Beneath the Secrets Page 5

  A smirk etches on my mouth when Ava turns her dark brown eyes to me. “It was good seeing you again, Hugo,” she whispers. The twinkle in her eyes relays the truth of her statement.

  I lean in and wrap my arms around her shoulders before pulling her into my chest. My nostrils flare when they detect the aroma of the chocolate truffles she ate for dessert. She smells delicious. Almost good enough to eat. Chocolate and strawberries have always been a mouth-watering combination.

  Where the fuck did that notion come from?

  “Let’s not have another six years pass by without some sort of contact,” she murmurs in my ear before placing a kiss on my cheek.

  A smirk curves on my lips when I see the furious glare Marvin is directing at me. His penetrating gaze is shooting daggers of fire. His blatant jealousy ensures my friendly cuddle with Ava lasts a little longer than would be classed as acceptable. My smirk turns into a full-toothed smile when his face reddens over my playful jibe.

  He should be worried, my nickname in high school was…

  “Why are there two cabs?” Jorgie asks, interrupting me from my private thoughts.

  Her baffled eyes flick between Marvin and Ava.

  “Ava lives by Hamilton. I live in an apartment building on Pinter,” Marvin explains.

  “Yeah, so.” Jorgie’s tone is full of bitchiness. “That’s still within a few miles of each other.”

  "Marvin doesn't see the sense in sharing a taxi fare if you aren't going to the same location," Ava answers while slipping out of my embrace.

  Her tone is pleasant, but her eyes expose her real opinion on Marvin's logic. She thinks he's just as stingy as the rest of us.

  “Then why do you need to leave?” Jorgie glances at Ava. “Marvin is the one who has to work. You obviously aren’t going home together, so why can’t you stay and hang out with us?”

  She wraps her arm around the crook of my elbow, enticing Ava to join the fun crowd. It’s like we're in high school all over again. Jorgie’s squeeze on my arm tightens the longer Ava contemplates her request.

  A quiet squeal of excitement omits from Jorgie’s lips when Ava shifts her gaze to Marvin and says, “You wouldn’t mind if I hang out with Jorgie a little longer, would you?”

  My jaw ticks over the fact Ava is required to seek permission to stay at her friend’s house. The tick ramps up to a full spasm when Marvin crosses his arms in front of his chest and glares at her. “I’ve already requested the taxi. If you refuse their service, they may not come back and collect you later this evening.”

  “Oh,” Ava mumbles.

  “I’ll drive you home, Ava,” I offer, not giving Marvin the opportunity to guilt-trip her into going home early when she clearly wants to stay.

  Marvin’s eyes slit even more from my suggestion. From the stern glare he's directing at me, anyone would swear I was bending down on my knee and proposing to Ava instead of offering her a lift home.

  “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  “Why not?” Jorgie interrupts.

  It's times like this I love that she has no filter.

  “Because Hugo has been drinking,” Marvin’s stern tone makes him sound older than his twenty-five years.

  I shake my head. “I’ve only had two beers. One when Ava first arrived.”

  Ava’s widened eyes lower to her hand clasping her small black bag. A broad grin stretches across my face. Obviously, my naked display is still in the forefront of her mind, hours after the incident.

  “And the second beer I had was during dinner. So I’m perfectly capable of driving Ava home – if she wants me to,” I continue, shifting my gaze to Ava.

  Ava was bullied her entire childhood, but it wasn't by who you're thinking. Yes, kids in the schoolyard can be cruel, but Ava wasn't subjected to bullying from them. It was by the man whose idea of a perfect child was one who was seen but never heard. Ava never rebelled during her teenage years, because she was scared of the extreme reprimand she would have faced if she dared to step out of line. Ava's father isn't just strict; he's a verbally abusive tyrant of a man who doesn't deserve the right to claim Ava as his daughter. By the time my parents found out about Ava's family predicament, she was already in her first week of college, so it was too late for them to get her out of his clutches.

  Ava’s father is the sole reason she shouldn’t be with a man who’ll give her ultimatums and rules to live by. If she wanted that type of lifestyle, she would have stayed living under her father’s roof.

