Beneath the Secrets Read online

  For crying out loud, Ava, shut your mouth!

  I prop my hip on the counter and snag the bottle of beer resting on the top of it. While shifting my eyes between Jorgie and Hugo, I take a large mouth-filling gulp of the luke-warm beer. I don't care whose beer it is; I just need something to clog the word vomit dribbling out of my mouth. Hugo helps himself to a cold beer as Jorgie excuses herself to use the restroom. Once he cracks open the fresh bottle, he hands it to me.

  "Thanks," I mumble, placing the half-empty bottle back onto the counter.

  When he collects the bottle, I assume he's going to put it into the trash. So you can imagine my surprise when he lifts the bottle to his mouth and consumes the liquid inside, not the slightest bit concerned that my dark plum-covered lips were just pressed against the rim his lips are now sealed over. I wonder if he can taste the flavor of my lip gloss?

  We stand across from each other with nothing 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 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's 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?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing.”

  “Oh come on, Hugo, spit it out,” I jest, dying to know what has caused the odd expression on his face.

  He chuckles 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.”

  My eyes snap from his mouth to his gleaming blue eyes. “I don’t torture kids.”

  His brow cocks. “Yeah, you do; you're 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 heat in the kitchen is more noticeable when Hugo's hearty chuckle bellows throughout it. 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?”

  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's 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's 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? How are things with Vicky?"

  Four

  Hugo

  It takes all my strength to swallow the beer and not spray it over Ava’s beautiful face. Ava has always been attractive, in a librarian, geeky type of way; but like a bottle of fine wine, she keeps getting better with age. The last time I saw her, she had a crazy mess of ringlet curls on the top of her head and was wearing the most hideous pair of baggy jeans and a bulky sweater that covered every inch of her skin, but today, she's captivatingly beautiful. Not just in her clothes, but her skin as well.

  Her hair is cut to sit just below her shoulders in a wispy curl design that frames her face perfectly. She has finally grown into her dark eyes that always seemed too large for the small features of her face, and the years of her wearing braces has paid off with her now bearing a perfect smile. Her allure is so impressive, she made me forget I was standing in front of her stark naked. If that wasn’t bad enough, I also had a raging hard-on like a thirteen-year-old boy who can’t control his cock.

  One rake of her body and I was straight back to the sixteen-year-old boy she tackled to the ground years ago. That day was the first time I realized Ava was more inexperienced sexually than most teenage girls her age. I’m not saying the girls at my high school were easy, but they had no hesitations in hooking up under the bleachers after a football game or at Mt. Louis lookout, where Ava acted like she’d never kissed a guy before. When I bucked my hips against the warmth her panties failed to conceal, her face paled, her eyes widened, and she bolted out of the house without a backward glance, not giving me the reaction I was aiming for.

  It was that night I decided inexperienced girls weren’t for me. Virginity snatching is too much of a commitment for any guy to make. It wouldn’t matter if you were the worst lay they ever had, girls remember the guy they gave their virginity to. That’s not a stigma I want attached to my name. He was a great lay. The best sex I’ve ever had. He had the largest cock I’ve ever seen. They're titles I'll happily accept. Virgin snatcher? Nope, not happening.

  My focus returns to the present when a hand waves in front of my face. Turning my gaze, I catch the amused eyes of Jorgie glaring at me. After absorbing the expression on my face, she dramatically huffs before strolling to the cupboards under the wall oven. Even with the clanging of the pots and pans rattling through my ears, I hear her murmur, “Probably daydreaming about Vicky’s fake double-D breasts.”

  From the grimace that crosses Ava’s face, I assume she also heard Jorgie’s quiet ramblings.

  “Vicky and I aren’t dating,” I blurt out, suddenly having the urge to ensure Ava is aware that Vicky and I are not a couple.

  “Oh.” Ava takes a swig of her beer, hiding her smile behind the neck of the bottle.

  “They aren’t a couple,” Jorgie confirms, reinforcing my statement.

  The smile curling Ava’s lips enlarges.

  “They just fuck each other,” Jorgie adds on.

