Beneath the Secrets Read online

  Snubbing the sucking-face noises neighboring me, I spend the next several minutes immersed in the fascinating world of people watching. Even though everyone in eyesight knows Hugo in some way, the gathering of people is diverse. You have your school jocks and Barbie doll cheerleaders gathered in a large group near the edge of the pool. The dark, moody, artsy crowd is milling around the fire pit, and even though they remain hidden in the shadows, I spotted a handful of members from the computer club gathered at the side of the house when I first dashed into the backyard. And then there are the people like me. The awkward anti-social crowd who scatters themselves throughout the groups, hoping one day to work out exactly which faction we belong to.

  My people gawking is interrupted when a red plastic cup full to the brim with bubbling soda is shoved under my nose. Lifting my eyes, I absorb an older, although not any more mature version of Hugo. Hugo and Chase are two men cut from the same cloth – their father’s. Same dark, thick shaggy hair hanging loosely on the top of their heads, large round piercing blue eyes, and well-carved facial features that make my pulse and other parts of my body flutter faster.

  “Hey, Chase,” I greet him, accepting the cup he's jutting toward me.

  “Ava,” he croons in his deep, throaty tone. “Make sure you only accept drinks from Hugo or me tonight,” he instructs, his tone firm.

  His inched-high brows lower when I curtly nod. He grins, lessening the confused scowl before nudging Blake in the shoulder with his enclosed fist. Blake’s heavy-lidded eyes snap open, furious that his heavy petting session with Jorgie has been interrupted. His angry gaze switches to panic when he realizes who has disturbed his above PG-rated make-out session.

  “Beat it,” Chase instructs, glaring at Blake.

  “Chase,” Blake drawls with a laugh, “help a brother out.”

  Any further slurred words preparing to escape Blake’s mouth become entombed when an angry growl rumbles through Chase’s snapped-shut lips.

  “You either leave voluntarily or I’ll walk you out myself,” Chase advises.

  His stern tone causes an ice cold chill to run down my spine. Even with Chase attending college two towns over, his protective big brother stance hasn’t eased when it comes to men getting close to his baby sister, but I must give credit where credit is due. Even after a vicious caution from Hugo and Chase, Blake continues to pursue Jorgie with just as much vigor as he did before he found out she was the Marshall Brothers’ little sister. A lesser man would’ve run for the hills. Many men before him have done exactly that.

  “I’ll show you out,” Jorgie says, swinging her gaze from glaring at Chase to a staggered Blake.

  Jorgie places her hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she says with a waggle of her brows.

  I smile and nod. That was one of our secret friends’ code. Saying she'll be back in a minute while waggling her brows means she'll be no less than thirty minutes. I run my index finger under my nose, acknowledging I understand her statement and that I’m fine being left unattended. After one last glare at Chase, Jorgie heads toward the house with a broad grin stretched across her face and Blake shadowing closely behind.

  Not long later after Jorgie has left, a roaring chant of laughter drags my attention from picking the polish on my nails. A smile gleams across my face when I spot six members of the rowing team hoisting Hugo off the ground and charging toward the vacant pool. Even though Hugo appears to be struggling against their hold, I can tell he isn’t putting in a real effort.

  On the boisterous count of three, Hugo is thrown into the undoubtedly frigid water. Men hollering resonates over the roar of laughter when a trio from the cheerleading squad strips out of their clothing and dives into the water squealing, “Pool party!” at the top of their lungs.

  A disdained grimace morphs on my face when the bra and panty-wearing troupe circles Hugo like a pack of sharks in heat. I gasp when Victoria Avenke’s lips enclose over Hugo’s and he doesn’t pull away. I try to act brave and pretend I’m not affected, but in all honesty, it hurts. It hurts like a fucking bitch, but then I remember, they aren’t seeing the real Hugo Marshall.

  Tonight, he's the popular school jock who is friends with everyone. By Sunday, he'll be back to the real Hugo. The one only I get to see. The one who lounges around in his pajamas until midday every Sunday morning and hates when I beat him on Mario Kart. That is the real Hugo – the Hugo I have a mad crush on. Not the boy undertaking a course in the art of resuscitation in the pool.

  “A pool party and a bonfire, quite the odd combination.”