  “What do you want to do, Ava?” I keep my tone low even though I’m close to ripping Marvin’s head off from the furious scowl he's directing at Ava.

  Jorgie’s breathing ceases as Ava’s eyes drift between the three of us. I can hear her silent prayers, hoping Ava will throw a little rebellion into the night. Marvin’s eyes slit even more, and I remain quiet. Ava doesn’t need any more people influencing her decisions.

  “You have work--”

  “On Monday,” Jorgie interrupts, staring at Marvin with the same amount of intensity he's glaring at Ava.

  My teeth gnawing on the inside of my cheek fails to hide the growl that emits from my lips when Ava turns to Jorgie and says, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  The gleam in Jorgie's eyes is doused as she nods her head. I can't hear what Ava whispers in Jorgie's ear when she bids her farewell, but a vast grin stretches across Jorgie's face, and her hearty chuckle sounds through the quiet night. She laughs even more boisterously when she pulls away from Ava and runs her index finger under her nose. Weirdos.

  After a quick smirk, Ava dashes to the awaiting taxi. I clench my fists at my side when a victorious grin stretches across Marvin’s face. He waits until Ava's cab is nothing but a blur of taillights in the distance before entering his taxi, ensuring Ava leaves as instructed. I grit my teeth, internally battling not to raise my middle finger into the air over the pompous smirk etched on his face.

  The instant Marvin’s taxi exits Jorgie’s street, I turn to face her. “Why is Ava dating Pencil Dick?”

  Jorgie doesn’t balk at my statement, indicating she's aware of Marvin’s nickname and why he has it.

  “Your guess would be as good as mine,” she huffs, throwing her arms up in the air.

  She plops into the empty wicker chair on her patio. "You know Ava, Hugo; she craves security. Dick Weed can give her that."

  I stifle a chuckle. "Dick Weed?" .

  She smiles and nods her head. "Our grade called Marvin ‘Dick Weed,’” she informs me. "You know, because his dick is like a weed in a garden, all wilted and shriveled up."

  No longer able to hold in my laughter, my loud, hearty chuckle echoes through the quiet night. My laughter is so thunderous, it startles Ms. Mable next door. She flicks on her security light, blinding both Jorgie and me since its bright rays are pointing at Jorgie's patio.

  "It's just Hugo," Jorgie shouts to ensure Ms. Mable can hear her since she's half-deaf.

  My lips curve into a grin when Ms. Mable shrieks back, “Okay, dear.”

  Once the bright light is switched off, I turn my eyes back to Jorgie. An array of dancing lights obscure my vision for the next several seconds, but they don't hinder my sight long enough to miss the yawn Jorgie tries to suppress.

  “Aren’t you sleeping?”

  Her face grimaces. “You know I can’t sleep when Hawke is over there.”

  I nod. Hawke joined the military two months before he and Jorgie officially became a couple. He has often stated if he knew Jorgie was going to come into his life, he would’ve never enlisted. It’s taken a bit of adjustment for Jorgie to get used to being a military wife, but she's handling it better than any of us expected.

  “Only two more months and you’ll be begging for me to get him out of your hair,” I jest.

  My heart warms when her little giggle sounds through my ears. “I can’t wait for that day.”

  I noogie her head, because I know how much she hates it. "I'll drop by tomorrow afternoon after my meeting and put a few more hours into baby.”

  Her eyes spark as a broad grin stretches across her face, making her appear like a kid waking up Christmas morning.

  “But until Hawke gives baby the all clear, you can’t drive her.”

  Her bottom lip drops into a pout. “Party pooper.”

  After a final noogie on her head, I make my way to my truck. Once Jorgie is inside and the front door is dead-bolted, I pull my truck away from the curb. A grin curves on my lips when I spot the silhouette of Ms. Mable standing behind the sheer curtain in her living room. I lift my chin in greeting and smile, silently relaying my thanks for the vigilant eye she keeps on Jorgie.

  Rochdale is a large, hard-working lower- to middle-class community, but it is, and will always be my hometown.

