Hooked #3 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 3) (8 page)

And then, all at once, it was over; it was done. I
fell back onto the pillows, and he tucked his arms around me, holding me close
to his warm body. I kissed his cheek, and he kissed my shoulder tenderly. I
longed to ask him, as our eyes met there on the pillowcase, what he was
thinking about, what he wanted with a silly girl like me. But there were no
real words between us; there couldn’t be anything else. We had crammed all the
fun, all the sex, all the adventure into a single day. For that, I was truly
happy—even if tomorrow I was somebody else to him, somebody who didn’t deserve
him.

CHAPTER
TEN

I woke up the next morning in his arms. Unlike
previous times, I didn’t yearn to leave his arms; I didn’t yearn to leave his
apartment, to rush back to mine. Instead, I tucked myself closer to him,
feeling the way his breath felt against my cheek. Hot. Almost child-like.
Innocent.
I longed for this moment of sleeping in to go on
forever. I wanted him to be mine.

I couldn’t believe I had slept with him again. All
those errors he had made; all those mistakes. He had destroyed my life, my very
being, for a dumb bookstore. He was a millionaire, and he was literally
stepping on the weak—me—in order to get ahead. And yet, something about him was
different than the typical evil millionaire persona. Something about him seemed
good. I leaned toward him and kissed his nose quietly, not wanting to wake him.

I eased myself from the bed, thinking that we should
have a pleasant morning together. I felt my head throbbing a bit from the
whiskey and all those martinis. I called the front desk and ordered a
breakfast, mimosas, and—of course—aspirin. I sat at the edge of the bed,
watching him sleep, as I pictured the kitchen staff rushing around, attempting
to put together eggs, bacon, sausages,
pastries
, whatever
the millionaire on the top floor wanted. I tried to soak up this feeling,
because I knew this was the only time I would ever feel so certain, so happy
about something. I was positive all of this would blow up in my face again,
even if everything had been flowing so easily.

The elevator doors opened, even as Drew slept on. I
placed my finger to my lips as I walked toward the men carrying plates, forks, and
pastries. I smiled, helping them to arrange some of it on a breakfast in bed
tray. I watched them scurry back in the elevator before pouring Drew a cup of
coffee and placed it on the tray along with some eggs, sausage, and fruit. I
held it in my hand as I walked toward the bed, watching as the sun traced a
line over Drew’s beautiful complexion.

“Hey.
Baby?”
I called to
him quietly. I set the tray down lightly and rubbed at his back. I touched his
hair lightly, calling to him.
Asking him to come back to me.
“Drew?” I whispered.

His eyelids fluttered, bringing him back. I sighed,
leaning down to kiss him. I rubbed his chest, feeling his heart beat rev in his
chest.

“Something smells delicious,” he murmured, looking
around him with wide eyes. “What is that?”

I reached for the breakfast tray and stationed it in
front of him. His eyes met mine with appreciation, with amazement. “You always
know what I need.” He reached toward the coffee and drank it slowly, inhaling
and exhaling the home-like aroma. “I had a great time last night.”

I thought of him poised over me, making real love to
me. My body shivered, wanting him to touch me again. But in the light of the
morning, I wasn’t sure it was possible; I wasn’t sure if it should happen.
After all; every moment that passed, I fell away from the daydream, from the
certainty that we cared for each other. I understood the wealth that surrounded
us, that tormented me. I understood that he was probably just using me for sex.
I was good at sex, sure. I had a great body, yes. But I wanted to be thought of
as more than that.

But what
did I, really, have
to offer? I was just a fucked up girl with a rough past. A fucked up girl who
hadn’t made it as a dancer, who was probably just going to end up broke and
dead, like her father. I shivered, backing away from the bed. Drew sensed the
disturbance, but didn’t say anything.

