Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Hugo chuckles, his voice deep and warm. It sends a buzz tickling over my flesh. My skin feels hot and I hope like hell I’m not blushing. “You’re a good girl, Love. At least you always were for me.”
My eyes lift to his and I meet his smile with one of my own. Hugo was definitely one of the things I missed about Park Mountain. He always said the right things to make me feel better about myself. When Mom was being her usual distant self or when Spencer was being a dick, it was Hugo who easily cheered me up.
Is that why I’m suddenly crushing on him?
I blame hormones. Not long after I left to go live with Dad, it’s like my hormones went wild. It felt great to be wanted and adored, even if only for a night or a weekend. The men in LA didn’t care about my age or the fact I lived in a shitty apartment with my dad or that my grades were a nightmare.
They just wanted to fuck.
To whisper all the right things as they touched me in all the right places.
“I’m not the same girl who left,” I admit, hating the quaver of shame in my voice. “I, uh, was kind of out of control in LA.”
Hugo’s eyebrows furl together, concern etching lines at the corners of his eyes, his perfect lips pursing together. “Out of control how?”
I shift in my seat, unable to meet his stare. “Bad grades.”
Shoving my breadstick into my mouth, I take an enormous bite, hoping to avoid any more digging into my past. The intensity rippling from Hugo is hard to ignore. As if he’s silently commanding me to look at him, I’m forced to meet his gaze.
“Are you okay, Aubrey? Like really okay?”
My heart flutters. “I’m at the best pizza place in the world with my favorite guy. I’m better than okay.”
“Favorite guy?” He smirks. “I’ll take it.”
He’s flirting with me.
This isn’t one-sided.
Right?
I thought I’d imagined it in his office, but now I’m not so sure. Right now, the way he watches me, blue eyes electric and penetrating, I’m beginning to think he might be.
All awkward thoughts vanish the moment the server brings our pizza. It’s a deep dish piled high with sausage, bell peppers, mushrooms, and onions. The heavenly aroma makes my mouth water. God, I’ve missed this place.
Hugo, ever the gentleman, serves a slice up on my plate and then one for himself. I dig in, eagerly listening to him update me on what’s going on with the rest of the Park family.
“Wait, so Callum hooked up with a student?” I gape at him, interrupting his most recent nugget of information. “For real?”
Hugo scans the restaurant with a quick glance before darting his eyes back my way. He lowers his voice as he says, “Yes, but it’s not exactly public information.”
“Sorry,” I whisper. “That just took me by surprise.”
Callum is one of Hugo’s younger brothers and he’s not just a grump, but he’s distant too. I’d seen him around when I attended Park Mountain High School, but never had him as a teacher since I wasn’t an upperclassman. My only interactions with him were at Sunday dinners where he spent his time glowering at his dad and stepmom.
“You’ll like Willa,” Hugo assures me. “Even Spencer likes Willa and he’s not one to accept outsiders very willingly.”
I bristle at the mention of Spencer.
“How are the twins?” I ask, needing to stop thinking about him altogether.
“Dempsey is Dempsey. A little shit, of course.” Hugo laughs. “And Gemma is on the verge of giving Dad all kinds of hell. Call it a sixth sense. He’s kept her pinned under his thumb, but it’s only a matter of time before she rebels against him.”
The thought of Gemma, the princess of Park Mountain, rebelling is comical. She’s perfect in every sense of the word. Her idea of rebelling might be to sneak out of the house to go swim in Spencer’s pool. I seriously doubt her level of rebellion is anywhere close to mine.
Knowing Gemma, she’s probably still a virgin.
Meanwhile, I’ve slept with more men than I can count, been tattooing my body long before I was legal, and have dabbled in every drug there is.
“But you probably already know that, right?” Hugo asks. “You two still keep up on social media?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “We chat all the time.”
And while the chatting part is correct, the keeping up part is not. My social media, like hers, only shows what I want others to see—a curated snapshot of what I want my life to be. Fun, happy, random. A series of photographs of the sun setting over San Pedro Bay, my sparkly painted toes in flip-flops dangling off my apartment balcony, my newest Starbucks iced coffee with a crowded sidewalk of people for a backdrop. My socials don’t show the revolving door of men I “date” or the silent dinners where I ate alone in the apartment. Just like Gemma’s socials show perfect selfies, most of which are in her backyard, no indication that her dad keeps her under lock and key.