Hooked #2 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 2) Read online

  Marty and Drew made eye contact with each other. I watched as Drew brought his hand up to his neck and massaged it. He was nervous. “I’m sorry. I guess I thought—I thought your building was a few down the street. All these apartment buildings look so similar. I didn’t even know which one you lived in since I just dropped you off before.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Crazy world, yeah?”

  But I felt the wine bubbling in my stomach. I felt sassy, nearly angry. Why had this man conned me by taking me to a Four Seasons and pretending that was his home? Why had he told me he so rarely slept with other women, and yet I had heard him tell his friend here—this Marty—that he had slept with some tattooed woman only weeks before?

  “Crazy world indeed.” I narrowed my eyebrows over my eyes. “Listen, Drew. I heard what you said about everything. I’ve been listening to you for days, thinking you were just some dumb guy.”

  “You’ve been eavesdropping on me?” Drew’s eyes lit up. “Wow. That’s incredible! And you only just figured out it was me?” He laughed at me. I wasn’t sure if I should be more offended or not.

  But I continued. “You know, Drew. I thought you were a really good guy when I first met you.”

  “That’s a first,” Marty interjected.

  I cleared my throat. “But then I hear you talking about sleeping with some other girl mere weeks ago—even when you told me that I was your first in so long! I thought we had something special in that hotel—” I swallowed, noting only that Drew was trying not to grin. I knew I was having a sort of breakdown, there in the doorway. “And now I find out that you don’t live in the Four Seasons at all! You live in my dank apartment building!” I stomped my foot.

  Marty, next to him, had begun to laugh even harder.

  “Molly.” Drew crept closer to me, his eyes centered on mine. In spite of myself, I felt a stirring, a sexual need for him. I wanted to grab him and take him back to my apartment immediately. But I held my ground. “You know I’ve been calling you every single day, multiple times, since I last saw you—since I last woke up without you?”

  I didn’t give him a nod; I didn’t give him a smile.

  “I can’t get you out of my head. That’s why I have to unwind by talking to this guy, my best friend from childhood, Marty—“

  Marty held up his hand in greeting.

  “About our sex life. It’s the only way I have to unwind. Seriously.” Drew nervously laughed, showing his wolf-like teeth. “I think about you constantly. And now that I know where you live, I’m going to come and knock on your door every single night if you don’t go on another date with me.” He stood proud, haughty in the doorway now. I felt small and meek.

  I held my ground, my mind racing. It was true that I had been bogged down with my own strained thoughts about the dance studio the past several days, that I had hardly given this man before me a single thought. He was allowed to live wherever he wanted; he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. But the fact remained; I didn’t want to get bogged down by an obvious player.

  My left eyebrow arched high in the air. “Every night you’ll come to my door?” I asked him. My mind raced.

  He nodded, leaning his nose so close to mine, I thought he was going to kiss me. “Every night.”

  “And if I go on one single date with you, you won’t bother me anymore?” I asked him. I knew that I would be leaving soon, anyway; I knew my days in Wicker Park were numbered. I could get through these final days with a sense of passion, with a sense of wonder, and then scurry back to Indiana for a certain dull future. I could carry these memories with me, even if they were alongside a very real player.

  “That’s right,” Drew answered. His breath was hot on my neck. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Saturday. 3 p.m.” He considered for a moment, looking at my body up and down, up and down. I felt exposed. “Wear tight clothes. Black. You can manage that, can’t you?”

  I took a step back toward my apartment door. “All right. All right. One single date,” I said. I held my finger high in the air. “And that’s all you get.” What did he mean, tight clothes? He was looking at me ravenously, as if he were about to strike.

  “That’s all I need,” Drew said confidently, his head leaning out the door of his apartment—just down the hall. I shuddered. “That’s all I need.”

  I couldn’t sleep that night. Bundled up in my blankets in the chill of the late September evening, I thought only of my dance business—of all I had lost. And now, in these last few weeks before I was forced to leave Chicago, I was going to date this player—Drew—this man who had made me feel more womanly, more sexual than I had felt in my entire life.

