Hooked (Hooked #1)(10)

She clapped her hands together and ushered me back to the shower, where I took a quick one—hardly giving myself time to daydream under the water stream, to think about the day ahead. I shrugged on a pretty dress and a nice fall jacket for what was sure to be a chilly evening ahead. I twirled in the studio, gazing at myself in every direction. Satisfied, I rushed out the door, allowing my long blonde hair to wave behind me.



CHAPTER SIX

Cubs stadium, situated in the messy haze of Wrigleyville, was crowded for game day. I rushed from the train to the sidewalk, seeing the great stadium before me. I felt like I was rushing headlong into my destiny; Drew. And I couldn’t focus on anything else. I bumped my elbow into people; I scrambled around great lines waiting to get into bars, pubs. They all wore Cubs gear and I realized, with a sudden lurch in my stomach, that I hadn’t dressed up for the game. What would he think of me?

But I didn’t have time. I pushed my way to the front, to the ticket line, wondering how I would ever get in. I called him automatically, bringing the phone to my ear and hearing his deep, nearly-arrogant, confident voice on the other line. “Great, you’re here. I left the ticket for you at the ticket stands. Just give them my name.”

He hung up, clearly busy with something else. I was wide-eyed, like a child left alone in the rain. I waited in the line, pushing my purse from my left side to my right. I was behind an old man, a diehard Cubs fan. I wanted to tell him about my grandfather for some reason, but stopped myself. I began playing with my hands, picking at my nails. The old man’s wrinkled, crinkled wife turned around to look at me. “You’ll need to stop picking your nails like that if you ever want to land a husband.” And then she took her ticket from the stand and was gone.

Shocked, my eyes wide, I took the final step toward the ticket man. “Hello—“ I began.


“Don’t worry about her. Comes here every game and insults my heritage. What can I do for you?” This was the man on the other side of the ticket booth.

I smiled at him, ruffling my hair. “Oh, yes. Thank you. I couldn’t believe—anyway.” I paused, putting my hand on the counter. I could hear the hustle of the people behind me, waiting for me. I had to compose myself. “I’m actually looking for a ticket, held for me by a Drew—“ I paused, realizing that I had no idea what his last name was. “Shit.” I looked down at my chomped nails. “I don’t know his last name.”

The man in the ticket booth began to laugh at me. “Girl, you’re having a rough day. Okay. Let me see. A fellow—about six foot four or so—handsome as hell—left a ticket under the name Drew Thompson. Do you think that’s him?”

I waved my hand over my eyes. “He certainly is handsome. I’m sure it’s him.”

The man smiled at me, revealing a single crooked tooth. “It better be. Or I’ll regret helping you.” He was kidding, of course. I felt his warmth emanating through my stomach. He handed me the ticket, and I was so grateful, I wanted to kiss the glass between us. “Enjoy the game!” he called.

“Thank you!” I called back, scurrying like mad to get into the stadium. After a few security checks, I found myself running through the lower section, where people flitted here and there, off to find their seats. I had no idea where Drew would be. I slowed to a halt, tapping my feet on the stone ground. Where the hell would this guy be? Frustrated, I arced my neck this way, then that, searching for him in the enormous sea.

And then; a whistle. I heard a whistle to the left. My head darted that way, spinning my entire body with it. My dress flung around my knees. Before me, there by section B, stood Drew. He was dressed perfectly—like it was Easter Sunday. His suit held fine touches of the bright blue and red of the Cubs. And his tie was a perfect homage to the team. I walked toward him, brimming with happiness. I had found him.

He leaned toward me, kissing me on the cheek. “Hey. Glad to have found you.”

“I—How did you know where to find me?”

“I actually have been to this stadium more times than I can count, just—long ago,” Drew explained, turning away, expecting me to follow. We wound our way to the concession stand to the side of the great field. From there, I could see the green stretch out and the players begin their warm ups. I sighed, breathing in such beautiful air.

“Nothing like a day at the ball park,” Drew laughed, eyeing my exhilaration. He turned toward the concessions person and ordered us two Chicago Dogs and two Old Styles. He handed me the messy dog, covered with relish, sport peppers and a hint of celery salt. There were several other vegetables too.

I grinned up at him, gesturing toward the dog. “One of my favorite things about Chicago,” I chortled. “How did you live in New York without this sucker?”

Drew laughed, guiding us further down the stands. He kept going, going. I could feel the harsh stone beneath my feet, making my knees quake. I had lost a good deal of my dancer’s strength, I knew.

“Wow. Are we sitting actually on the field—with the players?” I asked him, laughing.

Drew didn’t answer. He turned us left, into the very front row, directly down the first base line. My heart leapt in my chest, thinking that this—this right here, this seat, this Chicago Dog, this Old Style beer—was my grandfather’s dream. If he could see me now. “Wow,” I breathed, sitting down next to him. “This is incredible.”