CHAPTER EIGHT
MOLLY
Oh god, I feel like I’m on fire. Hugo’s body presses against my back, and I can feel every hard inch of him. A small voice in the back of my mind is screaming at me to stop being such a slut, but I can’t. This is what he does to me. He turns me into a wanton slut. I should feel embarrassed. I should step away, but I don’t and I can’t. We’re just dancing, it’s fine. The kind of dancing that has me clenching my thighs together and in dire need of a change of underwear. I lightly drag my nails across his neck, and over the short stubble of his jaw. He growls low in my ear and yanks me around to face him, his hand tightens in my hair, and my scalp screams in protest even as my heart hammers against my rib cage in excitement.
His eyes meet mine, and there’s this wild untameable fire in them that takes my breath away. His hand cups my jaw, and my skin prickles under his touch, making my entire body break out in goose bumps. There’s a pregnant pause, and it’s one of those moments where you know something is about to happen.
His lips twitch in a small smirk, before he moves, slamming his lips over mine in a possessive kiss. I kiss him back. I can’t help myself. My hands grab handfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer as his hand moves from my face, and grabs my arse, pulling my hips flush to his hard cock. The way he handles me is rough and unapologetic, and I love it. His tongue skims my bottom lip, and I moan into his mouth. I don’t know what it is about him, but he sets my mind free of all inhibitions and my body on fire. I want him, because the moments when I’m with him, I feel liberated.
The music of the club pulses around us, and yet it feels as though it’s just the two of us. I don’t even realise that I’m wrapping my leg around him until his fingers grip my thigh, which is just below his hip. His fingers dance along the hem of my dress as his teeth nip at my bottom lip.
“Unless you want me to fuck you right here on this dance floor, we need to stop.” He breathes raggedly against my lips. Even as he speaks the words, he never releases me.
I blink, and take stock of my position. I’m wrapped around him like a vine, pressing against him everywhere. I frown. What the hell am I doing? This is Hugo. Fuck.
I jump back away from him like I’ve been burned.
“Shit, um…” I try to think of something to say.
He leans in, speaking against my ear so I can hear him over the music. “We both know you want to turn tail and run Sweetness, so run.” I can hear the smile in his voice, but there’s something else, a certain resignation. He’s probably just gutted that I wouldn’t fuck him right here.
His eyes lock with mine and his usual easy smile pulls at his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. I nod quickly and turn on my stiletto heel. He’s right, I do want to run. I need to run from everything that he represents. I need to get my head together without him infecting me with his sex rays or whatever that shit is that he projects. I like to think he has some kind of magical power over women, because then I’m not just some slutty bitch in heat, dry humping him in front of god knows how many people. Shit. I go to find George to tell him I’m leaving. I’m near the bar when I feel an arm loop through mine.
“Now that was a fucking kiss! Shit, what I wouldn’t give for a go at Hugo.” George gushes in my ear.
I turn to face him and release a long breath. “No, that was…I don’t know what that was. Anyway, I’m leaving.”
He laughs. “You’re such a prude Mole. Before you start with your one woman guilt trip, I want it noted that you’re just dating the doctor. No harm in dabbling.” He winks. Oh, god.
By the time I get home, I feel like the shittiest person alive and the guilt trip is in full swing.
Two days later, and I’m still freaking out. Hugo has called and texted relentlessly. He’s apologised, then told me I’m ridiculous, and even that he was just horny and hoping he could get in my pants. None of this changes the fact that I kissed him, and we’re supposed to be friends, and no I’m not with Alex, but the intention is there. But then, we’re friends, so perhaps it’s not a big deal, right? I mean, friends kiss sometimes. I’ve kissed Lilly and George too many times to count.
Although it’s fair to say that Lilly or George have never ever made me feel the way Hugo makes me feel. I groan as I slowly stir my cup of coffee. I don’t know why I let him kiss me. Things are great with Alex. Things are great with Hugo. Why do I have to blur the lines? It was the Prosecco. Must have been. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll blame that.
There’s a knock on the door and I hop up from my spot on the sofa to answer it, taking my chocolate spread covered toast with me. I swing the flat door open and come face to face with Hugo. It was only a matter of time, he’s not a ‘no’ kind of guy. I step back with a resigned sigh, allowing him into the flat. He walks in with his usual swagger. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a tight white t-shirt, with a black leather jacket over the top. His hair is as always, a mess. Even with the serious look on his face, no guy has a right to look that good. He’s like a venus fly trap. I feel sorry for the poor girls who get suckered into falling for that pretty face, only to get fucked and chucked within a matter of hours. Oh wait, that would be me, many times. Only I’m stupid enough to get fucked and chucked, vow never to sleep with him again, befriend him and then let him kiss me. So really, who the hell am I to pity anyone?
I don’t know what to say to him, so I go for totally ignoring the big pink fucking elephant in the room.
“You look good.” I say.
He raises an eyebrow at me and a small smirk pulls at his lips. He grabs my wrist and lifts it to take a bite of my toast. Even that small touch has my pulse fluttering nervously. “When do I ever not look good?” He mumbles around his mouthful.
I sigh. “You know, you make it really hard to like you sometimes.”
He laughs. “Sweetness, you can’t help but like me, no matter how much you hate it.” He’s so right. Too right.
He falls silent and presses his lips into a hard line. “Hugo…Look, I can’t…”
He rolls his eyes dramatically and moves past me into the kitchen, ignoring me. “Fuck me Molly, it was a kiss, get over it already. It’s not like I fucked you or anything.” No, but we both know that I would have let him fuck me. He takes the bread out of the bread bin and starts making himself some toast. Make yourself at home why don’t you?
“Hugo, you’re my friend, and then there’s Alex. I just think that maybe…”
He turns around and faces me again, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his muscular chest. “Maybe what? We shouldn’t be friends just because you drunkenly kissed me, and you’re sweet on the doctor. Come on Molly, we’re not fucking twelve.”
I scowl at him. “I kissed you? You kissed me and you know it.”
He smiles. “Are we really going to argue the logistics of this, or are we going to get over it?” He asks.