I sat at the table and poured myself a cup of coffee,
piling food on my plate. Drew picked up his carefully made breakfast in bed
tray and walked toward me, sitting across from me at the same place he had sat
yesterday. It was like all that hard work, all that bonding was falling away. I
blinked at him as if he were a stranger. But he wasn’t. We had things in common.
My subconscious was trying to work against me. But even if it was true, even if
we had things in common, it couldn’t matter.

A sense of quiet worked over the room. I chewed my
food slowly, carefully, not wanting him to think I was overzealous with my
eating. (Of course, when I was alone, I always ate quickly, fanatically. Not
with him; not with him.)

Drew, unsure of what to do, began talking about his
life—about his real life outside of the realm of this beautiful,
millionaire-worthy hotel room. “You know. I’m going to finally be able to move
into my new home in Chicago. That nice building I was telling you about in
Wicker Park? It hasn’t been available for all this time, and I’ve just been
waiting and waiting.” He shook his head.

I hummed into my meal, raising my eyebrow. “That
sucks.”

“It didn’t suck so
bad
. I
hadn’t lived in such a little, cute-
sy
place like our
apartment building in many, many years.”

“You got rich pretty early, yeah? I mean. You were
rich by the time you were my age. I’m twenty-four, in case you don’t remember.”

Drew considered this, considered the fact that I was
talking so quietly, without any enthusiasm. He furrowed his brow, but he didn’t
mention anything. “I suppose I was rich when I was twenty-five.
But twenty-four.
That year was tough.”

He was teasing me, I knew. He was giving me
confidence,
telling me it was okay to be who I was. But I
didn’t know if it was because he wanted more sex before we left, or if it was
because he actually, truly liked me. I supposed it didn’t matter.

“What time shall we get going?” I asked him. I
reached behind my ear and scratched at my scalp. I thought of all the things I
had to do during the following week. I had to work out the loan
situation—figure out how I was going to pay it. I had to meet with Carol and
begin the process of re-working the upstairs studio to make sure it was appropriate
for the dancers. Maybe I would need to work with a marketer who could upsell me
to other ballerinas?

I didn’t know how to market myself to little girls
in tutus, but there had to be a way.

“Well. I guess we can get back now. I have a long
day tomorrow, and I’d love to re-group tonight.” His eyes were hot on me.
“If that’s okay with you?”

“Perfect. I have a ton of stuff to get done, as
well. You know.
Finding a new studio.
Learning how to pay for it.
All that.”

“You’ve taken out a loan?”

I nodded, frowning at him. I didn’t want to tell him
anything about my life, even though I knew not telling him anything about me
had sort of gotten me into the mess in the first place. If he had only known it
was my dance studio—if he had only known I was a dancer—perhaps none of this
would have happened. “I’m going to pack up my stuff.”

I packed swiftly, stuffing things into my suitcase.
Drew got dressed, jeans and a t-shirt—something I’d never seen him wear. I
watched as he casually maneuvered his suitcase toward the door and turned back
toward me. “You ready?”

I supposed I was. I grabbed my suitcase and walked
toward him. We boarded the elevator. For the first time since we had arrived, I
didn’t look at the remarkable hotel like it was truly elegant. Instead, I saw
it for what it truly was. I saw the stains on the counter—the coffee spills. I
saw a maid fighting with another maid over by the fireplaces. I saw that a
smart-looking, professor-type man in the bar area was reading Orange is the New
Black instead of Proust. Everything felt false to me; nothing felt right. I
shivered.

“You missing Chicago, Mister Thompson?” the valet
asked him as he walked toward the Porsche, the keys dangling.

“
Gotta
get back home,
Leon,” Drew answered,
grinning
that suave grin.
“Thanks for treating Miss Molly and I here well this weekend. We’ll be back
real soon.”

“It was our pleasure, sir,” Leon answered. He watched
us as we sluggishly entered the car. At this point, I could feel the hangover
overtaking my body, my mind. I draped my limbs over the car seat armrests,
feeling like I was having an out-of-body experience. The man beside me; did I
really know him? Did I really know myself?