  My body burned with the memory of his body over mine, fucking on that fabulous bed in the Four Seasons. Had it all been a lie? Had he cared for me at all?

  And now, I was going on another date with him. I was going to see him again, become another notch on his belt. For some reason, I wasn’t sure that I cared. Maybe he could be a notch on my belt—just another memory from this raucous, beautiful time when I lived in Chicago and really pursued my dreams. (Before I had to assuredly rush back home, no money to my name, begging my mother for forgiveness.) I sighed into my pillow.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next morning, I rolled out of bed early—ever ready to head back to the dance studio and teach little girls to twirl, teach old women to love their bodies again. But then, as I ever did, I remembered the situation once more. I knew I had to go back to the studio and clear out my stuff. And so, around eleven in the morning, that’s what I did. I looked down the hallway of my apartment building, a bit worried that I would see Drew. But he was nowhere to be found. I was certain he was at whichever building he had so recently bought; I was certain he was planning his beautiful, new Femme Fatale bookstore. I imagined him hovering over a big sheet of building plans, pointing at this and that. Looking effortlessly masculine, strong. I shuddered.

  I walked to my old work, pausing to look at all the old sights, noting the way every person looked as I passed. I felt like I was in a dream.

  Finally, I arrived at the studio. My key fit into the lock perfectly, and I ducked in from the now-bitter wind. Shaking my body off, I noted the way the shadows held themselves so long across the wooden floor; I noted how different everything looked in the wake of non-usage. It seemed so bizarre. A layer of dust had begun its descent over one of the mirrors. I wiped it away with my fingers, trying to remember a time when I had felt so desolate, so sad.

  I gathered my things in a small cardboard box. My photographs, my many papers. I threw all the bank statements away, knowing they didn’t matter anymore. I hadn’t been able to pay for this beautiful space, and now I was paying for it in emotion, in sadness. Melanie had already come and taken her things away. I tried to imagine her there, Jackson bobbing in his little travel crib. Her life was so different than mine; she could move on to other things, when I had nothing.

  I locked up the building about forty-five minutes later, after saying a short, sweet goodbye to the empty space. “All the good I could have done here,” I murmured, my head shaking back and forth. “Gone.”

  I stopped to grab something to eat at the corner deli, where I had initially met Drew. The acned boy recognized me, but we said nothing to each other. I wanted to duck in and duck out without consequence. I grabbed a roast beef sandwich, heaping with far too much mayonnaise, and nibbled on it on my long walk home. The spiced meat was so savory in my mouth, and I rolled my head back, finally eating something that gave me power, that gave me life, beyond the realms of macaroni and cheese and wine.

  I remembered Drew was going to arrive outside my apartment at three in the afternoon. When I got back to my place, I began preparing for our strange, Saturday afternoon date. “Wear something tight,” he had said, and I was prepared to follow his directions. After all, I was just a notch in his belt. But the past few weeks with him had been eternally exciting, rooted in something beyond my normal compre
hension of life. He knew how to live and live well. And, until he moved onto the next notch in his belt, I could fit this bill.

  I grabbed one of my leotards and brought it up over my body. It was black, tight. I wore it over black leggings. I looked streamlined, like an eel. I looked at my body in the mirror, the way the breasts rose high, the way my butt looked so tight, so sleek. My cat, positioned on the kitchen table, seemed to roll his eyes.

  I was prepared for the date all too early—around two. I stared at the balcony, at the life below my apartment, on the street, as I prepared for his arrival. My cat rubbed up against my leg as I waited. “At least I’ll probably get laid tonight,” I told Boomer then, rolling my fingers up around his ear.

  At three o clock, I heard it; his footsteps coming down the hall. My heartbeat quickened in my chest. Could I really do this? Could I go on a date with this clearly evil man, this man who was content to talk about “fucking” me with his curly-headed friend, Marty? I roughed my fingers around my hair, trying to look sleek, sexy. Why did I care so much?