I fold my arms over my chest. “Depends. Are you going to try and get me drunk and kiss me again?”
“Probably.” He shrugs unapologetically. The toast pops and he smears a thick layer of chocolate spread on it.
God, I wish I could find it in me to stay mad at him, or just not be friends with him, but I have a soft spot for him, and as weird as our friendship is, I would miss him if he weren’t around. God, what have I gotten myself into?
“Fine.” I huff. “But if you could attempt to keep that thing on a leash it would be appreciated.” I say pointing at his crotch.
He takes a bite of his toast. “Never.” He mumbles around his mouthful.
This is a pointless conversation. I sigh and go about cleaning up after him. He’s so bloody messy.
“So, did you just come over here to be a prick and steal my food, or did you actually have a purpose?”
“You forgot didn’t you?”
“Forgot what?” I ask.
“I feel so unloved.” He presses his hand to his chest, feigning offense. “You said you would hang out with me today.” He pouts.
I did say that, and I did remember, but what with the whole facial assault and my ignoring him, I didn’t exactly plan to see him today. “Fine, what are we doing?”
“We’re taking Gaz on a date.” He grins.
“You have met your dog right? Gary hates anything remotely social.” Hell, if it’s not sleeping or eating he’s not interested.
“Ah, it’ll be fine.” He says with a sly grin on his face. “Have you got all your girl shit? Can we go?”
“By girl shit, I’m assuming you mean my handbag.” I say, exasperated.
Well, the travelling arrangements are interesting. I end up sitting in the passenger seat with Gary in the foot well between my knees. I’m wearing a jumper dress, and he keeps trying to shove his nose up my skirt at every available opportunity. Hugo of course, finds this hilarious. Child.
“Your dog is gross.” I try to sound serious, but I’m laughing as I try to wrestle Gary’s massive head out from under my skirt.
“Hey, Gaz has impeccable taste in women. Don’t you Gaz? You should be flattered babe.” Flattered by the attentions of his dog.
In the end I give up and end up shoving Gary up against the door, whilst my knees end up crushed against the centre consol. Of course, without a skirt to try and shove his head under, he now tries to rest his chin on my lap. His disgusting, drool covered chin. He and Hugo are so well matched.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” I ask.
He revs the engine of the shouty car as he hits the fast lane of the motorway and floors it. “I told you, we’re taking Gaz out.”
“He doesn’t like doing anything except eating and sleeping!”
“He does like one other thing.” He smirks.
“Oh my fucking god. You got him a shag!” I laugh.
“Yep, because I’m the best daddy ever, aren’t I Gaz?” He reaches over my lap and pats the dogs head.
“Why would you bring me to this?! I don’t want to see Gary get his funk on. That’s like animal porn. That’s so wrong on so many levels.”
“It’s not like that. Gaz, as it turns out has superior breeding. So, I put him on this site. It’s like a dating site for dogs. You know, likes sleeping and long sessions licking his nuts. That sort of thing.” I laugh until my cheeks hurt. That is so cute. He actually wrote a dating profile for his dog. “Anyway, some chick wants to pay me five hundred quid just to let Gaz have at it.”
“That is brilliant!” I grin, wiping tears from my eyes.
“So now, I just have to take him on his date. He’s going to woo her with his moves, and hit a home run.” And then Hugo is going to high five his dog. I think a psychiatrist might call this projecting.
Speaking of which. “How’s the sex therapy going?” I ask, trying to keep a straight face.
“Well, apparently I use sex as an emotional outlet.” He manages not to crack for a few seconds, and I almost think he’s serious, but then he snorts. “What kind of fucking shit is that?” He laughs. “I told him that it’s an outlet alright, but there ain’t shit all emotion going into it.”
I know he’s only doing this to get out of his community service, but I actually do think he’s a sex addict, simply because there is no way one guy can need or want that much sex and not have some serious fucking issues. That said, I like to think I know Hugo pretty well, as does Theo. There is no skeleton hiding in his closet that I know of. There are no abusive parents, or heart breaker ex-girlfriends. If he was twenty, no-one would look twice at his behaviour. The problem is that he’s twenty nine, and yet he shows absolutely no desire to stop fucking around. What those therapists don’t understand though, is it’s not just sex. He has no desire to grow up. No desire to settle down in any way. I honestly think Hugo will party and fuck until he can party and fuck no more. I may be wrong, I mean look at Theo. He was almost as bad. All it takes is one person. I hope Hugo finds that person if she’s out there, but boy, will she have to be one ballsy bitch to take him on. I can’t think of any woman that would stick around long enough to see through his shit. And they would need to see through it, because underneath all the bravado, he’s actually a decent guy. When the shit hits the fan, Hugo does step up. He’s helped me so many times, and he asks for nothing in return, except maybe this odd friendship we have, but that’s okay.
So who knows, maybe he’s a sex addict. Either way, the idea of Hugo in therapy is just hilarious.
“That sounds like you made a lot of progress.”
He shrugs. “I thought it helped a bit, so I thought I’d test it out. You know, see if I’m a changed man. Fucked one of the chicks from the therapy. Didn’t work.” He shrugs and grins.
“You fucked another addict.” I snort.
“Yeah, turns out sex therapy is the best place to pick up chicks. I’ve been three times and every time I’ve gotten laid. They were hot too.” He tells me. “Except the last one. She was a bit on the chunky side. But, I’ll give it to her, she went like a fucking racehorse. Made me come like an elephant.” He shrugs.
I shake my head. No words.
We pull up outside a large set of electric gates.
“Oh, looks like she’s a posh bird Gaz.” Hugo says as he lowers the window and presses the button for the intercom.
“Hello.” A very upper class voice answers.
“Hey. I’m Hugo. Here to see Henrietta.”
There’s no answer, just the buzz of the gate unlatching and opening. He steers the car up the gravel driveway and in front of a big house with a water feature in the front, and two stone bulldogs either side of the front door.
I clip Gary’s lead on and encourage him to hop out of the car, which despite being extremely low to the ground, is apparently a lot of effort.
