Hooked 4 (Hooked #4)(8)

Drew spoke about how he missed New York only sometimes; that Chicago already felt like home. In many ways, he felt like himself here. I wondered, peering at him, if he had ever shown me his true self. Surely, he wasn’t a man who owned a Porsche. He wasn’t some * who slept with multiple women, all at the same time. Rather, he was a man with passion, with drive. He knew what he wanted, and he got it. I had to respect that about him.

I rested my head on his shoulder as we spoke, after I laid my pizza back down, half-finished; I felt my eyelids fluttering. I tried hard to stay awake, to stay with him. But I felt myself falling away. He rubbed at my shoulders, allowing me to comprehend that it was all right, that I could let go. We didn’t have to have sex, I suddenly understood, for him to want me around. We were friends. We were more than friends. What that meant, I didn’t know. I didn’t really care, either.

We fell asleep, there: he watching the second Godfather and me snoring lightly on his shoulder. (He never said anything about the snoring, I just suspected.) We woke up in the morning around four, with the television blaring, with our heads together, and we crawled back to the bed, wrapping ourselves in the blankets. We slept on another five hours, until the Chicago sunlight came coursing in through the skylight. I sighed into his chest, feeling happier than I’d been in my entire life. I felt, in a way, free.



CHAPTER FOUR

The next morning around nine I woke up, blinking wildly. I turned toward Drew, who had his shirt off, his body splayed out like a wild child’s. I rubbed his chest, kissing his muscled shoulders. “Hey, baby.”

He blinked, as well, trying to catch my gaze. He smiled and pulled himself up, wrapping his arms around me. “What do you want to do this morning?” he asked mid-yawn. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” I murmured. I felt so grand, even with the fact that we hadn’t had sex the evening before. We’d gotten to know each other on an intimate level; we’d gotten to understand each other beyond the realms of our naked bodies.

Drew reached his hand down to the ground and found his phone. “I’m starving,” he declared, rubbing at his stomach. I turned, finding that the pizza from the previous evening had been cleared, as had the wine glasses. I wondered what sort of housecleaning elves he had around here. I wondered if they questioned who I was; if I was one of many.

“Yes, Hector? Hi. Yes. Me and the lady would really love some breakfast. Yes. If you could deliver it—yes. That would be grand.” Drew nodded into the phone, playing with my hair intimately as he spoke. “Twenty minutes sounds perfect. See you then.”

I stretched my arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth playfully, feeling the heat off his body. “Who was that?”

“Hector, of course. My head kitchen guy. He thinks the kitchen’s a mess, of course. But he’s going to prepare us something anyway. He’s Mexican, and he keeps walking around the kitchen, complaining about the grossness of it. He’s used to much better back in New York. He keeps complaining in Spanish, thinking I can’t understand. It’s hilarious.” Drew started laughing, allowing his stomach to pump up and down. I laughed with him, watching as his eyes closed. He seemed really, truly happy.

Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door. Drew rose, allowing me to stay in my small t-shirt beneath the covers. I smiled at the young women who brought up the food. The kitchen helpers, Drew told me later. They were Hector’s daughters, in their mid-twenties, like me. “Hello,” I said. They gave me only small waves back.

The spread was immaculate. Small breakfast sausages, muffins, eggs, fruits. Mimosas had been poured, of course. I rubbed my hands together and leaned toward the platter, smelling its wonderful, savory and sweet flavors. “They really go all out, don’t they? I don’t know how you don’t weigh a thousand pounds.”

Drew patted at his stomach, grinning at me. “Just wait a few weeks. I think Hector’s trying to fatten me up. He wants me to have a wife, you see. So he can make more and more food. He says he’s bored with cooking just for me. I fired him after he said that, but he knew I was just joking. He’ll never leave me.” Drew sliced the sausage with his fork and knife and bit into it ravenously. I loved his passion, his appetite for everything.


“Okay. So. What’s on the docket for today?” I asked.

He thought for a moment. “I actually have to get to work,” he said. “Probably should swing by there around noon.”

“Ah,” I felt that familiar pang in my heart. He would take the route to my old dance studio, and yet he would see a monstrosity at the other end.

“What about you?” Drew asked, changing the subject. “You have anything special planned?”

“I might head to my new studio, actually. Start fixing things up. I’d love to have more dance classes in the studio, build up a bit more money.”

Drew nodded. His eyes seemed distracted. “You could ask my good old aunt to come help you?”

“Actually, she’s on mommy duty. Jackson’s sick.”

“Babies are always sick. This is another one of Hector’s sayings, not mine,” Drew said, taking a bite of his muffin and smiling at me.

“You aren’t into the baby thing, are you?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Are you?”