Beneath the Secrets Read online

  “Ava, I’m sorr--”

  “I’m not leaving this room,” I interrupt, pacing to stand in the middle of it. Surprisingly, my reply is delivered stronger than I’m expecting. “I’m never leaving this room.”

  Not just because I don’t want to face the roguish taunts of my peers, but because I’m petrified of what my father’s reaction will be if he learns about my lewd strip. In the glimmer of the bedside lamp, my eyes catch sight of a photo on Jorgie’s nightstand. It is a picture of Jorgie, Hugo, and me taken at Hugo’s thirteenth birthday party. We were so young and carefree back then. Our only concern that day was who got the biggest slice of cake. Oh, how things have changed in five years.

  “You don’t have to go out right now, but eventually, you’re going to have to leave this room,” Hugo says, his tone sincere but with an edge of wittiness to it.

  I stick out my lip and pout. “Why? Can’t I just stay in here forever?”

  A smirk tugs Hugo’s lips higher as he paces closer to me, shaking his head. “You would soon grow tired of Jorgie’s loud snoring,” he jests playfully.

  I roll my eyes. Jorgie may have a slight wheeze when she's sleeping, but it isn’t loud enough to douse my enthusiasm for hiding in her room for the rest of eternity.

  “And Jorgie doesn’t have cable TV, so how will we spend our Sunday afternoons watching re-runs of ‘Friends’ if you’re locked up in here?”

  My lips curl into a small smile. I love our Sunday afternoon ritual. Since Jorgie isn’t a fan of “Friends,” it is the only time I get Hugo all to myself. It may only be for an hour out of an entire week, but I cherish every single second of our alone time.

  Sensing my determination to be a hermit in Jorgie’s room is wavering, Hugo continues. “There’s also no kitchen in here, and goddamn it, girl, knowing your blueberry pancakes are waiting for me every Sunday morning when I wake is the only thing that keeps me going during the week.”

  No longer able to hide my happiness, a broad grin spreads across my face. I swear I roll over like a dog begging for my tummy to be scratched when it comes to Hugo, but it isn’t just his cheeky disposition that keeps me coming back for more. It is the fact he doesn’t expect me to change from the dorky girl hiding behind a mask to what society deems acceptable that I love. Unlike Jorgie, Hugo doesn’t care if I wear jeans that are a size too big or sweaters we could both fit into. He still greets me with the same amount of excitement no matter what hideous outfit I'm wearing.

  Smirking, I lift my eyes and lock them with his. He paces closer to me and hands me my black thick-rimmed glasses.

  “Thank you, but I don’t need them to see,” I mumble under my breath.

  My heart skips a beat when he says, “I know, but they're your protective shield that keeps you hidden from the strangers lurking in the dark.”

  He places his hand under my chin and lifts my deflated head high into the air. Any leftover tears dry from the kindness radiating out of his eyes. “You’re like Clark Kent. You keep your superhero identity hidden from outsiders.”

  My heart warms as a genuine smile tugs on my lips. I wouldn’t say I'm a superhero. I'm more like a tortoise. I only emerge from my shell around Jorgie, Hugo, and their family. The instant I’m pushed back into society, the armor I wear to protect myself slips right back into place. Although I do need glasses to stop my eyes straining when looking at a computer monitor, they’re not a requirement for me to see clearly. My vision is so precise, I can see every small droplet of water clinging to Hugo’s thick lashes.

  A small stretch of silence crosses between us as Hugo gives me time to calm down from the debacle of my existence. Once my usual self-composed nature has returned, his glassy eyes shift between mine as he mutters, “Borrow some of Jorgie’s clothes, and when you’re ready, come back out and enjoy the party. If anyone says anything about what happened, they’ll have me to deal with.”

  I smile, hiding the grimace trying to cross my face. The last thing I want in my life is the guy who invades my every waking thought taking on the role of big brother.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t borrow Jorgie’s clothes,” I say, peering into his concerned eyes.

  His face screws up. “Why not?” He stroll to Jorgie’s bursting-at-the-seams closet.