  Lifting my eyes from the dancing embers of the fire, I'm met with a knock-your-socks-off smile. My eyes bug when they roam over Rhys Tagget, my childhood crush No. 2. Rhys screams bad boy with his clipped dark hair, tattooed arms, and impressive swagger. Even when he was a junior, the senior girls fawned over him. He graduated from our high school two summers ago. When he isn’t attending university, studying to become a surgeon, he works at the local tattoo parlor, hence the vibrant collection of artwork on his body.

  “Freeze in the pool, thaw by the fire,” I reply, shyly smiling.

  Rhys chuckles a hearty laugh. “For some strange reason, that kind of makes sense.”

  Goose bumps prickle my skin when he nudges my bare shoulder with a chilled bottle of beer. My eyes bounce between the clear bottle of beer with a wedge of lime crammed in the neck and the full cup of bland soda I’m grasping. When my eyes drift to the pool, and I spot Hugo still training to be a lifeguard, I place the soda on the ground and accept the bottle from Rhys. Leaning back in the chair, I take a generous swig of the frosted beverage. My face grimaces at the bitter flavor engulfing my taste buds. Rhys grins before dragging the chair Jorgie vacated closer to me. When he straddles it backward, his glistening hazel eyes turn from Hugo and his posse of female friends to me.

  “You’re best friends with Hugo’s little sister Jorgie, aren’t you?”

  I nod before taking another swig of beer. I try to keep the repulsed expression off my face as I swallow the ghastly liquid. Even though it tastes disgusting, the coolness of the beverage is helping to lessen the furious rage burning a hole in my heart.

  “Then why haven’t I seen you at any of Hugo’s parties before?”

  My eyes snap to his. “Is this a regular occurrence?”

  He smiles against the seam of his beer before nodding. “It isn’t normally here, though. It’s normally held at the lookout or down by the river.”

  “Oh,” I mumble before taking another mouth-filling gulp of beer. “I’ve never been invited before.”

  Now, I’m guzzling the beer down so quickly, my taste buds don’t get the chance to protest the abhorrent taste.

  “These parties have an open invitation, sweetheart; you don’t need to be invited.” Rhys informs me.

  My eyes burn as I fight to swallow the beer in my mouth instead of splattering it all over Rhys’ face. I’ve never been called a term of endearment before, let alone one as endearing as sweetheart.

  “Ah, now it makes sense.”

  My eyes shift back to his. “What makes sense?”

  His worldly eyes absorb my face before they drop to my baggy boyfriend jeans and one shoulder knitted sweater. “You’re fresh meat.”

  My cheeks get a rush of blood forming beneath them. “Excuse me?” My words quiver. I may be naïve, but even I know what that saying means.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Ava. It just makes sense why I’ve never seen you at these types of functions before. They’re not suitable for--” His eyes say the word his mouth fails to produce.

  Dying from embarrassment, I lose the ability to maintain eye contact. Lifting the beer to my mouth, I guzzle the remaining smidgen. Noticing my beer is empty, Rhys opens the lid of a cooler at his side and cracks open another bottle. After squeezing a lime into the neck, he hands it to me.

  “You need to slow down your guzzling if you’re not used to drinking, Ava. That’s not soda in that bottle.”

  I smile a thanks before drifting my eyes to the gathering of people milling near the pool. I freeze with the seam of the bottle pressed against my lips when I catch the murderous glare of Hugo. His head is angled to the side, and his brow is arched high. His stern gaze follows the beer when I lower it from my mouth and rest it on my shaking thigh. I sink deeper into the chair, moving away from the fire since Hugo’s glare is roasting my skin. I timidly shake my head when Hugo motions for me to join him in the pool. His narrowed eyes slit even more before his angry gaze shifts between Rhys and me. The furious scowl on his face doesn’t lessen when I playfully screw up my nose and stick out my tongue.

  My heart rate quickens when the lean muscles in Hugo’s arm flex as he lifts himself out of the pool. Even with the blare of music pumping through the crisp night air, I don’t miss the disdained gasps of the cheerleaders devastated by his brisk departure. I roll my eyes when a flurry of girls congregate around him to offer him a towel or a birthday kiss. Inwardly gagging from their desperateness, I turn my gaze back to Rhys.