  Five

  Ava

  I switch off the water in the shower and crank my head to the side. My ears are pricked, straining to work out where the banging noise echoing through my master bathroom is coming from. This is the only downfall about living in an apartment building. More times than I can count, I swear I hear people knocking on my front door. Only after begrudgingly scampering to my entranceway do I realize the knocks were for my neighbors; or a handful of times, they’ve been for the apartment at the end of the hall.

  My debate between continuing to shave my legs or go in search of what the banging noise is ramps up when the rumble of a male voice closely follows three rigid taps of what I’m assuming are knuckles on a wooden door. My breathing becomes difficult when my strained ears recognize the rugged drawl of the masculine voice. Now, there's no doubt in my mind that the bangs bellowing through my apartment is someone knocking, or should I say, banging down my door.

  I twist a towel around my drenched locks and secure anot
her one around my body before ambling to the door. My heart thrashes wildly against my ribs, panicked at what has caused this impromptu visitor to arrive at my apartment at eleven PM on a Saturday night.

  After ensuring the towel is adequately covering my private parts, I swing open the front door. My breath hitches when the delightful view of Hugo in a pair of low-hanging jeans and a short-sleeve fitted shirt swamps my vision. My brows furrow when the gleam in his eyes alters to the same unrecognized spark he had earlier tonight.

  “Is everything okay?” My words come out shaky due to the quickening of my pulse from his avid stare.

  He leans his broad shoulder against the doorjamb as one corner of his plump lips tug higher. “It is now,” he croons.

  Breathing is a thing of the past when his eyes scorch my skin as he rakes them over my body.

  “Go out with me, Ava,” he says, returning his eyes to mine.

  “W-w-what?” I stammer, certain the words I’ve wanted to hear seep from his mouth for years didn’t just occur on my doorstep while I’m wearing a skimpy towel, not one ounce of make-up, and with only one leg shaven.

  He smirks. “Come out with me. Tonight,” he clarifies.

  Ouch. A slap to the face would have hurt less than that.

  Suddenly, a notion hits me. “Are you drunk?”

  That would be a very plausible reason as to why he has suddenly arrived at my door.

  The flutter of my heart increases when his lips lift higher. “Maybe a little.”

  A rueful grin stretches across my face. Tonight isn’t the first time I’ve had to handle an inebriated Hugo. The very first time was at his eighteenth birthday party. . .

  “Sugar,” I mumble as my eyes leap around the desolate walls of a coatroom, seeking anything but the visual of a female with cascading blonde hair on her knees in front of a pair of trouser-clad thighs.

  Even with the light from the entranceway beaming into the small closest space, the female’s slurping sucks and frantic movements don’t falter a bit as she continues with her mission to unravel the man whose rough pants of ecstasy have my cheeks warming and pulse hastening.

  I spin on my heels, preparing to give the couple a small moment of privacy in a house overrun by out-of-control, frantic teens. I freeze, half out of the coatroom, when “Yeah, Vicky, baby, just like that,” sounds from a voice I’ve heard many times before.

  My brain signals for my legs to move, but instead of pacing away from the train wreck that will inevitably shred my heart into a million pieces, my head cranks and my eyes roam over a well-splayed pair of thighs, a half-tucked-in disheveled shirt, and the ecstasy-riddled face of Hugo. His head is flopped back, his eyes are snapped shut, and his mouth is gaped open. He's the exact visual I’d conjured of him many times before.

  The twisting of my stomach amplifies when he fists Vicky’s hair to increase her pace, forcing a muffled gag to sound from her throat. Hugo’s eyes snap open when a vile grunt tears from my throat. His pupils widen as his eyes absorb the repulsed expression on my face.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, scrambling.

  Mortified that he busted me ogling him during a sexual activity, I throw my red coat onto the floor, slam the door shut and dash toward the dense crowd gathered in the sunken living room. Since I had to wait for my parents to go to bed, I’ve arrived to the party fashionably late. Blaring music, hot sweaty bodies, and half of the school population has congregated in the Marshall residence this Friday night.

