As I stand in front of him unsure of his intentions, a small shiver travels through my body thinking of the erotic possibilities that his statement implies. Hugh was always a flirt. But the desire in his voice, or the pulse throbbing between my legs can’t distract me. I’m resolved to remain focused because he’s trying to keep me off track. I shift from one foot to the other, rolling my eyes at his veiled nuances, determined to get my questions answered.
“How did you convince him not to come? I know Dexter well enough to identify that once he gets something in his head, it’s rare and impossible to make him to change it,” I question him.
The need to learn what’s brought Hugh out of obscurity and here to visit me is overwhelming. I realize why Dexter wanted to meet me. The launch of my bucket list angered him, and my innuendos about his performance in the bedroom only fueled that fire and bruised his fragile ego. That's why I’m sure that it took more than a little “convincing” to get my ex-husband to back off. So, what is Hugh hiding... why is he here?
Hugh is quiet for a moment, choosing his words, before looking at me. “I got him to stand down, by persuading him to let me talk to you. I thought I might have better luck talking to you about the source of his contention than he would,” he admits.
I raise my eyebrows in astonishment at his forwardness. “That's presumptuous of you, don't you think? Seeing that you haven't seen me or spoken to me in over two years. Are you arrogant enough to believe that you still have influence over me?”
“Are you saying that I don't?” He smiles, before letting out an exasperated sigh. “Please sit....” He tilts his head toward a vacant seat, before extending his hand in last invitation.
I walk over to the chair to relax as he walks back to his post across from me. I reach for the pitcher on the dinner table to pour a glass of water, but when I pick it up, my hands tremble, exposing my counterfeit calm.
This minor slip of determined behavior causes the corners of Hugh's mouth to turn upward in triumph as he reaches over to take the jug from me.
“Here, let me.” He keeps his eyes pinned to me as he pours for me, before putting it back on the table.
“So? Why are you here?” I ask, taking a sip from my glass.
He eases away a crease in the white tablecloth with his hand, before answering my question.
“Well... Dexter and I are considering expanding the agency to a New York location. We already have offices in LA, Spain and Portugal, so it only makes sense to have an office here in New York. I will be here for about 6 months to help with the expansion and—” he pauses as if he’s trying to decide about something.
“And. What. Hugh?” I urge him, twisting my mouth into a plain line.
“And, I thought while I’m here, I could do what I have always done... rescuing you,Raven.” Hugh regards me like a rebellious teenager, revealing his true purpose for being here. But I demand to hear him say the words so I squeeze him further as anger rises inside me.
“Be more specific because I don't know what you’re talking about, and I sure as hell didn't require you to rescue me anymore. I’m a far cry from the girl I used to be.”
“You are...” he says with an angle of judgment and disappointment in his voice.
“What's that supposed to mean?” I lean forward, challenging his audacity.
He rises to the provocation, leaning closer to me so that only I can hear him. “The woman I knew would never be so cavalier about sex, and then publicizes it for the world to see. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He fires back with so much anger, that the weight of his words causes me to fall back against my chair.
It fastens my spine to my seat because the wind of his conviction confines me, leaving me unable to move or react for a moment. He holds my gaze with an overpowering potency.But my refusal to explore justifying myself to him or to entertain the gravity of why his approval means so much to me, gives me strength… but causes my next words to emerge more venomously than intended.
“Forever the gentleman,” I reply, using irony to convey my hidden resentment of his chivalrous behavior two years ago and his demeanor now.
His face contorts into a painful expression as if I hit a sore spot.
“Well you can relax, Hugh, because I’m no longer your baby girl, or your project to manage, and therefore, no longer your responsibility. That was made clear to me when you walked away from me without ever looking back. So, why do you even care who I sleep with?” I ask as a spasm of pain twist across his face.
“You have some nerve coming here accusing me of regarding intimacy as a casual transaction when I haven't had sex in almost three years. I spent all that time healing and writing my truth because I needed to make sure that when I was ready to be intimate with a guy again, I wound be able to give him all of me. I no longer wish to be Dexter's trophy that he pulls out whenever he needs his ego stroked because I deserve better than that. The Hugh I used to know wished that for me too. This bucket list allows me the freedom and confidence that I desire, but on my terms. I crave to feel worshiped by a man, and I need the exhilaration of sharing myself with someone who appreciates every imperfection. I require exploring all of my sexual fantasies with him and have fun doing it without the burden of a happy ever after, recognizing that husbands are not the only men that struggle with the commitment... friends leave you too!” My whispered accusations and hurt stream through my tears.
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