“Best limber up Gaz. Don’t want to strain anything.” Hugo pep talks him. Gary looks up at him, his tongue hanging out as he huffs and puffs like a train. Apparently all bulldogs do that. Surely if you get a dog, you want it to be relatively active. Gary is the total opposite of active.
The front door of the house opens and an older woman steps out. She’s wearing a bright pink jumper, and brown chords. Her hair is a wild perm of grey hair, and she has so much make up on, I’m not sure whether it’s making her wrinkled skin look better or worse.
Hugo glances at me and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t give her a go.” I whisper under my breath. He elbows me in the ribs and I grunt, keeping a smile plastered on my face as the woman approaches.
“Hugo I assume?” She asks.
“Hey.” He says.
“Henrietta.” She introduces herself, but makes no effort to even look at me. Her eyes drop to Gary. “This is the dog?”
“Yeah, this is Gary.” Hugo drawls.
“Gary?” She looks disgusted.
“Uh, yeah, he has some other fancy name too.” Hugo explains.
She proceeds to prod, poke and probe Gaz to within an inch of his life, including what appears to be a weighing of his nuts. I’m not quite sure where to look. This just seems wrong somehow. When she’s finished groping the dog, she stands up and turns on her heel.
“This way.” She gestures for us to follow as she walks us around the side of the house and through a gate. At the back of the house is what looks like a massive summer house. She opens the door, and the smell of dog just hits me.
I pull my sleeve down and use it to cover my nose and mouth. Hugo wrinkles his nose, but otherwise manages to look unaffected.
Inside the building are several kennels. There’s a pen to one side, with some puppies in it.
“Aw.” I gush. I can’t help it. I mean, who can resist puppies? Henrietta spares me a brief glance and then shows us to a kennel near the end.
“This is Delila. Her mother was a Crufts champion.” She announces proudly. I know what Crufts is, but seriously, a dog is a dog. In typical Gary fashion, he gets bored and decides to just lay down.
“He’s just reserving his energy.” Hugo says.
I turn away, trying not to laugh. This woman is obviously serious about her dogs, and here’s Hugo, writing dating profiles just to try and get Gaz a shag. I go over to the pen and crouch down, as a wall of puppies all clamber to put their little feet up on the bars. They are so damn cute with their little bellies.
“Your dog is overweight and in poor condition.” Henrietta says haughtily. “But he was bred by the Weston Stud. His lineage is very rare.”
“Don’t listen Gaz.” Hugo whisper shouts at him. “These toff girls always go for breeding over looks. It’s okay bud.” This time I have to turn away. My shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. Oh god.
“Well, put him in the kennel.” She snaps. “Back!” She commands the dog inside, and it obediently does so. Shit, Gary should come and stay with this woman for a while. He might learn a thing or two.
She opens the kennel door, and Hugo has to shove Gary inside. I think he’s worried that this might be his new home. He’s not cut out for a life behind bars. He’s an Egyptian Cotton and fresh steak kind of guy. He wouldn’t survive this. He flashes a worried glance at Hugo and sits staring at him, like a child being left on the first day of school. Ah, it’s heart breaking.
“I’m not leaving you bud. You have to go and…you know….stick it to her.” He winks at the dogs sad face.
“I’m sure he completely understands what stick it to her means.” I comment from my puppy corner. “I think your dog’s a dud.”
“Hey, he only just met her. Give him a chance to work his moves. It takes time.” Oh dear god. Really?
“I think we should leave. Give them some privacy.” He says.
I laugh. “He has no bloody problem with privacy when he’s at the park, trying to rape some poor woman’s prize show dog!” Hugo ushers both Henrietta and I outside the foul smelling building. I stand with my arms crossed, trying to ward off the cold. Hugo peeks through the glass top half of the door.
“Oh, he’s having a sniff.” He says.
Apparently I’m going to get a blow by blow commentary of his dog’s shagging experience. Not something I want to hear if I’m honest. I tune him out, and take out my phone. I have a few emails to reply to that are work related.
I’m skimming through them all when I notice one with the subject line: Dinner.
I frown as I swipe the screen to open the email. My stomach tightens the second I read it. It’s from my father.
Molly.
Here are the details of the dinner reservation, as previously discussed.
A table has been booked at Cote, on Friday 20th February for 7.30pm. Do not be late.
Sincerely
Sebastian Curtis
CEO, SC Investments.
I’ll put money on the fact that his secretary wrote that for him. The 20th is the day after tomorrow. My stomach immediately starts churning, making me feel sick. God, why do I get like this about my father? It’s ridiculous! He’s just one person. I want to call my mum, but honestly, she has this habit of making me feel worse about it. He’s an arsehole, and yet she defends him. Sometimes you just want to hate someone, and for it to be okay. You don’t want justification or sensible reasoning. She thinks I hate him because of what he did to her, I don’t. I hate him because he takes pleasure in making me feel like shit. I hate him because he’s just not a good person. I don’t want horrible people around me. With him though, I apparently have no choice.
Ninety nine percent of the time he has no effect whatsoever on my life. He doesn’t talk to me, I don’t talk to him and all is good in the world. Roughly twice a year he decides to remember that he has a daughter, and goes about getting me back under his thumb. He’s manipulative and cruel if he has to be. As long as he thinks he controls me, he will then leave and I won’t hear from him for another six months. All I have to do is turn up to the dinner, let him belittle me for a couple of hours, and that’s it. I suppose it’s a small price to pay for my flat.
“What the fuck. Has her pussy got teeth or something?!” Hugo shrieks. I spin around and find Hugo’s face pressed to the glass. “Oh my god. She’s gonna snap his dick off.” He flaps.
Henrietta looks positively disgusted by Hugo’s outburst, unsurprisingly. She glances through the window beside him. “That is perfectly normal. They’ve tied.” She exclaims.
Hugo cups his package. “Poor fucker. If I’d known that would happen I wouldn’t have bothered.”
Yeah, I have no idea what that’s about, but it sounds gross. “Hugo, I’m going to go wait in the car.” I tell him.
He doesn’t acknowledge me. His face is a picture of horror as he watches whatever is going on inside the doggy love shack.