  My brows meet my hairline. “Because I’m five foot two and Jorgie is as tall as a gir--”

  I stop talking, and my mouth gapes. Hugo’s head cranks back quicker than a bullet being dislodged from a weapon.

  “I wasn’t going to say it,” I squeak out when a huge grin stretches across his face.

  “Oh, yeah you were. You were just about to call Jorgie a giraffe.”

  “I was not!” I retaliate as my eyes dart to the doorway, hoping to hell that Jorgie isn’t within earshot. Jorgie never forgave Victoria for calling her a giraffe in middle school. Even though I'm her best friend, I’m not willing to test her forgiving nature.

  “I was going to say she's as tall as a gir… gir… a girl!”

  Hugo smiles a shit-eating grin. “You're so full of shit.”

  “I am not,” I respond with a stomp of my feet.

  “Oh, yeah you are,” he says, lunging for me.

  I squeal and dash across the room before his tortuous hands can get anywhere near my ribs. Air whooshes from my lips when he wraps his arm around my waist to tackle me to the ground. I squirm and giggle like an immature fifth grader when he straddles my hips and his fingers unleash a torrid of tickling on my upper stomach. I squirm and buck my hips, fighting against his cruel tickling onslaught. Within minutes, my face is red, I’m sweating profusely, and I can hardly breathe through the stream of tears seeping from my eyes.

  “Okay, okay, I give up!” I squeal, still squirming. “Mercy! Mercy!” I scream at the top of my lungs, knowing it is the only word that will stop his tortuous hands.

  Upon hearing my roaring pleas, he un-straddles my hips and flops onto his back beside me. His chest thrusts up and down, matching the rhythm of mine as we endeavor to refill our lungs with air.

  I don’t know why he's so exhausted. I’m the one who was subjected to torture.

  Once I can breathe again, I roll onto my hip, crank my elbow, and rest my saturated mop of hair on my open palm. Hugo’s eyes shift from staring at the ceiling to peer at me. His gaze looks complicated and uneasy. When he notices I’ve caught his odd expression, a roughish smirk etches on his sinful mouth. Oh no. I know that look. It’s a look that means he’s about to stir up trouble.

  “If you tell Jorgie I nearly called her a giraffe, I'll kill you,” I warn.

  Panic scorches my veins when he waggles his brows before scampering off the floor. I freeze for all of two seconds before I dive at him. He hits the ground with an almighty thump when I scuttle across the carpet and wrap my arms around his ankles. His thunderous laugh booms through my chest when I hook my legs around his torso to hold him down.

  He crawls across the carpet, not the slightest bit impeded by my monkey hold. When he stands from the ground, taking me with him, I leap from his back and dart for the door. I slam the door shut, plaster my back against it and lift my eyes to his.

  “I’ll do anything,” I plea breathlessly. “Anything at all.”

  We're standing so close, our thrusting chests connect every time we take a breath. A small smile curves on my mouth when he loosens his grip of the door handle and runs his hand along his jaw. That’s a sign he's considering my request. It’s something Hugo always does when he’s contemplating.

  “Anything?” His tone drips with innuendo.

  My tongue delves out to replenish my dry lips before I nod. My heartbeat kicks up when he presses his palms against the door on either side of my head and tilts his body closer to me, leaving even less space between us and trapping me between his imposing body and the thick wooden door.

  “Alright,” he breathes out heavily.

  His alcohol-scented breath adds even more heat to my already flustered cheeks.

  His gaze lifts from my parched mouth to my eyes. “You have to cook me breakfast.”

  I eagerly nod. I’ve done that exact thing every Sunday morning for the past two years so that will be a walk in the park.

  The eager nod of my head lessens when he says, “I want the works. Bacon, eggs, pancakes. If it’s associated with breakfast, I want it. And I want it tomorrow morning.”

  My nose scrunches. “Jeez, what happened to your last slave?” My tone is full of wit.

  “Nothing… yet,” he replies with a cheeky wink.