  His eyes shift between Hugo and me. “I didn’t realize you had an older brother,” he mumbles against the rim of his bottle.

  “I don’t,” I reply through clenched teeth.

  “Boyfriend?” Rhys probes, staring into my eyes. In the moonlight, the brown flicks in his eyes are more prominent, making them dazzle ever brighter.

  A heartwarming smirk curls on his lips when I shake my head. Rhys takes a sip of his beer as his eyes turn back to the pool. His small smirk morphs into an amused smile.

  “Prepare yourself, Ava,” he warns.

  I’m so immersed in unearthing what’s ignited the spark in Rhys’ eyes that I don’t notice the prowler sneaking up on
me until it too late. With a rough yank on my wrist, I’m thrusted from my chair and hoisted over a broad shoulder. A chill runs through my body when freezing droplets of water are absorbed by my bland red sweater. Not having anywhere else to grasp, my hands shoot down to secure a deathly tight grip on a pair of drenching wet black cotton boxer shorts.

  “Put me down, Hugo,” I wail when his familiar smell invades my senses.

  I kick as hard as possible, aiming for the one part of his anatomy I know will slow him down. My squirms come to an immediate halt when his open palm slaps my backside. The sting of both pleasure and pain rushes through to my core, making me ache with desire.

  “Time for a swim, Ava.”

  I dig my nails into the rock-hard muscles of his lower back when the marble tiles surrounding the edge of the pool come into vision.

  “Don’t you dare throw me in the po--”

  Before the entire sentence can escape my mouth, my glasses are knocked off my face, my jeans become the weight of concrete, and my nipples turn rigid. They're so firm, they could cut through diamonds. My screams of protest trap in my throat when the sub-zero water steals my ability to breathe. Even peering through the blur of rippling water, I can’t miss the smug look smeared on Hugo’s face as he stares at me under the water. Fuming with anger, I kick him in the shins before swimming to the surface. Numerous mumbled curse words escape my lips as I attempt to flop my body over the edge of the pool. I grit my teeth when Hugo exits the pool with ease. The heaviness of my soaked jeans and sweater double my weight, impeding my efforts. Through gritted teeth, I accept the hand Hugo offers. He adeptly pulls me out of the pool before gathering me in close to his chest. I place my palms on his drenched pecs and push away from him. The sloshing of water in my boots sounds over the pulse ringing in my ears.

  “Why did you do that?!” I squeal, glaring at his smug face.

  He crosses his arms in front of his chest, strengthening his pose. “You were told not to accept drinks from anyone but Chase or me. You didn’t listen.”

  “It was a bottle of beer!” I yell.

  “I don’t care if it was a can of diet Pepsi, you don’t accept drinks from men you don’t know.”

  I glare at him while pulling off my black boots. His lips twitch, battling to hold in a smile when the contents of my boots create a puddle of water around his feet. Even being overheated with furious anger, a shiver jolts down my spine when cool air pelts my drenched chest. Air whizzes from Hugo’s mouth when I thrust my boots into his chest.

  “I’ll have you know, Rhys isn’t a stranger,” I inform him, pulling my limp sweater over my head. “He and I go way back.”

  I grunt when the soaked material clings to my arms. The smile tugging Hugo’s lips vanishes and a set of hard-edged lips ruefully take its place. I snarl at him while dumping my drenched sweater on top of my boots.

  “Rhys used to tutor me,” I enlighten him, undoing the button on the fly of my jeans.

  “Ava.”

  “In French,” I add on, noticing the conceited smirk on Hugo’s face. “All things French. It is the language of love and many other things.”

  I overemphasize my brash statement, loving that my jibe is creating a quiver in Hugo’s jaw.

  “Ava,” Hugo growls.

  “It was the most fun I’ve ever had studying.”

  “Ava.”

  “Who knew being forced to learn a foreign language by my father would turn out to be such a riveting experience?” I continue to taunt while shimmying out of my jeans plastered on my thighs.

  I nearly lose my footing when the left cuff of my jeans gets stuck on my ankle. Lifting my leg high into the air, I yank the rigid material off with one clean swoop. It’s lucky I don’t wear skin-tight jeans, or I would’ve never been able to remove them. After thrusting my jeans into Hugo’s heaving chest, I grasp the hem of my white cami.