“Hugo!” I shout at him. He turns his face toward me. “Keys.” His eyes flick over my face, a small frown line forming between his eyebrows. He wordlessly takes his keys from his pocket and hands them to me.
“I’ll be right there, as soon as Gaz is…detached.” He winces as he says it.
I shrug and follow the path back to the rear of the house, and out the side gate that leads to the front drive. I press the button on the fob, and the car makes a little chirping noise.
Once inside, I plug my phone into his sound system and start playing some Royal Blood. I let the drums and guitar combination push away any thoughts that are currently trying to swirl around in my brain. Fuck this shit.
I pick up the phone, and read the email over again. Maybe it’s the lack of anything particularly interesting that bothers me. It’s just so…benign.
I quickly press the reply button and type out a brief response.
Sebastian
I will be there as agreed.
Regards
Molly Curtis
Editorial Assistant, Catwalk Publications.
It’s my work email, so my name and job title are set as a template on all my emails. I could delete it, but he didn’t offer me the courtesy, so I don’t. It annoys him that I work for a magazine, and it annoys him even more that I’m an assistant. Might as well rub it in.
I press the send button, and sit back in my seat.
A few minutes later and Hugo opens the passenger door, to let Gary into the foot well. He doesn’t even try to drool on me. He lays down in the tight space, curling around my feet. Poor guy looks knackered. Hugo slides behind the steering wheel and waves an envelope at me.
“Gaz may eat a lot, but he’s paying for himself.” I nod and feign a small smile.
I just want to go home. I’m not in the mood for Hugo’s permanently overly joyful state right now.
He tries to make conversation with me on the way home, and asks if I’m okay. I tell him I’m fine. I can see him glancing over at me in my peripheral vision.
I turn the music up slightly, and turn my face toward the window.
We stop to drop Gary off at Hugo’s flat, before he drives me home.
“Thanks.” I say as I get out of the car, slamming the car door shut behind me. I’m almost to my front door, when I hear his door slam, and that little chirp of the car locking.
I spin on my heel to face him. He’s only a couple of feet away from me. “What are you doing?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath and releases me slowly. “Coming in, so I can find out why you’re pissed off with me.”
I turn back and unlock the building door. “I’m not pissed off with you. I’m fine.” I snap.
“Uh-huh. Real convincing there Sweetness.” I push the door open and he follows me through, like a shadow.
My flat door is immediately on the left. I turn and press my back to it, facing him. “Honestly Hugo. I’m fine. Just go.”
His eyes narrow and he steps closer to me, until there’s almost no space between us. He leans one forearm against the door beside my head. “Give it up Molly. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what I did to piss you off.” My pulse skitters wildly as his body leans in closer to mine.
“Not everything is about you!” I shout.
He tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow. “No shit. I thought only I had the ability to piss you off.” He smirks.
“Sadly, no.” I sigh. “Look, just go. It’s just not a good time okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He laughs. “Not a fucking chance. Inside now. You will tell me. And remember I have no respect for boundaries or socially appropriate behaviour, so there’s no point in arguing with me.”
I groan. God, he’s infuriating. I push him away from me and turn around to unlock the door. “You said you hate girl shit.”
He shrugs. “I do…with anyone but you.” I smile, because even if he doesn’t realise it, which he won’t, that’s actually really quite sweet. I lean my forehead against the door for a second. I just don’t want to talk about it, but Hugo is like an annoying child, and he won’t let this go.
“Okay. I’ll tell you, but this will need wine.” I warn. “And you can buy pizza.” I add.
“On it.” He says, pulling his phone from his pocket. He starts tapping away, and I start hunting for that wine. I’m sure we have a bottle in the fridge. I’m pretty good at keeping the place stocked.
George is out. It’s a Saturday night, so he’s probably out on the pull somewhere. George and I are good friends, but honestly, Lilly kind of linked us. George and I are the devil and angel on her shoulder if you like. I was always the one trying to keep her on the straight and narrow. She has a lot of issues, and she doesn’t always deal with them very well. I would always be the rational one, where George would take her out and get her so smashed she couldn’t remember what the hell the problem was in the first place. Basically George and I are two opposite ends of a spectrum, and although I’m happy to party with him on occasion, I can’t keep up with him like Lilly used to. He knows it and I know it, so all is well. George is one of those people who will walk into a bar on his own, but never ever leave alone. Whether it’s making friends with a group of girls, or pulling a guy, he’s very sociable and instantly likeable. His looks don’t hurt either. He jokingly calls me a heart breaker, because of my admittedly rather large list of ex’s. If I’m a breaker of hearts, then George is a destroyer of them. I’ve lost count of the number of hopeful faces I’ve watched walk out of his bedroom in the morning, never to be seen again.
No doubt I’ll be seeing just such a face tomorrow morning.
“Okay. Pizza is ordered, and I even said I’d give him a big tip if he stopped and got some wine.” Hugo says coming into the kitchen. I straighten from where I’m bent over in the fridge. I glance over my shoulder and find him staring at my arse. He looks up at me and shrugs without apology.
“I have one bottle.” I wave said bottle at him.
“I take it this is a two bottle conversation?” He asks, with a raised eyebrow.
I nod. “This is most definitely a two bottle situation.”
He nods, looking thoughtful. “Okay. So are you going to tell me?”
I pour out a glass of wine for Hugo, and another for myself. When I say glass, I use the term loosely. Lilly’s brother Harry is always travelling, and he brought us back a set of wineglasses from Italy. I shit you not, you can get three quarters of a bottle in one glass. They’re more like buckets on sticks.
I hand him one glass and take a gulp from the other. I move from the kitchen to the living room, he follows me quietly. I take a seat on the sofa, with my back to the arm and my legs folded underneath me. He sits close to me, side on and grabs one ankle, pulling my legs out from underneath me until my feet are in his lap. He does this often, and sometimes I think it’s not even a conscious thing, he just does it. He must like it. He always just rests his hands across my shins, or grips my ankles loosely. It’s not sexual in any way, but that casual touch shocks me. It’s a foreign, but oddly comforting slice of warmth that Hugo rarely shows. Don’t get me wrong, Hugo is warm. Few people smile as much as Hugo, or are as quick to laugh. He exudes this happiness, and yet…he’s ice cold. He has this care free vibe going on, but underneath that façade, he’s terrified of feeling anything. He would never ever admit it, but as soon as you get to know him, it’s glaringly obvious. He doesn’t talk about anything in depth. As soon as anything emotional starts to come up, he jokingly skirts around it. Getting to the real guy under all that whoring and partying bravado is not something I’ve managed, but it must be there.
