10. Hugo
10
HUGO
Walking into the library, I half expect Marie to yell at me for startling her. Not that she ever would. Marie’s too polite for that, too sweet. She’s a good girl.
But the way her wide brown eyes snap to me when the bell jingles over the door—surprised, like she wasn’t expecting anyone to walk in on her little Sunday escape—that look alone is worth the trip across the street.
I like surprising her. Maybe I shouldn’t. But I do. She’s too quiet, her life too orderly. She works most days, coming in at the same time, leaving at the same time. Never deviating from her schedule, always doing right by her father. She needs someone to shake her up.
I’m the man for the job.
A healthy bit of chaos, my mother called me. My father died when I was a toddler, so she was the only authority in my life, not that she exercised it. She was always willing to overlook my indiscretions as a boy, so when I vanished for a year without a word and then returned home, the only thing she said was, “Is anyone pregnant?”
Thankfully, no. I was seventeen, far too young for that sort of responsibility. Not that I wasn’t up to a different kind of chaos at the time. But it was the kind of chaos I couldn’t speak about. At least, not to her.
It was divine intervention that I fell in with Sam, Trick, and Preacher back then. They saved my worthless ass and helped me become a man. Had they not stepped in, I wouldn’t be here to disturb the loveliest rose in the garden.
“Hello, Marie,” I say, keeping my voice low and smooth as I walk toward the desk.
“Hugo! You scared me!”
That’s the idea. I wanted to get her blood pressure up.
I don’t make a habit of hanging out in libraries, and in my experience, they’re not the best place to declare one’s intent. It’s not really my scene. Too quiet, too orderly, too full of rules about how you’re supposed to behave.
But when Trick mentioned what he saw last night, something inside me shifted. Marie Durand. Shy, sweet, bookish Marie. Putting on a show for Trick.
I can’t stop thinking about it. The thought of her, flushed and flustered, that nervous little hitch in her voice when she realizes someone’s watching her—it’s enough to drive a man crazy. But I need to know more. If she’s only into Trick, I want to know. Not just for him, but for me. For all of us.
“Did I startle you?” I ask, smirking. “I figured you’d hear me coming. It’s not like I’m stealthy.” Not right now, anyway.
She bites her lip, her eyes darting around like she’s trying to figure out what to do with me. I can’t help but notice how pretty she is when she’s nervous, her cheeks flushed, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her skirt.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice shaky but curious.
“Is that what you ask all your patrons?”
She huffs, realizing that sounded rude. “I’m sorry, all I meant was?—”
“What am I doing here, right?” I smile, enjoying teasing her. “Were you expecting someone else? Trick, perhaps?”
It’s so satisfying to see her blush because I got to her. I love seeing the effect I have on her. Or is it the effect the memory has on her? This game tantalizes me, whatever it is.
She straightens. “No. I wasn’t expecting anyone at all. Nobody usually comes by on Sundays.”
“Well, I came to see you,” I say, and that blush deepens immediately. Superb.
“W-why?”
I let the silence hang for a beat, just long enough to make her squirm a little. It’s a bad habit of mine, making people uncomfortable just to see how they’ll react. But with Marie, it’s not only about making her uncomfortable—it’s about seeing her. The real her, the one she keeps hidden behind all those polite smiles and shy glances.
When she’s uncomfortable, that mask slips, and I get a glimpse of the woman underneath the girlish persona. She wears it well, I’ll admit. Better than any disguise I’ve ever worn or seen. The quiet librarian, the preacher’s daughter, the straight-A student, each a facet of the mask.
Each a lie.
After hearing what went down with Trick last night, I’d like to know exactly how much of the mask is an act and how much is really her. A compulsion in my soul demands it. “Actually,” I say finally, leaning casually against the counter, “I came for an anatomy lesson.”
The look on her pretty face is priceless. Her cheeks aflame, her pupils dilating, her breaths going double time. “Um, wha-what do you mean?”
I glance around, trying not to smirk too hard. “This is a small town, so perhaps they are scandalous, but I assume you have books on anatomy, don’t you?”
She blinks, clearly confused. “Anatomy books ?”
“Aye.” I give a full grin because I know I’m being a shit right now. “For professional reasons, of course.”
Her eyebrows knit together, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “You mean for tattooing?”
“Exactly,” I say, nodding. “Lately, I’ve been thinking about officially registering with the state. Figured I should brush up on my knowledge before I start taking people’s money for my work.”
Her confusion deepens, and she tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious. “I thought you were already doing tattoos.”
“Only on myself and the guys,” I admit. “Haven’t done much outside our circle. Don’t really like working in the traditional sense of the word. But the guys are on me to go legit, so I can legally fill in for them if they need a break.”
