Hugo stood frozen, staring at Lisa like she was some mythical creature straight out of a dream—or, more accurately, one of his wildly inappropriate daydreams.
His heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to make a break for it, and his brain was firing off thoughts at the speed of light—most of them completely unhinged.
'Why did I say that?!' he screamed internally. 'Of all the smooth, suave lines in existence, I had to go with 'can I join you?!' What's wrong with me? I sound like a pervert auditioning for a trashy soap opera!'
His imagination went wild, conjuring up every possible horrible reaction. He braced himself for the worst.
Lisa was probably going to laugh in his face. Or worse, she'd scream and tell Sanchez, and Hugo would be thrown out of the mansion in nothing but his shorts.
Or maybe she'd hit him with a shampoo bottle. That would hurt, right? Those bottles were sturdy.