  Finally, I heard his knuckles against the door. “BAM BAM BAM.” Three times. Boomer hopped down from the table in preparation, as if he had been caught. I walked toward the door languidly, hoping to take a bit of extra time. I pulled open the door, my eyes soft, my body supple.

  “Oh. Hello,” I said, as if I was surprised.

  Drew stood outside, dressed in all black. His tight turtleneck tucked up around his sleek neck, and his pants were tight, honing in on his slim waist, his muscled stomach. I eyed his body without embarrassment. It was like I was playing a different version of myself.

  “You ready to go?” I asked him. My voice was nearly raspy, like an old-fashioned movie starlet.

  Drew nodded. He grinned at me with such confidence. His eyes glinted. He placed his arm in front of me, ready for me to take. And I did. “I’ve been waiting for this moment all day,” he said. He was nearly laughing at me, I could tell; at the way I had yelled at him and his friend the day before. But I couldn’t care less.

  I flipped my hair as I shut the door behind me. I didn’t want him to see my apartment; not yet. I didn’t want him to get any ammunition, to make fun of my lack of wealth in any way. “So. Where are we going?” I asked him.

  “That, my darling, is a great surprise.”

  “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” I said sarcastically as we bounded down the steps. I noted how different this interaction was than the previous week, when we had floated to the top of the Four Seasons in such style and grandeur.

  At the front of our apartment building, a shining white Porsche was parked, its lights on. A crowd of a few different men, all moaning with envy, was stationed before it. Drew parted the sea of men with ease and opened the door for me on the passenger side. “My lady,” he said.

  Trying to make a game of it, I waved my hair at the men who looked on at us with such need. I sat in the Porsche’s front seat, looking at them with lazy, bedroom eyes. I had never been anyone other men had swooned at. I assumed it was the backdrop of the Porsche that created the lasting effect. I nearly laughed with glee.

  Drew sat in the seat next to me and swooped sunglasses over his eyes. He knew the way he looked. He turned on the radio, loudly, and cranked into gear. We were off. My heart was nearly in my throat as we passed the sagging apartment building we both shared. My life, in that moment, was different than I could have ever dreamed.

  And yet, I had a million questions.

  “Quite a performance back there,” I began.

  “Yes, well. The Porsche brings out the crowd. She does all the work.”

  “It really is beautiful. You collect cars?”

  “I just have this one and the Jag. I also have a Jeep for off-roading, if I feel up to it. You like off-roading?”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever been a part of it, no,” I murmured. Who was this guy?

  “Anyway. The Porsche is my favorite. The other two are still back in New York. I haven’t moved everything back yet.” He paused. “You know. It’s pretty bizarre that we’re stationed in the same apartment building.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m stationed there. I’d say I’m more—living there. That’s my home.” I turned, blinking at him. “And you told me your home was in the Four Seasons.” I was challenging him. If we were going to go on this date, I wanted to know all his secrets. I wanted to know who this guy thought he was.

  Drew gave me a brief wolf smile as we turned. “I figured you’d be confused by that. You know. I spent the first week or so in the Four Seasons. But then my friend Marty and I got this place, just for now. He’s helping me open the business here, you see. He’s going to be a manager. We’ve been friends for a long time—“

  “But why in this dank apartment building?” I asked him. I wasn’t ready to give up the fight.

  His voice was easy, unmatched with my combative tone. I sat upright, in a feminine way, looking at him like a tiger.

  “You know. We actually bought an entire apartment building, really close to the new bookstore. But it isn’t ready for us yet. We’re remodeling; we’re creating our exact specifications. When it’s done, it’ll be so much more than the fucking Four Seasons.” His eyes flashed. “You’ll have to see it when it’s done.”

  I crossed my arms over my breasts. “So. You didn’t rent that hotel room just to impress me.”

  “God, no,” Drew said, shaking his head.

  “And you didn’t rent it to impress any other girl?”

