Hooked 2 (Hooked #2)(8)

“I assume the world will continue turning!” I called back.

He laughed at this. “I think I like you, Molly Atwood!” I could hardly hear his voice through the wind.

My heart surged into my throat as we took our leap into the bungee jump. We free-fell through the air, our hands clasped together between us and our free hands out, like we were flying. We fell fast through the air, not feeling the rope tug at our behinds until we were just twenty feet from the ground. I emitted a slow scream as we neared the rocks below; closer and closer and closer.

But the sheer adrenaline pulsed in my brain and in my ears. I watched as the beautiful trees greeted us on both sides, as the crispness of the air lurched into my throat, into my stomach. When we began to swing at the very bottom of the great leap, I started laughing haphazardly. My hand still remained in Drew’s.


I turned toward him and saw his ashen face, his strong smile. He shook his head at me, as if he had never experienced anything so grand. “What the hell,” he yelled out. “What the hell!”

The man and his overall wife eased us down to the ground, where we unlatched ourselves from the bungee cord. We grabbed each other close and started kissing, as if we had avoided sure death. I was thinking that the man and the wife still on the platform surely saw this all the time; the assurance of two people that they had avoided sure death. I wondered if it ever got old.

I flashed a pretty, confident smile at this man before me. I wrapped my slim arms behind his back and kissed his broad, brilliant lips. “What do you think of that?” I whispered.

“I can’t think of it. All I can think of is you.” Drew murmured back.

We piled back into the van behind the husband and wife duo. We breathed heavily the entire way back to the parked Porsche. “Has anything ever gone wrong?” Drew asked the two owners.

The man spoke gruffly, utilizing vague words. “Oh, you know. We have this happen, that happen.”

My eyes fluttered along with Drew’s as we grinned together in the secret discovery; we had survived something truly grand together.

Finally, back in the Porsche, I curled up in the front seat, feeling confident. I asked Drew as many questions as I could think of in those moments. “You really haven’t been bungee jumping have you?”

“Well—I mean. No. I haven’t,” he declared, grinning at me.

“Why did you want to go so badly today?” I asked him.

“You know. I just wanted to push myself, push you. See what you would do. I know you’re angry with me about—about everything you heard me say. But you have to understand; guys say dumb shit all the time.” He held his hands high on the steering wheel. I longed to curl up with him, to talk to him about everything and anything. What had his life been like before he met me, really? Why was he attracted to me—a lifeless nobody—anyway?

“Well. It was one of the best days of my life,” I murmured to him. I was surprised that I let him know so much of myself in that moment, but some small part of me didn’t care. I shrugged, knowing in my heart that this fake relationship, that this lovely life that had sprung from nowhere, was not to last. Not at all. And so I decided to be honest, to be truthful. What did I have to lose?

Although, it was true these days that I didn’t have a job to my name, that I didn’t have an ounce of savings. These things were not to be helped.

We stopped for brief burgers on the way back to the city. “Best I’ve ever had, hands down,” Drew said to me, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Seriously.”

He swooshed through the drive-thru, told the man on the other line his name. “Hey, man. It’s Drew. Can I have two of the regular?”

And the regular came to him as we rushed around to the window. The thirty-something guy who manned the grill came toward him in the window and brought his hand forward, high-fiving Drew as if they were old buds. “Drew, my man,” he said in a pure Chicago accent. “We got you two of the regular, and I threw in some extra fries. For you and the lady.” He leaned down and looked at me, grinning. “Hey, ma’am. I’m Ty.”

“Good to meet you,” I said, mustering as much sweetness as I could. The inside of the restaurant was pulsing with grease and an old-fashioned 50’s burger joint attitude. I smiled as Drew handed me the dripping bag.

“Ty, it’s always a pleasure,” Drew said. He handed him a one hundred dollar bill and nodded at him. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Looking forward to it, Drew,” Ty said, stepping back and placing the hundred in his white breast pocket. He waved his hand toward us as we sped away.

I felt the grease dripping on my leg. “What is this?” I asked Drew.

Drew reached his hand in the top and pulled out a wrapped burger. “That, my dear, is the greasiest most delicious restaurant in all of Chicago—or perhaps all the world. That man, Ty, was my next-door neighbor when I grew up a poor Chicago boy. We did everything together. And now—well. He owns a burger joint. And god, they’re delicious. Just try.” He unfolded the side of the burger and gave me a hint of it. I bit, feeling the wonderful texture of perfectly-spiced, perfectly-cooked burger emanate in my mouth. A small bit of Dijon mustard coursed through my taste buds.

“Oh, god,” I murmured. I hadn’t tasted anything so brilliant in my life.

“Right? I know. Anyway, I try to give him good business. He’s in a bad part of town. I want to bring him in with us, in Wicker Park. But I don’t know if my stomach will hold up, eating this stuff every day. You tried a fry yet?”