  My eyes snap to Jorgie at record speed as a splattering cough sounds from Ava’s mouth.

  “What?” Jorgie feigns innocence. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  Once Ava regains the ability to breathe through the beer now in her lungs instead of her stomach, she places the bottle on the countertop and move
s to stand between Jorgie and me. Wetting a dishcloth in the sink, she uses it to remove the spittle of beer from her bone-colored short-sleeved knit top. My hand scraping along the three-day old stubble on my jaw is the only noise heard when my eyes zoom in on the budded peaks of her nipples straining against her thin shirt.

  My nostrils flare and my eyes narrow as an oven mitt smacks me upside my head. My teeth grinding together sounds just above the doorbell ringing when Jorgie mouths, “That’s what real boobs look like,” as though I’ve never seen a real pair before. Yes, Vicky now has a large set of fake breasts, but I’ve seen plenty of real ones, including Vicky’s before she had the augmentation done.

  My brow cocks when Ava declares, “I’ll get the door.” Her appearance has gone from calm and kicked back, to a woman who looks like the grim reaper is knocking at her door.

  With a flash of a smirk, she bolts out of the kitchen. I wait until I hear the clicking of her heels on the tiles in the entranceway before I turn my gaze back to Jorgie.

  “What the hell did you do to Ava?”

  Jorgie smiles broadly. “That wasn’t me.” She raises her eyes to me. “That was all Ava’s doing. Don’t act surprised though, Hugo; you’ve always known what she was hiding under those hideous baggy clothes she wore.”

  Yeah, I knew, but I preferred being the only guy who did.

  When I take a step closer to Jorgie, my stomach grumbles as the smell of marinated chicken filters through my nostrils.

  “Is Ava still innocent?” I blurt out.

  Fuck, that didn’t come out how I’d envisioned.

  I know this makes me a chauvinistic ass, but no red-blooded man could run their eyes over Ava’s enticing body and not be interested in finding out exactly what she looks like under those teeny tiny shorts. Jorgie’s mouth gapes open, and for the first time in her entire twenty-four years on this planet, she's rendered speechless. The temperature in the room turns excruciating when she crosses her arms, squeezing them between the minimal space left between her stomach and her chest.

  “That’s an extremely personal question, Hugo.”

  “I know. Why do you think I asked you instead of Ava?” I smirk to hide my grimace.

  Jorgie’s eyes narrow into tiny slits, unimpressed by my attempt to defuse the insensitivity of my question with humor.

  “Would you prefer I asked Ava?”

  Thankfully, even with all the blood from my body rushing to the head of my cock, I was smart enough not to do that.

  “Ask me what?” queries Ava, walking back into the kitchen.

  Jorgie’s roughish eyes shift from me to Ava. “Hugo wants to know if you’re a v--,”

  My hand shoots up to cover Jorgie’s mouth before she can ask her bold question. She waggles her brows as a fiery ember ignites her eyes, believing she’s secured a vault full of ammunition in our long-running prank game.

  The victory in her eyes dampens when I mutter, “Do you recall where my hands were earlier?” in a smug tone.

  Jorgie appears gaunt like it did the first three months of her pregnancy. After giving her a few moments to absorb the scandalousness of my prank, I grandly wink before removing my hands from her mouth. Air escapes my lips in a hurry when she ribs me with her elbow and knees me in the backside. She sneers at me as her hands dart out to grasp a glass of sparkling apple cider that she guzzles down at breakneck speed.

  “It’s alcohol-free, Jorgie; it ain’t going to burn away my cooties,” I jest, my tone full of cheekiness.

  “I can pretend,” she garbles between mouthfuls.

  My neck cranks faster than a missile being fired from a jet when a male snickering filters through my ears. The muscles in my stomach tense when I see Ava being clasped around the waist by an African American man. My brows scrunch as my eyes roam over a face I’ve seen many times before. Even though seven years has passed since I last laid my eyes on him, he still has the same clipped close-to-the-scalp afro, prominent nose, dark green eyes, mocha skin coloring, and arrogant grin he’s always had.