  My O-formed mouth curves into a grin when he tugs on a strand of my curly hair that has sprung in front of my eye. As my wild mess of hair starts to dry, the super tight curls are beginning to sprout. I was never a fan of my ringlet curls growing up, but they've grown on me the past two years. I don’t know if he realizes he's doing it, but when we watch re-runs of “Friends,” Hugo twists my hair around his index finger the entire time. It is the meekest touch, but it sparks a surge of excitement in me every time he does it.

  The room turns roasting when Hugo’s eyes burn into mine and he says, “I want my breakfast served in my bed.”

  I swallow to relieve my parched throat. “Okay.”

  A bead of sweat rolls down my back when his gaze returns to my lips. “If its edible, and it’s in my room, I’m going to taste it.”

  “Okay,” I respond again since my brain has lost the ability to form intelligent words.

  A small stretch of silence crosses between us as we undertake an intense, sweat-forming stare down. My breathing stills when he tilts his head toward me, bringing his lips to within mere millimeters of mine. A rush of excitement courses through my body as every fantasy I've ever conjured transpires before my eyes. Just as Hugo’s lips brush against
the edge of my mouth, a loud knock sounds on the door. The tap is so hard, it vibrates through my heaving chest.

  “Ava, it’s Jorgie. I just heard what happened. Let me in.”

  When she pushes the door open with her shoulder, my body lunges toward Hugo, smashing our faces together. If I were a few inches taller, my lips would have landed on his mouth, instead of his chin. Hugo’s heavy-lidded eyes drift between mine for several heart clutching seconds before he lowers his arms and takes a step backward, unpinning me from my the door.

  After giving myself a few seconds to regain control of the erratic beat of my heart, I push off the door and pace into the middle of the room. The instant I step away from the door, Jorgie charges into the room. Her eyes are wide; her cheeks are flushed, and excitement in beaming out of her. She looks nearly as flustered as I feel.

  “You know how you didn’t have a date for the summer fling?” Her words are barely audible in her breathless state.

  I nod. My lack of date isn’t because I can’t find a dance partner for the night. It’s just an excuse I’ve used so I don’t have to tell Jorgie I’m not allowed to go to the senior dance. It’s being held the same night my parents are going to Napa Valley for the weekend to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary.

  My dad arranged for me to stay at my grandmother’s house two towns over. When I requested to stay at Jorgie’s for the weekend, my father said my desire to spend time with my grandmother should outweigh my need for social interaction. That was the beginning and end of our discussion.

  Jorgie grips my arm as her gleaming eyes beam into mine. “You no longer have an excuse not to go. Because not only did I overhear Richie Santo asking Rhys for your digits, I also saw Chase dragging Robert Parker down the stairwell. Chase didn’t say it, but I’m fairly certain Robert was up here looking for you.”

  Her neck cranks to the side when a thunderous growl emits from Hugo’s lips. The skin around her nose scrunches when she discovers Hugo standing at my side. I don’t know how she could miss a man with a frame as large as his?

  “You’re lucky your immature prank backfired or I would’ve told mom what you did to Ava,” Jorgie says, her voice coming out snarkier than normal as her eyes shoot daggers at Hugo.

  A grin tugs on my lips when a fretful mask slips over Hugo’s face. I love Mrs. Marshall. She treats me as if I am her daughter, but I grew even fonder of her when I discovered she's the only person in the world Hugo fears. It isn’t a quaking-in-your-boots type of fear. It is the worry he may one day disappoint his No. 1 fan that keeps him on the straight and narrow.

  My eyes lift and lock with Hugo’s. His jaw is set into a hard line; his fists are clenched at his side, and he's returning Jorgie’s evil glare.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I mouth, hoping our earlier agreement is still in effect.

  His eyes shift from glaring at Jorgie to me. A smirk curves on his mouth before he rubs his stomach and winks. After I return his smile, he ambles to the door and exits without a backward glance, but we never got our breakfast the following day……

  “So, are you going to get dressed, Ava, or do you want to go out like that?” Hugo asks, interrupting me from my reminiscing thoughts.

  My pupils widen as my eyes dart down to the peach-colored, floral-printed towel wrapped around my body. Although it doesn’t match the sleek design of my modern apartment, it was a house warming gift from Mrs. Marshall, so I couldn’t part with it.

