Hooked 3 (Hooked #3)(17)

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 f*cked up girl with a rough past. A f*cked 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.”