“I think I’ll probably just drop you off at your
apartment and head over to my new place, just to check it out,” Drew was saying
to my left.

I nodded, trying to force myself to stop caring
about him. “You should.”

“I’m looking forward to decorating it. You should
come over sometime and help me imagine what it should look like. You know. I want
it to be really elegant, really personalized.
To suit my
style.”

“I see,” I murmured. And I couldn’t help but become
excited, if only for a moment, about the prospect of helping him arrange his
new world, his new life in a grand, Chicago apartment—a place that I could
never afford. It was like a fantasy, imagining us together in that illustrious
place with the whole of the city rushing around us.

Of course, the past two days had been similar to
this fantasy; just us, conquering the world. I had made ten thousand dollars at
the black jack table, if only to hand it back to him, recognizing my true fate.
I had made love to him, as if I were a different sort of person—the type of
person who could fall in love. And, beyond anything else, I had laughed. I had
seen wonders. If this wasn’t the gift for which I was searching in my
(probable) last days in Chicago—if the loan didn’t work out, if the studio
didn’t work out—then I could be happy.
Maybe.

I fell asleep on the car ride back to Chicago. I
woke up to the horns, the quakes of the city. I felt the power and the energy
of the people. Blinking awake, I noted that Drew looked so regal sitting beside
me, his sunglasses plastered to his eyes.

“You’re awake!” he said excitedly. “I’m nearing your
apartment now. The city really came alive today. It’s so sunny. Probably the
last nice day before winter, you know?”

I blinked wildly, trying to get a sense of the
surrounding world. I saw children rushing around a playground; I saw dog
walkers and runners. People sat outside drinking margaritas and pints. I
reminded myself that it was Sunday, that the rest of the world had carried on
with their usual days when I had escaped into that solace, the grand hotel, the
vibrant casino.

Drew parked the car in front of the apartment
building, and no valet came rushing out. Real life
awaited
.
I clasped my hands together in front of my stomach, peering at him as he raced
to my side to let me out. I allowed my feeble legs to stand beside him on the
sidewalk; I watched as he removed the suitcase from the back of the car. He set
it next to my shoe and leaned down to kiss me, lightly, on the cheek. “I had a
great weekend with you. You’re—you’re spectacular,” he murmured.

But I didn’t know how to take it. So I simply sent
him a thank you, a nod. I smiled serenely and then walked to the door of the
apartment building—the place he would no longer call home. Perhaps he never
had. I walked up the steps, dragging my suitcase behind me. I wasn’t sure why I
was crying. I felt such a desolate loneliness as I hoisted myself up to the
fourth floor alone.

I entered my apartment to find Boomer on the table,
to find that Mel had come—just as I knew she would—to feed the cat and give him
water. She left me a note on the table. “Love you, Mol. Fed Boom. Let me know
how the loan comes through.
Mel and Jackson.”
To the
side, Jackson had scrawled something in purple crayon, leaving his mark. What a
strange thing, that a baby and a mother had brought brightness and laughter to
my desolate apartment.

I went to bed early that evening. I left my windows
wide open, allowing the surprisingly warm wind to waft into my apartment. I had
been feeling stifled, and each time the new city oxygen entered, I could
breathe a bit easier.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

The next morning I woke up early and went for a run,
trying to balance out the wayward feelings of my brain. I ran by the new studio,
where I was certain I could begin construction later that month. I tried to
imagine teaching new students there, loving my life there. It was difficult to
see into the future.

I jogged on, past the many parks, the rushing and
talking people. It was still very early in the morning, but I knew already that
it was going to be another brilliant, hot day—another Indian summer.

Back at my apartment I made coffee and read for a
bit, scratching at Boomer’s neck and trying not to think about Drew. I wondered
what he was doing, what he was thinking. I wondered if he missed me. I wondered
if I would have the strength to avoid his text messages and calls in the coming
days if, in fact, he decided not to avoid me. Would I have the strength to
avoid such supreme sexuality, such grand times?
For what,
anyway?
What was I living for?