  Drew raised his eyebrow. “I didn’t know a jealous side of you existed.”

  My face burned. He was calling me out. I cleared my throat, hoping to find a better topic of conversation. “So. Where is it you’re taking me?” I noted that we were exiting the city, north and west, more toward the airport. What was going on?

  “Still a surprise, so sorry,” Drew slurred, laughing briefly. “Say. What have you been up to the past several days, anyway? You didn’t answer my calls, even when you didn’t know I was living in your apartment building. I thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth.”

  I thought about it; about everything that had happened. About saying goodbye to my beautiful dance studio, to my dreams. I pictured myself there, in the front seat of the Porsche, telling this dastardly beautiful man about everything that had happened. And I realized, in that moment, I couldn’t. I couldn’t come clean. “You know. I’ve been working really hard to find a PR job. I wanted to be centered this week, during my interviews. I couldn’t date or anything.”

  “And now, that’s over?” Drew asked me.

  I nodded. “At least for now.”

  “When do you hear back?”

  I paused before answered. “My assistant will let me know. She takes care of everything for me.” Suddenly, I grabbed my knees, shocked. I knew where we were.

  The Porsche turned into the Bungee Birds parking lot. Bungee Birds was a company that took you into the woods, about an hour away from Chicago, and allowed you to bungee jump in a clearing, with the entire beauty of the earth below you. I grabbed my heart as we entered, already in a sort of panic mode. Bungee jumping? What kind of a date was this? My sense of adventure was escalating; all memory of the past dismal week was falling away. Bungee jumping. Yes.

  “Have you ever done this before?” Drew asked me as he parked the car. He grinned at me.

  “You know. I haven’t.” Drew waited for my response as I turned toward him in the car, my chest heaving with excitement. I wanted to grab his face right then, to kiss him passionately. “I haven’t. But I’ve always wanted to try.”

  “I like that spirit in you,” Drew murmured. There was such a sexual tension between us in that moment.

  Suddenly, he popped the door open and rushed around to the side to let me exit. I stuck my sheer, black leg out of the car and walked, feeling model-like in the slim-fitting black clothes. We turned toward the main office, where a woman with overalls greeted us and asked us to sign severa
l forms. Oh, the technicalities of living out your dreams, I thought for a moment as I signed, signed, signed. Molly Atwood, over and over.

  “I love your name,” Drew said, tapping his finger over the paper. “It reminds me of a classic English woman.”

  “With like, bad teeth and a beard?” I asked him.

  He shook his head. “No. Like my grandmother, maybe. Making tea and eating crumpets and talking about society.” He turned back toward the woman and gave her his paper. “Thank you so much,” he murmured.

  They loaded us in the large van. They told us that normally, they had a lot more people for a Saturday’s jump. However, this late-September day had just a hint of chill to it. “People don’t feel so daring in the autumn months,” the overall woman called to us in the back seat.

  Drew and I held hands tightly. Beneath his confidence, I sensed a feeling of fear. I loved seeing that nuance to him, that other side. He looked at me with bright eyes. “Are you all right?” I whispered to him.

  “I’ve done this before,” he murmured. His voice did not sound assured.

  Finally, we reached the back road that took us to the alarmingly high station, where we were meant to bungee. I stepped out of the large van and looked up at it, tucked there between the trees. I noted that the clearing was large enough that you wouldn’t hit the trees, even if you spun a bit on the rope.

  “It’s quite a view from the top,” the woman told us then, tapping us both on the back. “Wait till you see the autumn foliage.”

  Drew and I eyed each other, both with secret, interior fear. I was humming with such excitement. I hadn’t given thought to the terrible nature of the week, to the fact that this guy next to me was just sleeping with me for fun, without passion. I hadn’t thought about any of it. I only focused on the true adrenaline I was about to feel; I focused only on the top.

  To reach the top platform, we had to climb a humongous ladder. We followed the owner, a man named Everett. I focused on my hands around the ladder, on the sheer cold of the material beneath. I heard Drew puffing beneath me.