  I lift my gaze and lock it with Hugo’s twinkling baby blues. “I guess that will depend on where we're going? It’s not like half the town hasn’t already seen my naked derriere.”

  Six

  Ava

  My sassiness is foiled when a panty-combusting smirk morphs on Hugo’s face. Well, they would have combusted, if I were wearing any. A squeal escapes my parted lips and echoes down the hallway of my apartment building when Hugo suddenly launches for me and throws me over his shoulder.

  A ragged gasp expels from my lips, and my hands shoot to the hem of the towel, wanting to ensure my neighbors don’t get an eyeful of my lady garden. Once again, that is a metaphor. I can’t technically call it a garden when it doesn’t have any foliage. I’ve just always found the word “pussy” a little too risky if you aren’t in the bedroom, and calling it a “vagina” is a huge no-no in my book.

  A rush of excitement pelts my body when Hugo smacks one of my ass cheeks with his large open palm. “As riveting as it would be to take you out only wearing a towel, Jorgie would kill me. So you’ve got five minutes to get dressed, Ava,” he instructs while placing me down onto my feet.

  “It’s eleven PM!” I declare, like there could be a possibility he's unaware of the time. “The only place I'm visiting is my bed.”

  His brow arches high into his thick, luxurious shaggy hair as an unscrupulous grin etches on his sinful mouth.

  “Alone,” I clarify. I’m surprised how confident my statement came out considering how fast my pulse is racing.

  “How old are you, Ava?”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest, hoisting my moderately sized bosoms higher into the air. “Exactly six months younger than you, remember?”

  “Then stop acting like my mother and get your goddamn ass dressed.”

  My mouth pop opens over his audacity. Any word vomit preparing to exit my lips traps in my throat when I notice the direction of his heavy-lidded gaze. It is a well-known fact Hugo has a fascination with legs. Nearly every inch of my legs are on display since my strengthened stance has inched my towel higher on my thighs.

  When I uncross my arms, my towel drops back to a more respectable level, and Hugo’s heavily dilated eyes return to mine.

  “If you aren’t dressed in five minutes, Ava, you’re going to leave your apartment in only your towel. The choice is yours.”

  With that, he saucily winks before sauntering out of the room. I stand motionless staring at the door he exited, utterly flabbergasted. I’m not just shocked by Hugo’s sudden interest in me; I’m also surprised he knew the location of my bedroom. I’m not bragging, but my apartment is decent in size. I worked hard throughout college and saved every single penny I made so I could afford the down payment.

  I was called naïve and stupid when I signed on the dotted line after only viewing the blueprint designs for this building. Even living all the way over the other side of the country, I knew one day I'd return to Rochdale. It wasn’t a matter of if; it was a matter of when, but the only way I could afford an apartment in this area was by investing my money in the concept of an idea, not a physical building.

  It was a risk, but it was one I was willing to take it. The taunts on my so-called stupidity continued when people discovered I was placing my hard-earned cash into the hands of a businessman who was younger than me. Now, nearly two years later, I’m the one laughing in their faces. Purchasing this apartment was the best financial decision I ever made. The value of the apartments in this building skyrocketed the instant the project was completed, meaning I’m now sitting on a very lucrative nest egg.

  I dash to my wardrobe like a frantic woman when Hugo declares, “Three minutes.”

  “Can you at least tell me where we're going?” I yell, digging my hands deep into my closet, trying to find something suitable to wear.

  “What does every twenty-five-year-old on the planet do on a Saturday night?”

  “Shave their legs? Or is that just losers like me?”

  My cheeky snickering is replaced with a gasp when Hugo strolls into my room unannounced.

  “What if I were naked?”

  His lengthy strides have him crossing the room in two heart-thrashing seconds. “It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t seen before.”

  My brows furrow. “You haven’t seen me naked.”

  My pulse quickens when he stops rummaging through my vast collection of clothing and turns to stare at me. His eyes are glistening, but there's something more tangible beneath the devious spark that has my interests piqued.