Page 6 of Beneath the Secrets
Jorgie’s giggles resonate over the heavy downpour of rain as she makes her way into the three-bedroom weatherboard house with me following closely behind. She has a smug grin etched on her face, clearly looking victorious. Little does she know I would have agreed to date Ava exclusively for a month if it meant getting behind the wheel of Hawke’s baby again. Hell, I may have even agreed to marry her. Oh, who am I kidding? That wouldneverhappen.
“Have I got enough time to shower before Ava arrives?” I ask, peering down at my grease-stained jeans. It isn’t that I’m trying to impress Ava, but I don’t want her looking at me as an unemployed grease monkey. Even if that is what I technically am right now.
Jorgie’s eyes flick to the large grandfather clock in the middle of her small but well-decorated living room. “Oh, yeah, plenty of time. Ava won’t be here for at least an hour.”
My brows scrunch from the evasiveness in her tone. Spotting my expression, the biggest grin stretches across Jorgie’s face.
“I’ll be out in ten,” I advise, snubbing the gleam in her eyes that displays she’s in the process of planning a mischievous scheme.
I’ve only been in the shower for a matter of minutes, crooning to an old classic, “Footloose” by Kenny Loggins, when the sound of a door creaking open resonates into the room. I twist the volume dial down on the water-clogged radio shower and prick my ears.
“Jorgie?”
I hear a breathless snicker before, “I have to pop down the street. I’ll be back in a few minutes; I forgot the ribs… and the chicken for dinner.”
I roll my eyes, unsurprised by Jorgie’s forgetfulness. She has a memory like a sieve, full of holes.
“I’ve thrown your dirty clothes into the wash, so grab some clean ones out of Hawke’s closet.”
“Alright,” I reply as I massage Jorgie’s strawberry-scented shampoo into my scalp.
“I’m going to smell like strawberry fucking shortcake,” I mumble under my breath.
My brow arches when Jorgie’s chuckle bellows through the now closed bathroom door. My shoulders lift into a shrug.Maybe she heard my quiet declaration?
Once the smell of sweat and grease has been replaced with strawberries and soap, I turn off the shower and step out of the bath, being extra attentive not to slip ass-over-tit on the glossy tiles since the bathmat I put down before climbing into the shower has been removed. My teeth grit when I notice the towel rack I replenished with a large fluffy towel is also void of any water-drying apparatus.
“Jorgie!” I yell. “Bring me a goddamn towel.”
The last time she pulled this prank, she at least left the bathmat, which adequately covered me as I made the ten-second walk from the main bathroom to the master suite on the other side of the house. My naked dash had me strolling straight past Jorgie’s co-workers, who were getting ready to leave for a colleague's bachelorette party.
When they spotted me sauntering by, totally saturated and practically naked, they assumed Jorgie hired me for pre-party entertainment. The spark in Jorgie's eyes dampened when she learned two valuable lessons that night. One, I'm not ashamed of my body, and two, her co-workers are a bunch of deviant housewives whose husbands lack in the art of seduction. Within ten minutes, I walked out of the living area two hundred dollars richer, and one point higher on mine and Jorgie's record-breaking prank tally.
After running my hands over my body to remove the excess droplets of water, I crank open the bathroom door. The house is eerily quiet; the only sound I hear is the grandfather clock’s pendulum swinging. I strut down the hall, not bothering to cover my junk. My hips are jutted, my cock is swinging, and the biggest, leering grin is stretched across my face. If Jorgie wants to pull this type of prank, she can suffer the consequences of her actions.
I take a detour into the square-shaped kitchen at the end of the hall, expecting to find a grinning Jorgie. My steps are eager as the excitement of watching her prank backfire in her face gains momentum with every stride I take. My eagerness is dampened and my smirk fades when I discover the kitchen is empty.Maybe she did need to go the grocery store?
Deciding to make good use of my detour, I move to the fridge and help myself to a bottle of beer. Thankfully, beer is the one thing that remains unchanged in this house when Hawke is deployed. Strawberry-scented bath products, hand-knitted teapot covers, and hideous floral cushions emerge from the attic within days of his deployment. When Hawke returns home, he will spend a minimum of two weeks returning his house to its pre-Jorgie days, as there is no way a man like Hawke would be caught dead with strawberry shortcake-scented hair.
Pivoting on my heels, the condensation-covered bottle of beer slips from my wet grasp and plummets onto the floor. I grimace when it clangs against the linoleum floor but remarkably stays in one piece. Following the natural flow of the old weatherboard house, the thankfully still-capped bottle rolls away from me, only coming to a stop when it hits a black high heel-wearing foot.
My brow arches and my heart rate kicks up a gear. It isn’t just the height of the heel that makes me aware these shoes aren’t being worn by a pregnant Jorgie, it is the fact they are holding up one of the most stellar pairs of luscious, caramel-colored legs I’ve ever seen in my life that is the biggest giveaway.
Women’s legs are my weakness. The longer they are, the better. This black pump shoe-wearing female has one of the longest, smoothest, and sexiest pairs of legs I’ve ever laid my eyes on. That might have something to do with the fact only mere inches of her thighs are covered by a super small scrap of white material called a pair of teeny, tiny mini shorts.
Prying my eyes away from the dick-twitching skin of her inner thighs, I continue with my perusal. I chew on the corner of my lip when my eyes run over the itty-bitty curve of a seductive set of hips and an even more generous swell of a pair of curvy breasts barely contained in a super thin skin-colored sweater. My head angles to the side, and my eyes widen when they finalize their journey at the captivating beauty’s hypnotic face.
“Ava?” I ask in disbelief.
For the love of god, someone please tell me this stunner isn’t the geeky wannabe dentist, Ava. One rake of my eyes over her beguiling body and gorgeous face has my dick turning to stone. I could barely suppress the urge to have her beneath me when she had braces on her teeth and a big mess of black ringlet curls on the top of her head. Now, I don’t stand a fucking chance.
“Hey, Hugo,” she greets me, confirming my suspicion.
Even rattled with nerves, her voice is a soft, husky purr that makes my cock even harder. When her perfectly straight pearly white teeth become exposed in a dimple-baring smile, my cock jumps.
Holy shit, call an ambulance. We have a man down.
Three