  “Marvin,” I greet, holding my tongue from calling him his infamous nickname.

  Marvin was adeptly given the nickname of “pencil dick” during our final year of high school. It was because… Hold on, does a title like that need an explanation? It's pretty self-explanatory. Alright, for those of you who are a little slow on the uptake, it means his dick is long and skinny – like a pencil.

  “Hugo,” he greets me, removing one of his hands from Ava’s waist to offer a shake.

  I suffocate a growl rumbling up my chest before accepting his handshake. It isn't that I want to possessively stake a claim to Ava, but Marvin is a dawg, and he knows it. Even with his less-than-impressive male appendage, he's one of the biggest bed hoppers in our hometown. It was the whole reason his nickname spread like an out-of-control wildfire during summer break before our final year of high school.

  It's also the reason why he has had so many bed companions – they never want to return for round two. Ava was naïve in her younger years, but even if she has been living under a rock the past few years, she’d have to be aware of Marvin’s reputation now.

  "Hey, Marvin.” Jorgie leans in to place a kiss on the side of his cheek. "Ava said she was bringing a friend to dinner; she just failed to mention it was a male."

  Jorgie’s surprise at Ava’s date is clearly audible in her voice. With Ava’s caramel skin coloring, it takes a lot to make her blush, but the slightest hue of pink adorns her cheeks from the stern glare Jorgie is directing at her. Ava’s gaze flicks to me when Marvin hands Jorgie a bottle of Duckhorn Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon, gauging my reaction to her arriving with a date. The concern marring her face fades when I smirk and wink at her. In the past, I did have some slight jealousy issues when it came to men wanting to get close to Ava, but this time is different. I have nothing to be worried about. The guy has a pencil dick for crying out loud.

  For the next three hours, things go surprisingly well. Marvin and I had a lot of mutual friends in school, so the conversation flowed nearly as freely as the alcohol in his wine glass did. I gave Marvin updates on the guys he’d lost contact with, and he rambled incessantly about himself. The only good thing that has come from his long-winded tirade is that I discovered why a woman like Ava would agree to go on a date with a man like Marvin. His dad owns the dentistry practice Ava has been offered a position at, and Marvin is already a partner at the same practice, even with him only finalizing his dentist credentials two months ago.

  A small chuckle escapes my lips when Jorgie awakens from her latest powernap. As riveting as Marvin believes his conversation has been, I swear on at least three occasions, Jorgie has fallen asleep on the sofa. It's only when Ava nudges her with her elbow does she wake up. Jorgie's surprised eyes bounce between three sets of eyes staring at her. She appears utterly confused. My laughter becomes uncontainable when she wipes away a smattering of drool from the bottom of her chin.

  “You might need to cut back on those apple ciders, Sis,” I playfully quip.

  In true Jorgie style, she screws up her nose and sticks out her tongue.

  “We should probably get going anyway,” Ava says, shifting her gaze to Marvin, who is eagerly nodding at her statement.

  “Oh no, don’t go,” Jorgie pleads when Ava stands from the couch and gathers the beer bottles from the table. “It’s only just hitting nine PM on a Saturday.”

  Ava's eyes drift between Marvin and Jorgie while she contemplates. Her brows are pulled together tightly, her lips pursed.

  “I have that paperwork I need to do.” Marvin glares at Ava, reprimanding her for wanting to stay out on a Saturday night.

  "Okay," she whispers so faintly it's only just audible.

  Jorgie huffs, and her shoulders sag when Ava turns to face her. She doesn’t need to speak, Jorgie can see her decision marred all over her disappointed face.

  “Party pooper,” Jorgie mumbles when Marvin raises a cell phone to his ear to call a taxi.

  Jorgie's gloomy mood continues the entire time we wait on the front porch for their taxi to arrive. Thankfully, since it's still early, it only takes five minutes for a yellow cab to pull into the driveway. Ava propels herself from the wicker chair when she spots the taxi, no doubt eager to get away from the thick stench of awkwardness plaguing our group. Jorgie's never had the ability to conceal her anger, and for the past five minutes, her obvious annoyance has been firmly rapt on Marvin.