He turns his body slightly to face me. “Okay. Talk.”
I drag my fingers through my hair. “You don’t want to hear this shit. I know you’d rather be fucking some girl right now.”
He frowns and presses his lips into a line. He looks…confused. “I’d rather my friend told me why she went from being the cool chick I know to…well, a moody girl.” He says the word girl like it offends him and it makes me laugh. Aside from the fact that I’m pretty sure he would fuck me if I asked, because, it’s Hugo, and I have a vagina, I think he almost sees me as one of the guys.
I take a deep breath. I hate talking about this shit. Mostly because I think it just sounds pathetic. I sound like some teenager who’s pissed over their parents divorce or some shit.
“Okay. I have to go to dinner with my dad on Friday.” He says nothing, just waits patiently. “I hate him.” Nothing. “Like, really hate him.”
“So don’t go.” He says as though it’s so damn obvious.
I tilt my head back and study a spot on the ceiling. “It’s not that simple. He’s my dad, and he pays for the flat.” I sigh. “I only have to see him once every few months. It’s a small price to pay, but I still hate it nonetheless.”
He nods in understanding. “Why do you hate him?”
I laugh humourlessly. “Now that is a simple question with a really bloody long answer.” I murmur before taking another heavy gulp of wine. It’s cheap stuff, and it tastes like crap, but I don’t really care. “He’s just a dick.”
He laughs. “There are a lot of people who are guilty of that.”
I smile. “Yeah, I guess. He just likes to make me feel like shit. Whatever I do isn’t good enough. He pays for the flat so he can control me.”
“So why not just go it alone?” He says in a tight voice.
“My mum totally freaked out about me living in London. She hates him too, but she put her pride on the line and called him, to get him to rent the flat for me. When they divorced, he left her with nothing. She does okay for herself now, but she doesn’t have anywhere near the money he has.” I explain. “She worries about me and Lilly, continuously.”
“I have wondered before how you guys managed to afford this place. These apartments aren’t cheap.” He mutters. “Your mum’s right to worry about you though. London isn’t always the safest.”
“I just wonder sometimes whether the price is too high. Sometimes your pride is more important, and I would love to tell him to go fuck himself.” I stare at my hands, spread across my thighs.
“You shouldn’t let him walk all over you, Molly.” His eyes search my face.
“I don’t have much choice.” I whisper.
“You know I would always help you out with this shit…” He says. I glance up at him, and he’s staring at a spot on my shin, drawing little circles on it with his finger.
“What do you mean?”
He sighs. “Look, I have more money than I could ever spend…” He starts.
“No.” I shake my head. “I would never take money off you Hugo, you’re my friend.” There’s a beat of silence as I chug the rest of my glass of wine.
“Sweetness.” He says gently.
“Yeah.”
“Look at me.” Gentle fingers touch my chin, pulling my gaze up to meet his. I meet his eyes, which are determined, yet soft. “It’s because you’re my friend that I would do anything for you, but if you won’t let me buy your way out of dinner, then I’ll come with you.” My heart squeezes violently, and my chest gets tight.
I shake my head. “He won’t like it, and he’ll think we’re dating.”
He smirks and tilts his head to the side. “You know I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. I don’t give a fuck whether he likes it or not. He can think what he likes about us, but I’ll go as your friend.”
“You would do that for me?” I ask quietly.
His lips kick up in a sweet smile. “Sweetness, there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you.” Again with the sweet statements. I may have to check he hasn’t had a personality transplant. I want to crack a joke at him, but I don’t.
“Thanks.” I smile.
He takes my hand, brushing his thumb across my knuckles. “No-one gets to put you down except me.” He flashes me that charming smile and a wink.
Hugo stays and hangs out with me. I don’t know if it’s weird that I spend more time with Hugo than I do with Alex, like a lot more time. I guess that’s just how it goes when Alex works ridiculous shifts, and Hugo doesn’t work at all. I’m well aware of the fact that Hugo and I hang out mainly because he currently has no-one else. I’m sure that as soon as Theo and Lilly come back things will go back to normal, and we’ll see each other on social occasions like we did before. That thought makes me sad. Hugo and I have become the most unlikely of friends. I doubted we would ever have anything beyond flirtation and sexual innuendos, but I think I judged him too quickly. Under his bullshit, he’s a good guy. He’s borderline insane most of the time, and he does some crazy shit, but he’s good.
I send Alex a text wishing him a good night. I don’t get one back, but then I don’t expect it. He’s working the late shift tonight.
We eat pizza, drink wine and watch this year’s Victoria Secret fashion show. I love all the theatrics of it, and well…Hugo isn’t exactly complaining. I eventually fall asleep watching some film with my head on his lap. Who knew that under that man-whore exterior is really just a big softie.
************
I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I’m wearing a pencil skirt with a fitted blouse tucked into it. My father would approve. God, really? Part of me wants to throw on a mini dress and thigh high boots just to get a reaction, but honestly, I just want to get this over with as quietly as possible. I lift my hand to tuck my poker straight blonde hair behind my ear, and notice that my hand is shaking. I snatch my fingers into a fist. “Man the fuck up Molly.” I growl at myself under my breath.
My stomach is in knots, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I’m debating sending him a message to tell him I’m ill, when I hear a quiet tap tap on my bedroom door.
“Come in.” I shout through the bathroom doorway.
I hear the bedroom door click open, and then Hugo appears in the doorway. He leans against the door frame, with his arms crossed over his chest. His fitted shirt strains over his biceps and shoulders, and he’s wearing trousers, proper suit trousers.
I can feel my eyebrows creep up to my hairline. “Wow, you look really smart.” I comment.
