Hooked 2 (Hooked #2)(11)

“I’ll make your favorite. Spinach lasagna sound good? You know my husband’s Italian.” Already, I could hear Mel in the background, bumbling around her kitchen, pulling out pots and pans.

“Don’t work too hard,” I said, laughing languidly. I supposed it was time that I brought Drew into a small piece of my life. He had said, after all, that he wanted to know me; he wanted to understand who I was. He could make his own opinion of me. Then, he could decide on what terms he wanted to leave me.

I shivered. Mel and I decided on a time; seven-thirty, after Drew and I were able to meet up and head over, via the train (“or his Porsche!” as Mel had called out), and arrive at her apartment, positioned closer to the water. I hardly went to Mel’s apartment. I felt strange, surrounded by her perfect family and her rather quiet, rather secretive husband. Sure, her husband was attractive, sturdy. He did something that made them all quite a bit of money. But Mel—my darling good friend, only twenty-eight years old—had given up her dance career for him. Although she had always said she wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway, that there wasn’t really hope for her, I always wondered if she regretted it. And the undercurrent of regret I generally felt at their apartment was almost too much. It was like the smell of baby formula; rancid but a little sweet as well. It lingered on clothes.

I dressed myself in one of my favorite green dresses. The green always matched my eyes so well. It wrapped around my slim waistline and pulled around my breasts in such a splendid way. I brushed through my hair, then curled it a bit to give it a feminine flair. It was already six-thirty, and Drew would be here in just thirty minutes. I had to look perfect.

Finally, I sat back on my couch, glaring at the shine of the wooden door. I imagined Drew down the hallway—at his own apartment—preparing himself for our date. I imagined him splashing cologne on his neck, on his chest. I imagined him humming as he proceeded through his many steps. He lived such a glamorous, well-formed existence, so unlike my own—in which I rushed around, unable to afford anything, wearing the same dress I bought three years ago at a vintage shop in college.

But it didn’t matter anymore. It couldn’t.

I heard his sturdy footfalls outside the door, and I clung to my knees. Boomer bounced down from my lap and sauntered toward the door, ready to greet whoever arrived. He was so unused to guests, and he was wrapped up in the excitement that seemed to emanate through the room. His knuckles collapsed into the door.



CHAPTER FIVE

I touched my hair briefly before opening the door and tipping my hips to the left. I greeted Drew with bright eyes. “Hey,” I whispered.

He looked quite dapper. He was wearing a black shirt and a stunning purple tie. His smile nearly smirked at me before giving way to something deeper, something sincere. “Hey,” he said. He looked at me earnestly before clearing his throat. “You look lovely.”


“Thanks,” I murmured, looking down at my tight dress.

“Have you decided what you want to do this evening?” Drew asked after a long pause. “It is your turn, after all.”

“And we’re a democracy, something like that?” I said it playfully.

He nodded. His chin was pointed, sturdy.

“All right, then. You’re going to meet my closest friend. My assistant. And her baby, Jackson. And her husband.” I smiled at him with assurance as his eyed grew dark for a moment. “Don’t worry about them. They’re fine. They just—they don’t get out much. And I promised I’d head over there tonight. Afterwards, we can grab a drink somewhere in Old Town?”

Drew nodded, placing one of his wide hands on his chest. “That sounds nice, actually. It’s been a long time since I had some semblance of a family dinner.”

I laughed, walking out the door and locking my room behind me. “You know. It’s been quite a while for me, as well. I never considered myself a ‘family girl,’ I suppose.”

“There’s not a lot I know about you, is there?” Drew asked me, placing his arm out beside me. I accepted his elbow as we walked toward the steps. “I don’t know what you do, how you do anything. I don’t know what you did today. I can’t even imagine it.”

I didn’t say anything as we walked down the steps. My heart nearly burst as we exited the front door and found the Porsche out front once more; ready to pounce into the Chicago night. I looked up at him with bright eyes.

“You know. You just looked so good in it last night. I had to bring it tonight,” he murmured, leaning down and kissing me directly on the cheek. I felt his large, supple lips as they bounced off me lightly.

We rushed across the city toward the lake. I watched out the window without speaking, noting the way each car rushed by us, on the way to other dinners, other drinks, other dates. I turned toward Drew as he focused, concentrating on the road with his lips firmly together. Every move he made was directed with such ease, such ready comprehension. In a way, he drove like he made love.

“Is there anything I should know about your best friend before we arrive?” Drew asked me, turning his head primly toward me.

I thought for a moment. “You know. One thing you might want to know is that she was one of the premier ballerinas throughout the country. She was the head ballerina at her university before this guy—her husband—swooped her up and promptly married her.”