  “Ava!” Hugo rumbles again.

  “What?!” I yell, exasperatingly throwing my arms into the air. Is that the only word he knows today?

  His livid eyes glare into mine. “You’re stripping naked in front of half of the school population.”

  I freeze. “What?” I manage to squeak out before the reality of the situation crashes into me full pelt.

  I swallow the rock in my throat before filtering my heavily dilated eyes around the dead quiet space. The walloping of my heat increases when I spot numerous party attendees staring at me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. My anger at being dumped in the pool had made me lose sight of the bigger picture. My eyes shoot from the abundance of partygoers to my barely covered body. My horror increases when I notice my drenched cami is failing to conceal my homely black bra and red striped G-string bikini bottoms. Tears burn my eyes as I lift my gaze back to Hugo. The expression on his face is no longer laced with amusement. It is full to the brim with remorse and silent apologies. I yank my clothing out of his grasp and rush toward the house.

  Cat calls, wolf whistles, and sexual propositions thud through my ears as I run through the gauntlet of partygoers gawking at me like I'm the night’s free entertainment. I hold my sweater against my chest, futilely trying to maintain a small shred of modesty as I bolt up the roped-off stairwell. The first splash of tears hits my cheeks when I slam Jorgie’s bedroom door shut and slide down it. The clanking of my backside hitting the blue carpeted floor swamps the sob that tears from my throat. After dumping my drenched clothes to the side of Jorgie’s disheveled room, I wrap my arms around my legs and burrow my tear-stained face into my knees, hiding from the world. This is the exact reason why I avoid these types of functions. I’m awkward enough as it is, let alone trying to mingle with strangers.

  My head lifts from resting on my knees when, “Ava, let me in,” barrels through the door only minutes later by a voice I immediately recognize.

  I freeze and attempt to lessen my sobs, not wanting Hugo to witness my immature tears.

  “Come on, open up, I know you’re in there,” he whispers through the crack of the door. “I can hear you crying.”

  I snap my mouth shut, trying to mask my tears. The smallest whimper still escapes my lips. The sound of the locked door handle being twisted rattles over the thumping of my heart.

  “If you don’t open the door, Ava, I’ll kick it in,” Hugo warns.

  “The only thing that needs kicking is my backside for trying to be sexy by wearing a stupid G-string,” I mumble.

  I snuck the red and white striped G-string into the shopping cart last week when my mom and I went to Walmart. I concealed its bland cotton material amongst the red sweater my mom picked out. The cashier’s eyes lifted to mine when it tumbled out of the rumpled-up sweater and fell to her feet. Seeing my wide-eyed, panicked expression, she conspicuously gathered the scrap of material off the floor, scanned it and shoved it into the pocket of my one-size-too-large boyfriend jeans, leaving my mom none the wiser to my sneaky purchase. I mumbled my silent gratitude to the grinning cashier as I snagged the bags from the carousel and rushed out of the store. Although I never intended on anyone seeing it, it made me feel daring when I slipped the G-string up my freshly shaved legs tonight.

  My head cranks to the side when the door handle stops rattling and Hugo’s large shadow vanishes from beneath the door. I drag my bottom lip between my teeth, shocked that he gave up so easily. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. It’s not like I’m a princess trapped in a castle waiting for prince charming to rescue me.

  The sinking of my heart stops when, “If you’re sitting behind the door, Ava, I need you to move,” vibrates through the door.

  He wouldn’t really kick down the door, would he? Jorgie would never forgive me if she had to live with no privacy until her door was repaired. Knowing how annoying her older brothers are, they’d take their sweet ass time replacing her busted door. They’d do anything if it lessened the chance of her having any “private” time.

  “Have you moved, Ava? Please tell me you’ve moved. I don’t want to hurt you.” My heart clutches from the torment in his voice.

  “Wait.” I scamper off the floor.

  The darkness shadowing the bottom of the door returns, closely followed by the big pants of Hugo’s breath. I suck in a nerve-cleansing breath before sweeping open the door. The mixture of whiskey and a scent that belongs solely to Hugo filters through my senses when he steps into the room. The concern contorting his face amplifies when his eyes zoom in on my tear-stained cheeks. He smiles a wary smirk before pivoting on his heels to close the door.