“Wait.” She blinks at me again, and before good manners can stop her, she blurts out, “Then what do you do for money?”
I laugh, caught off guard by her bluntness. “Wow, Marie. That’s a little forward, don’t you think?”
Her eyes go wide, and she claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! That was rude—I didn’t mean to?—”
“Don’t bother me none. I like when a woman says what’s on her mind.”
“I was just…curious. And nosy. Sorry.”
I smirk, letting the moment hang in the air for a second longer before answering. Money is not up for discussion anytime soon with Marie. She doesn’t need to worry about that kind of thing. “Let’s just say I’m financially comfortable and leave it at that.”
Her lips part slightly, like she wants to ask more but doesn’t know how. I can see the interest in her eyes, though, and I can’t help but like that she wants to know more about me. It’s flattering to think she cares.
The thought of someone like her caring about someone like me…even I know that it’s wrong. I’m not enough of a monster to pretend otherwise. She deserves better. But more than that, she deserves someone who respects her enough to let her make her own choices.
And if she were to choose me and the guys…
“Well,” she says finally, her voice quiet. “The anatomy books are over here. Follow me.”
She leads me to the back corner of the library, her steps quick and a little unsteady, like she’s not paying attention to her footing, perhaps too distracted to do so. As I follow her through the narrow aisles, it’s impossible to pay much attention to anything at all. Her ample ass takes up all my vision under her thin sundress. They’re Marie’s usual uniform—she has a taste for the ones that swish when she walks, and I have a taste for watching her walk. This one is sky blue with white flowers. It would look perfect crumpled up on my floor, or lifted up over her ass as I take her from behind.
The closer we get to the shelves, the redder her face gets, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through her mind. Is she still nervous? Is she thinking about Trick?
Stalking behind her, I feel like a cat chasing a mouse, cornering her until she reacts. What kind of reaction would Marie Durand give? Is she a moaner or a screamer? I like both, but I’m curious to know for certain. Would she just lie there? I don’t think so. I could ask Trick, but that would gall my sense of pride.
She’s quiet and shy and careful, and those types always give the best reactions. It’s as if they’ve pent up their energy to save it for something worthy.
What I wouldn’t give to see this woman orgasm.
When we reach the section, she stops abruptly and gestures to the books in front of her. “Here they are.”
She looks flustered, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself now that she’s brought me here. Her fingers play with the hem of her skirt again, and I find myself watching the way they twist the fabric, nervous and delicate.
“Marie,” I say softly, and she looks up at me, her cheeks still pink.
“Yeah?”
I step closer, keeping my voice low. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she says, though her voice wavers slightly. Her eyes dart to my lips, like she wants me to kiss her.
Not yet. “What’s this I hear about you putting on a show for Trick last night?”
Her eyes widen, and her face goes from pink to full-on crimson in the span of a blink. She stumbles over her words, her hands fluttering like she doesn’t know what to do with them. “I—what—he?—”
It’s adorable, honestly. “Breathe.”
Petulantly, she says, “I am breathing.”
Feisty when confronted. All the better. “Trick told me you knew he was there. You knew, and it didn’t stop you. If anything, his presence encouraged you.”
Her mouth opens and closes, and she finally settles on crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes darting away from mine. “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I wasn’t trying to?—”
“But you did,” I say, stepping even closer. I can feel her body heat at this range. The night she was attacked, I relished holding her close to me. Feeling her soft, warm ass pressed against me was almost enough to wake the beast, but her fear—her very real fear—was not an aphrodisiac. I love a good bedroom game as much as the next man, but when a woman is in peril, it’s not the time to make a move.
Now is.
She looks up at me again, her eyes wide and full of something I can’t quite name. Fear, maybe. Or excitement. Or both. She breathes the words “I did.”
“Was that only for Trick?”
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
“Would you do the same for me?” I ask, my voice dropping just slightly. “For me and Sam?”
Her breath catches, and for a moment I think she’s going to bolt. But then she swallows hard and nods, her voice barely a sound. “Yes.”
Something tightens in my chest, a mix of satisfaction and something deeper, something heavier. I lean in as if to kiss her, close enough that I see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Instead of a kiss, I brush my stubble against her cheek and lean close to her ear. Our bodies are pressed together, and damn if I couldn’t get addicted to the feeling.
I growl in her ear, “Good. Tonight.”
She holds utterly still. Waiting for me to make the first move.
I lick her bare earlobe, and she shudders against me. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, the moment she lets me in?—
And then the bell over the door jingles.
Marie jumps back from me like she’s been burned, her face a vivid shade of red as she stammers, “I—I have to go.”
I back off to let her escape, my heart still pounding as I stare after her. She might have gotten away this time, but this isn’t over.
Not by a long shot.