His face breaks into a smile, and suddenly the handsome stranger turns back into the Hugo I know. “Thanks, sweetness. Needs must and all that. Wouldn’t want your dad to think you’re dating someone who doesn’t know how to dress properly.” I’ve seen Hugo go to some of the smartest parties, and he never dresses appropriately. We once went to a black tie do, and he wore a suit and shirt, with no tie. That’s the smartest I’ve ever seen him. For dinner with my father, I thought black jeans was being pretty hopeful. Smart looks good on him though, like really good. Those trousers are clinging in all the right places. I shouldn’t be ogling Hugo, but he’s a good distraction right now.
His smile widens into a full blown grin. “You keep checking me out like that and we won’t be going anywhere.” My eyes flash to his. He laughs. “I’ll have to wait a while for Rambo to calm his shit down.”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously? Do you have an off switch?”
“I prefer to be turned on.” He smirks at himself. “Anyway, enough fantasising about my cock, you. We going?”
I take a deep breath. Ready as I’ll ever be. “Sure.”
He narrows his eyes at me, watching me closely. I push past him out of the bathroom and through the bedroom. Best to just get this shit out of the way I think.
My stomach clenches hard as I walk into Cote. The hostess greets us at the door and leads me into the restaurant. Hugo follows, keeping his palm on the small of my back, as we move through the busy restaurant.
My father is seated at a table, his young fiancé seated next to him. Of course, I should have expected him to bring his latest bit of stuff. Jesus, she’s not much older than me. I’ve never actually met her in person. Just heard about her. She’s the one he left the secretary for. Shit, what’s her name?
“Molly.” He says as he stands.
“Dad.” He sort of hugs me, although it’s stiff and clearly uncomfortable. He pulls away quickly, and his eyes narrow on Hugo. “Who’s this?” He asks, his voice brusque.
“This is Hugo Harrison. He’s a friend.” I quickly add. I don’t turn to look at Hugo. I can imagine what my father is seeing. Cocky smile, messy, just fucked hair, and a suit that’s worth more money than the average person’s car. Hugo is a walking contradiction if ever I saw one. I also have no doubt that he’s probably got his eyes firmly trained on the fiancé’s very ample cleavage. Not that my father can really judge him. I can’t imagine he’s with her for her sparkling personality.
No matter how self-righteous they are, deep down, all men are the same. They’re all animals. At least Hugo admits it. Men like my father make me sick, so bloody determined to be better than everyone else, but under it all, they are just as corrupt, if not more so. My father likes to pretend that he’s holier than thou, and yet he cheated on his wife, his beautiful wife. For what? Instant gratification? A little wild sex? He’s no better than anyone. He’s a total failure. I know this, and yet when he looks at me, I can almost feel myself buckling under the pressure of it.
“Sit.” He snaps. He’s not happy that Hugo’s here, and even though I didn’t want Hugo to come with me, I’m now pleased he’s here. I have to stop myself from reaching out and taking his hand.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your fiancé?” I say with false politeness.
“This is Monique.”
She turns her gaze to me. “Hello Molly.” She has a heavy Russian accent. It would seem he likes his Russian beauties. She has long dark hair, and bright hazel eyes. Her lips are full, her boobs even fuller and her waist tiny. She’s wearing a light blue blouse, with a navy blazer over the top, and a string of pearls around her throat. She looks out of place in the attire. My father is clearly attempting to make her look older, or classier, or both. It’s not working, she just looks ridiculous.
“Do you mind me asking how old you are, Monique?” I ask in fluent Russian. From the corner of my eye, I see Hugo’s head whip around to face me. My father stiffens.
Monique’s lips pull up at the corners. “You speak Russian? I’m impressed.” She replies in her native tongue.
I nod. “Yes, my mother taught me.” Her face falls slightly. “She’s half Russian.”
Her smile disappears, and she reverts back to English. “In answer to your question, I’m twenty six.” Huh, she looks younger. That’s old for a Russian girl. They usually get married early.
“Molly.” My father hisses under his breathe.
I ignore him and turn my attention to Hugo. “What do you want to drink?” I ask him, trying to crawl out from under my father’s harsh glare.
Hugo has a small smile on his face, as though he finds this entire situation amusing. “Corona please, babe.” I narrow my eyes at him and he blows me a kiss.
When the waiter comes over I order his Corona and a glass of red wine for myself. He takes our food order whilst he’s here. I always get the steak here.
“So Hugo, what do you do?” My father asks.
Hugo shrugs. “Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit of that.” I smile at my father’s exasperated expression, glad it’s not only reserved for me. “I own a distribution company, as well as some other business ventures. Property, a bar, a night club, oh and a strip club. Can’t forget that one.” He smirks at me. Fucking Hugo.
“Small businesses then?” My father asks, that condescending tone of his kicking in.
Hugo laughs. I sigh and turn to my dad, taking pity on him before he embarrasses himself, although he doesn’t have to try to look like an arse, it comes very naturally. “He owns HH Distribution.”
My fathers eyes go wide, and Hugo tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling. “You’re that Hugo Harrison?”
Hugo rolls his head to the side, like a defiant teenager. “The one and only.” I don’t know which way this will go. My father appreciates a good businessman, but Hugo is more famous for his partying, womanising antics than he is for his business prowess. He and Theo have made quite a name for themselves over the years. With Theo getting engaged and settling down of course, Hugo is now a one man partying and fucking machine.
Just when I think he’s going to say something, he turns his attentions on me. “And what about you Molly? Are you still working as an assistant?” He spits the word assistant as though it insults him.
“Yes.” I reply without emotion.
He turns to Hugo. “I had such high hopes for her, but her mother filled her head with dreams of journalism, and now she’s an assistant.”
Hugo presses his lips together in a thin line, actually looking serious for once. “Molly wants to be an editor. What better way to learn than to assist the editor of one of the biggest publications in the country?”
My father shakes his head. “You could have been anything Molly. You went to the best schools…” Okay, so apparently he’s realised that Hugo will not side with him on this, and reverted back to his usual tactics of ‘let’s make Molly feel like a total fucking let down.’ I say nothing.