  When Chase, Hugo’s older brother, discovered Jorgie and Hugo were going to be left unattended, he decided to throw an early eighteenth birthday party for Hugo. I don’t normally attend these types of events, but since it is a significant milestone in Hugo’s life, I chose to bend the normally unbreakable rein my father has gripped tightly around my neck. By scaling down the thorn-riddled latticework on the side of my house, I’ve arrived at Hugo’s birthday party a little after eleven PM.

  Barging my way through a mass of bodies grooving to the latest club beat, I continue with my pursuit of the even more crowded backyard. Even with it being overpopulated with drunken teens, I need fresh air, and I need it pronto. A blast of brisk night air relieves my overheated skin when I yank open the glass sliding door that leads to the wooden deck.

  My heart stops beating when, “Ava,” is shouted across the room from a deep rumbling voice that invades my dreams every single night.

  In the reflection of the glass, I spot Hugo standing in the entranceway, adjusting his shirt to a more dignified configuration. Once his clothing is back in place, his eyes shift in all directions, no doubt seeking me amongst the crowd. I cowardly hide. Due to Hugo’s large size, he spots me across the vast span of the living area within a matter of seconds. I dart out the door when he commences striding through the sea of partygoers. My urgent dash to evade Hugo is aided by the numerous party attendees who stop dancing to pat him on the back in greeting when they spot him striding by.

  I rush down the short flight of stairs that lead to the fire pit and take a sharp left. When I reach the edge of the paved fire pit, my elbow is seized. I don’t need to look up to know who is grasping me. My body’s reaction is all the indication I need to know that Hugo’s long strides have finally caught up with me. Sucking in a big breath, I neutralize the expression on my face before pivoting on my heels. I smile sweetly, vainly pretending I didn’t witness what just happened. The longer Hugo’s glassy eyes roam over my face, the more his brows furrow.

  “Damn, Ava, I’m sorry you had to see that.” The repentance in his eyes adds strength to his apology. “Did you not see the scarf wrapped around the door handle?” Due to his closeness, his whiskey-laced breath flutters my lips.

  “The what?”

  The tautness on his face firms. “The scarf around the handle,” he repeats.

  I return his stare before timidly shaking my head. Blood rushes through my veins, flaming my skin with heat when his eyes bore into mine, calling bullshit on my false statement. I did see the scarf, but I had no clue why it was there. I assumed it was lost property, but from the glimmer in Hugo’s eyes, and the scowl on his face, I guess my assumption was wrong.

  “Happy birthday,” I say, thrusting the gift I’m clutching into his chest, praying for a moment of reprieve from the awkwardness suffocating the air surrounding us.

  “Ava.” His tone lowers as his gaze drops to the black gift box in my hand. “I thought we said no gifts this year.” The purr of his words causes goose bumps to prickle on my arms.

  I push my thick-rimmed glasses up my nose and hunch my shoulders. “It’s nothing major.”

  A boyish grin stretches across his face as he accepts the gift. I inwardly sigh, relieved that the awkwardness between us has been dodged. I cross my arms in front of my chest, hiding my body’s reaction to the sexy-as-hell grin etched on his face as he pries at a piece of cello tape on the side seam.

  For as long as I’ve known Hugo, he has always taken his time unwrapping presents. He has said on numerous occasions he likes to savor the moment, to bask in the glory of being the center of attention. It’s the perfect antidote for the poor, neglected middle child.

  Just as the side flap has been carefully opened, the swarm of people milling around the pool realize the birthday man has emerged amongst them. Within a matter of seconds, Hugo is inundated by well-wishers wanting to bestow their birthday felicitations.

  As the rowdy crowd congresses around him, I get elbowed and barged out of the way until I'm once again on the outer circle of the popularity contest that always launches when Hugo is in the vicinity. The stabbing pain piercing my heart lessens when Hugo’s gorgeous face pokes out from the heavy crowd. When he spots me standing to the side he grins a heart-flattering smile.

  “Thank you,” he says, staring straight at me.

  “You’re welcome,” I mouth back, smiling.

  When his grinning face becomes nothing but an ambiguous blur in the crowd, I spin on my heels. Quietly, I sit in a vacant chair next to Jorgie, not wanting to interrupt her game of tonsil hockey with her on and off again boyfriend, Blake.