Hooked 3 (Hooked #3)(8)
I walked toward the door and flung it open, revealing my glorious dress and curly hair. My posture was perfect, holding my breasts high into the air.
Drew looked stunning as well. He was wearing a tuxedo, and his hair was glossed over to the side to reveal a perfect, far-left part. He smirked at me, eyeing my dress, my body. He brought out his elbow, offering it to me to take. “My lady. My friend. May I escort you to the ball?”
I wanted to play his games; it was all I wanted, in that moment. I swung my hand back and grasped my handbag. I dipped my arm into his elbow, nodding in a sophisticated manner. “Oh, darling. My dear. I shan’t go anywhere without you.” I laughed in spite of myself. I couldn’t help it.
Drew cackled for a moment before leading us to the stairwell, where we necessarily had to part and waft our way down, my heels clacking and echoing.
Outside the apartment building sat the Porsche—the stunning car that had taken us to Mel’s place all those evenings before. Before I had known so much. I turned my neck gracefully toward Drew, eyeing his movements. He sent his arm languidly through the air, grasping the handle of the door and pulling at it. “My lady,” he sighed, bowing to me.
I settled into the seat and waited for him on the other side. He fell into the driver’s seat and revved the engine, speeding off into the Saturday Night Chicago World. My head flung back on the seat, and my eyes scanned the horizon and the flashing lights. It had been so long since I’d felt the world rush around me like this. I kept my lips together and simply allowed the feeling to fall over me.
The benefit was downtown at the McCormick Place. The glass of the beautiful building sparkled in the stunning nightlights. As we pulled up to the convention center, a valet driver approached the car. He opened my door and offered me his hand, escorting me from the illustrious Porsche. I watched as the valet’s eyes lurked over the car with fits of jealousy. “My lady. You are looking very beautiful tonight,” he murmured toward me, his eyes still on the car.
Drew pushed himself from the car and tossed the keys to the valet. “Be safe with her,” he spewed, handing the valet a tip casually beneath the waist.
The valet accepted and leaped into the car, whisking it away to some unforeseen location. I looked up at Drew with a sense of wonder. All around us, the most beautiful people in the world were walking toward the convention center where the benefit was held. Women in long dresses; men wearing tuxedos. Everyone was a different age, a different size. They all were sparkling with diamonds and pearls. Their smiles were fake and bright, and their skin was perfectly botoxed and tight. I shuddered, looking at the deep wealth that flitted around me.
As we entered the convention center, I heard the whir of string instruments and the lilting of a piano. I clutched Drew’s hand with the passion of it. He laughed. “I knew you’d like the music. Chicago Orchestra.” He nodded toward them, all hundred of them, in their position off to the side of the large dance floor.
My heart began to race. We stepped toward the bar, eyeing the beautiful people as they spun, as they clutched each other’s hands and danced to the electrifying music that emanated through the beautiful hall. “Have you ever seen anything more extraordinary,” I whispered to Drew like a child. He handed me a glass of champagne, and the bubbles wafted over the top.
We clinked our glasses together, and I steadied myself from my excitement.
“To being friends,” Drew murmured, eyeing me deeply. I could tell from his eyes, that he longed to be much more than friends. Much more than friends, indeed.
But I agreed with him, reminding myself that the man before me had nearly ruined my life, taken the only good thing about my life. I scratched the side of my face casually, feeling the cakes of make-up I had applied. I blinked. “I don’t suppose you want to dance, do you?” I asked him. I felt assured he wouldn’t agree to it. Certainly, he had a strong, supple body—and I knew he knew how to use it, at least in the bedroom. But, in my experience, men like him didn’t dance. They didn’t make it their mission to dance. He was a corporate man with corporate money. Music and dancing and the liveliness of it all weren’t exactly in his repertoire.
But he surprised me.
“You know. I’d love to dance.” His eyes didn’t disconnect with mine. We held a tight connection as we tipped our heads back, absorbing the comfortable drunk of the bubbles.
When we finished our drinks, he held out his hand and I accepted it, feeling the tiny vibrations between us. He whirred me out onto the dance floor and tucked his hand behind my back, low, against my ass. I felt his fingers tighten for a short moment against my skin, and my heart raced.
The strings began once more—a rather fast piece. He began spinning me around, dancing with tight, specific steps. I looked down at his feet as I followed his lead, shocked. “Wow. You know what you’re doing!” I laughed. My eyes were bright, happy.
He nodded, laughing along with me. He spun me in a circle, forcing everyone to look our way. On the dance floor I realized, we were the only dancers who knew what we were doing. It had been so long since I had been watched as I danced, as I used my body to formulate a sort of song alongside the music. I grinned. During a great crescendo, Drew picked me up in the air, and I allowed my body to lengthen, to stride out into a beautiful, romantic pose above everyone’s heads. I felt Drew’s fingers beneath me, holding me steady. The entire crowd burst into a sea of applause.