Hugo however, says a lot. “You know, my parents did nothing but pressure me when I was going through school and college. They paid for me to go to Eaton, expected me to get into Oxford, but I hated it. Business acumen is not learned in the classroom. So whilst they sat there bragging to all their posh prick friends about how their son was in Eaton, I was getting wasted, and shoving enough cocaine up my nose to start my own cartel.” He laughs. My father blanches. “All of their money and their pressure was a total waste of time. I dropped out in my second year of A-levels and disowned them. A friend helped me start up my business, and here I am today, richer and happier than my parents will ever be.” He drags his hands through his messy hair. “The worst thing you can do is tell someone they aren’t good enough. It just makes them resent you.” I glance at him and flash him an appreciative smile.
A waiter interrupts to bring our food. Hugo’s hand reaches out and covers mine on my lap. “You okay?” He whispers.
I nod. I’m not okay, but I’m no worse than I usually am around my dad. God, I wish I could just give him the fucking finger. But unless I want both George and I to have to live in some hell hole flat, I have to stick it out. George and I couldn’t even afford half the rent on our flat without my dad paying for it. I know he only does it to keep a hold over me, which just makes it worse.
As various dishes are placed on the table, I sneak a quick look across the table at Monique. She hasn’t said a word. The perfect wife, seen and not heard. Just how Sebastian Curtis likes his wives. My mother never really fit that bracket. She was always wild and free, a butterfly that he liked to keep in a jar. As a child, I never really understood their relationship. If he loved her, then why did he want to change her? I look exactly like my mother, and I have many of her traits. Since I was thirteen years old, he’s been trying to tame me, because he couldn’t tame her. He would never willingly divorce her, because it wouldn’t look good. So instead, he had an affair with his pathetic secretary. Seriously, the woman wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Of course when my mother found out she left him, which shocked the shit out of him. I remember him telling her that she was nothing without him. Truth is, he was nothing without her. When he was with her, there was a shred of kindness in him. He was the cold hearted businessman, but deep down, he loved his crazy and beautiful wife, he loved me. Just not enough. He brought about his own destruction. A small part of me pities him.
I’m his only child, and an eternal disappointment to him. I don’t know why I care, but I just can’t help myself, no matter how many times I tell myself I shouldn’t.
As anticipated, dinner was awkward as hell. I slide into the seat of Hugo’s bright orange Lamborghini and rest my head back against the smooth leather.
Hugo gets in next to me, and says nothing for a while. “Your dad is a fucking dick.”
I laugh. “Yep.”
“Want to go get drunk?” He asks.
“Yep.”
Hugo stops at a Bargain Booze garage on the way home, which makes me laugh. Fuck knows what dodgy shit he’s buying.
As soon as I get inside Hugo’s flat, Gaz runs over to me, well, sort of shuffles really. I crouch down and stroke the ugly bugger. He presses against me, wanting to touch as much of me as possible, whilst his bum wiggles around in a happy dance.
“That dog is soft as shit over you.” Hugo mumbles.
“I’m weirdly fond of his dribbling, snoring ways.”
He snorts. “Someone has to be.” Hugo is so full of shit. He loves this dog. I’m pretty sure if anyone else took a shit on his rug, they’d be out.
I stand and make my way through to the living room. Gary follows behind me, sounding like a little pig, snorting as he goes. Poor guy can barely breathe.
“Here.” Hugo appears from the kitchen doorway and hands me a glass of …something. A sniff tells me it has a lot of vodka in it. I take a big gulp and wince at the burn. Okay, more like three parts vodka to one part soda.
“Oh god, that’s nasty.”
“It was ten quid for the bottle. Of course it’s nasty.” He points out. “You don’t drink it for the taste.” He says, chuckling to himself.
He presses a button on a remote, and rock music starts blaring through the sound system.
Three triple vodkas in and I’m pissed. “I mean really, I should expect it. He’s such a prick.”
He nods his head. “Yeah, we established that the last ten times you said it.” He says with a wry smile on his lips.
“God, you must hate me.” I moan. Poor Hugo, listening to my shit all the time. I’m just hurt. My dad always hurts me. “I’m pathetic.”
Hugo smiles. “No. You’re drunk.”
I nod, and it feels like the room spins. “I’m drunk.” I agree. There’s a pause. “I didn’t know you disowned your parents.” I start.
He shrugs. “Nothing to know.”
“Hugo!” I shove his shoulder, and he sighs, throwing his head back against the sofa.
“My parents think that because they birthed and raised me they own me, and can control my life. You should know by now I can’t be controlled.” He flashes me that beautiful smile and my heart slams against my ribs. “Apparently I’m a disappointment, but I’d like to point out, a very rich disappointment.”
“You and me both, except I’m not rich. It doesn’t work quite as well.” I huff a laugh.
“Don’t sulk, sweetness. The only disappointing thing about you is your tits.” He smirks as he dodges my fist.
“Arsehole.” I grumble, downing the rest of the petrol in my glass.
A sly smile creeps across his lips and he narrows his eyes at me. “Tell me, have you ever done any drugs?”
I wrinkle my nose. “One time in Ibiza, Lilly bought these pills off a guy. I passed out.”
He laughs, tilting his head to the side. “Sounds like Lilly.” His head is thrown back, his legs outstretched and propped on the coffee table. My feet are on his lap, and his fingers are wrapped around one ankle in the way he seems so fond of. His touch is warm and far too familiar.
“Well, one of bouncers confiscated some weed off a dealer outside the club last weekend.” He turns to face me, a mischievous grin on his lips.
“You want to get stoned?” I giggle. “What are you, like sixteen?”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
I shrug, because why not? Wait, no, I don’t do drugs. Or maybe I’ve just never had the chance. “Sure. Okay.” Oh god.
He chuckles as he lifts my legs and gets up. A few minutes later he comes back with a rolled joint and a lighter. He places it against his lips as he rolls the lighter flint, holding the flame to the end. I watch as it catches, the end glowing a bright red. I’m entranced by the movement of his lips as they purse around the joint. Fuck, he looks sexy doing that. He takes it between his thumb and forefinger and hands it to me.
