “It’s got to be more entertaining than sitting around here, playing Xbox in nothing but running shorts and socks like you have the past two weeks.”
His smile is more blistering than mine. . . and ten times sexier. “Puh-leeze. I tried to put on a shirt Tuesday. You snatched it out of my hands and threw it into the washing machine claiming it was ‘filthy.’”
“Itwasfilthy,” I say around the spoonful of frosting in my mouth. “And you were going to sit on my five thousand dollar couch. I’d rather have your naked ass planted on there than a stinky old gym shirt.”
Hugo crowds me against the kitchen counter, making me forget why I’m gorging on buckets of sugar and downing expensive bottles of wine as if they’re the steak and three veggies combination I usually consume every Saturday evening.
I’m hoping overdosing on sugar will stop me from calling Alex like a loser. We’ve had some contact the past week, but it was all based on Isabelle and her case. We’re being professional—for once—but it hasn’t weakened my desire for him in the slightest.
He spied on me—numerous times—yelled at me, then fucked me like a whore in the back of a trashed van. I should have never spoken to him again. I tried—really I did—but with every conversation we had, the more my anger slipped from my grasp.
Add that to the plea his eyes held when he solemnly vowed to make things right between us, and you’ve got one messy, fucked-up woman. I could blame my desperation on Izzy and Hugo camping out in my living room the past two weeks, but we all know that’s a lie. Even if Isaac didn’t give me the stern “no guys” rule he always runs with when it comes to Izzy, there is only one man my body wants—the one who annoys the shit out of her as much as it awakens her every sense.
When I step back and take a hard look at myself, I realize Alex wasn’t the only one at fault for what happened two weeks ago. By kissing Isaac, I placed his relationship with Isabelle above Alex and his feelings. Although I can defend my decision by saying I wasn’t aware it was Alex in the surveillance van, a little part of me knew it was, so that not only makes the name he was about to call me true, it makes me someone I never wanted to be, someone vindictive and bitter.
I’m drawn from my thoughts when Hugo asks, “You still trying to see my pecker, Ms. Prim and Proper?”
It takes me a few seconds to remember what we were talking about before I spaced out. When I do, I gag. “Not if it’s only big enough for you to call it a pecker, Tic Tac Tate.”
Hugo laughs. “I don’t know what the fuck Tate did to you, but that poor guy will never live it down, will he?”
I nod, wholly agreeing with him. Tate was one of those asshole boyfriends I mentioned from my high school days. He thought the world shone out of his ass and that he was god’s gift to women. He could have gotten away with his attitude if he had the cock to back it up. Regrettably, he didn’t just need a fancy car to hide his less than stellar attributes. He needed a whole damn city.
Hugo snatches a loaded spoon of icing out of my hand and stuffs it into his mouth without asking. “What did he do? Come within two strokes? Stick it in the wrong hole? Request for you to turn the lights off. . .?”
“More like: he didn’t get it out of his pants before he came. Stuffed his jeans with socks like the girls did their bras, and wouldn’t turn the lights off even when I begged him to.” I steal back the empty spoon, dig it into the container of frosting, then pop it into my mouth. “I had to work extra hard that night to bring myself to climax. My fingers have never flicked the bean so callously before.”
Hugo groans. “Fuck me, Regan. Are you trying to kill a man?”
I run my tongue along my teeth to ensure no chocolate frosting is staining them before smiling. “Nah. I just wanted to get off. It wassooooogood. One of the hottest and longest climaxes I’ve ever had.”
Hugo groans again, this one sounding more pained than the first.
“What’s the matter, big boy?” My words slur as the pleasant buzz of alcohol finally heats my blood. “Got a scratch you can’t itch?”
When Hugo and Isabelle first crashed at my apartment, Hugo happily rubbed in the fact Isaac doesn’t let any men outside of his staff within two feet of Isabelle. Although Isaac’s machoism is stone-aged and—sorry Isaac—pathetic, Hugo’s taunt proved I had done a good job of hiding my pain the prior twelve months. It’s like nine years ago all over again. I roll my shoulders and smile, even though my insides feel two seconds from cracking.
Hating the tears pricking my eyes, I raise them to Hugo. He’s watching me intently, certain my insides aren’t as shiny as my outer shell. He’s right, but I’d rather keep that to myself for the remainder of my life. . . or, at the very least, tonight.
“You gonna share?”
Hugo drops his big blue eyes to the tub of frosting in my hands before licking his lips. Although his voice sounds as it usually does, all my fucked-up brain hears is a whole lot of sexual innuendo.
I hug the frosting container to my chest, amplifying the generous swell of my breasts. “Do I look like the type who shares?”
His lips arch high, making my pulse accelerate. “I don’t know, Regan. Do you?”
Even though his tone reveals he’s joshing with me, I up the ante. It’s time for this boy to be shown how the big kids play.
After cocking my hip, I drag my eyes down his body in a slow and dedicated sweep. When I return them to his face, his eyes are brighter than they were moments ago, hazier. “What are you willing to give me for it?”
When he fails to immediately bite back at my quip, my brain screams at me to shut this down before I travel a road I never wanted to. But with my heart too busy repairing the cuts a bottle and a half of wine can’t heal, I continue down the road of deception, one slow pace at a time.
I fist Hugo’s shirt before tugging him closer, bringing him and his gloriously large frame within a mere inch of my shuddering body. Just like the time we flirted over the phone, my ego needs this more than I need to breathe. I want to feel loved, cherished, and wanted, and I want to experience it without wondering if I should be peering over my shoulder, waiting for the knives that will inevitably be stabbed in my back.