I stare at it dubiously for a second before placing it to my lips and sucking back a lungful of thick smoke. I went through a brief phase of rebellious smoking in my teens, so I manage not to cough.
He watches me closely, his eyes tracing my every movement. When I exhale a few seconds later, he smiles. “Atta girl. You’re a rebel at heart.”
“I’m not a rebel.” I laugh drunkenly. “I’m the good girl remember. The sensible one. The one who gets walked all over.”
He watches me as he takes a long drag of the joint. “You’re a good person, and you are without doubt, one of the best people I know, but you aren’t a doormat. There’s a difference babe.” He looks away as he blows out a long stream of smoke.
“I let my dad treat me like total shit.” I laugh, because the combination of weed and booze are making my head spin. I pick up my glass, which has somehow filled itself again. “Hell, I let you treat me like shit didn’t I?” He says nothing. “Apparently I have daddy issues.” I laugh again, because this situation is so ridiculous. I should call Lilly. She would talk me out of this downward spiral. I don’t though, instead I neck half the glass.
“I didn’t mean to treat you badly.” He says quietly. I glance up and find him watching me closely. His eyes are slightly bloodshot. I shrug it off, because seriously, who cares?
“Doesn’t matter now. It’s good, I’m good.” I take the joint from him and press it to my lips, inhaling deeply and holding it until my lungs start screaming for air. I release my breath slowly and shimmy down on the sofa, leaning my head back on the arm, and stretching my legs across Hugo, until by bum is pressed against his right thigh.
The door buzzer sounds, and I glance at Hugo quickly. Shit, it’s a Friday night. I’m probably interrupting his plans, and by plans I mean sex.
“Ignore it.” He says, waving it off and taking the joint from me.
The door buzzer goes off again, and again. I laugh, as a pleasant numb feeling starts to wash over my entire body.
“Someone really really wants in your pants.” I giggle. “Or, maybe it’s someone’s husband coming to kick your arse.”
He grins as he blows out a stream of smoke. “Wouldn’t be the first time sweetness.”
“Ugh, just answer it already. If he knocks you out I promise to defend your honour. Pinky swear.” I hold out my little finger, and he rolls his eyes before linking his little finger with mine. The fact that he just pinky swore has me cracking up.
He gets up, leaving me to my fit of hysterics.
I hear him pick up the receiver and snap at whoever it is. “What?” He barks. Pleasant.
“Hugo. What took you so long? It’s freezing out here.” A female voice whines.
“Who the fuck is this?” He grumbles.
“It’s me, Maddy. You said the other day to come by any time.” She purrs. Oh, sex, she is definitely the sex, not the punching.
“Now isn’t a good time.” He says. What the fuck? Did he just turn down a fuck?! Why would he do that? Is he ill? Oh my god, what if he has the clap? I laugh.
“But I came all the way here to see you.” The voice whines.
“Look, I don’t know who the fuck you are. I’m busy.” He’s so grouchy, oh my god, he must have the clap. That’s the only possible explanation here.
“But…”
“Just fuck off okay.” He slams the receiver against the wall.
I close my eyes and smile as my head swims in a pleasant fog of numbness. This is a happy place. I can totally see why stoners always seem so chilled out. I open my eyes and find Hugo standing over me, watching me with a stupid grin on his face. He looks so cute.
“You have the clap!” I say pointing at him.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Uh…” He shoves his hand down the waistband of his jeans, groping himself. “Nope, still there. Why, may I ask, do you think I have the clap?”
“Well, you turned down sex. Have you ever done that? I didn’t think it was physically possible. And you’re grumpy.” I point out, “Like, ‘my dick might fall off and I haven’t been laid in all of 1 hour’ grumpy.” He folds his arms over his chest as his lips twitch in amusement. “Plus, why wouldn’t I think you have the clap? You’re…you!”
“You done?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t have the clap. I almost always bag it up…” He starts.
“Almost…”
“Always with the rough looking ones.” He argues.
“Well, that makes it okay then. I’m sure all the pretty ones are definitely clean. In fact, they are probably more likely to have it than the rough ones, because no-one wants to fuck the rough ones. Except you, because you have no standards.” I smile as he frowns as though only now comprehending this possibility.
“I have standards.” He defends.
“I’ve seen the girls you fuck…” I trail off.
A smug smile spreads across his face. “Fucked you didn’t I?”
“That was the high point of your life, never to be repeated again.” My voice is slow and lazy. I’m so relaxed I can’t speak properly!
He leans forward, bending over me and getting in my face. “It was a high point sweetness, but never say never.” I can feel his breath on my lips, and my heart suddenly leaps to life. The light hearted joking of only seconds ago is suddenly gone, replaced by this tension, but it’s not a bad tension.
“So if you don’t have the clap then why did you turn away a perfectly good fuck?” I whisper.
His eyes dance mischievously. He always seems to have this look in his eye, like you never quite know what he’s going to do next, but you know it will be exciting. If I could describe him in one word, that would be it exciting…or maybe disgusting…or whore. Okay, yeah, I can’t do one word. He grabs my legs and lifts them so he can sit down, before putting them back on his lap.
“Because I’m hanging out with you, obviously.” He trails his finger absentmindedly up my shin, and my pulse quickens.
What is it about him that makes my heart hammer in my chest? I have this visceral reaction to him, a pull that I can’t put into words. He makes me feel alive, he always has. It’s as though he makes everything seem more colourful, more interesting. When I’m around him, it’s just a little easier to breathe and life is a little bit brighter.
He’s still smiling at me, and it makes my stomach flutter. He’s so pretty. I just want to touch him.
Before I know it, I’m scrambling to my knees next to him, without ever consciously having chosen to do so. I reach out and touch his face, running my fingers over the stubble of his cheek, through his hair.
He smiles, and it’s so beautiful. I trace my thumb across his bottom lip. He wraps his hand around my wrist, and grabs me by my chin.
“Molly.” He laughs, staring into my eyes. “Shit, you are so out of it.”
I frown. “I’m not.” My tongue feels thick in my mouth. “I just want to touch you.” I say.
He releases me, and lifts one eyebrow. “Then touch away, sweetness.”