Hooked (Hooked #1)(4)

“It was a beautiful day for a run,” the man said to me, his eyes bright. “I went, as well. You go around the Wicker Park, itself?”

I finished chewing slowly. “Oh, you mean the green space actually called Wicker Park?” I asked him, laughing. “No. I run along the lake.” I lied through my teeth. I considered him for a moment. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Is it that obvious?” the man asked. He leaned toward me, flashing his bright eyes. “By the way, I don’t want this to go another minute before learning your name.”

My heart leaped in my chest. I raised my eyebrow, trying to play it cool. “What makes you think you’ll need it?” I asked him.

The man shrugged. “I like to make contacts. New city; new home.”

“Where you from?” I asked him, still playing with him. My tuna melt was on the wrapper before me; it hadn’t been touched in several minutes.

“New York,” he answered then. “I actually was born here, in Chicago. But, I moved when I was a kid. I’m not used to it.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Ah. The Big Apple itself,” I said. I felt my throat tighten; what was I going to say next? “I’m. Um. I’m Molly,” I said, reaching my slender hand out to shake his firm, steady one. “And you are?”

“Drew,” the man said, turning his head just slightly to give me a full profile of him; his smooth nose, his supple lips. I longed to kiss him in that moment. I couldn’t shake the feeling. “I’ve come to the city to open a new bookstore. I feel like this neighborhood would be perfect for one. A nice crowd, you know.”

“Have you opened a bookstore before?” I asked him. I felt the sweat trickle down my back, knowing that this sweat was a different formation—not from exercise. I was nervous around him; I felt stirrings inside myself I hadn’t known still existed. And yet, I knew in my heart that I had to leave soon. That I had to go home and rest. I had to align my checkbook, note precisely how much money I had in the bank. Rent was nearly due on the dance studio, and I could hardly afford it if I didn’t work everything out, perhaps add an extra class. (Truly, I was a few months behind. But the owner had been lenient with me.) All the thoughts swirled in my mind, making me feel half-crazy. I didn’t have time to speak to some dumb bookshop owner at a coffee shop! I nearly burst from my seat.


But then I focused, calming myself with easy breathing. Drew was talking about how he owned several bookstores in New York. He was hoping to make a fresh start in the middle of the country—where his roots began. I gave him a small smile, hoping it didn’t appear too eager or sensual. “You’ve picked a perfect neighborhood to start, Drew,” I said. I pushed my stool back, hearing it screech across the bottom of the floor. “You know. I have to get going,” I said, still smiling that ridiculous smile.

Drew pushed his stool back as well, in chorus with mine. He looked out the window, and we both noted it was getting dark. People had begun to huddle in their coats from the evening temperature. It was only September, but the Chicago winter crept up fast and fierce.

“Let me walk you home, Molly,” Drew said then, his eyes like fire lighting into me.

I wanted to say no. My heart nearly stopped beating in my chest. I pictured my Netflix queue, my nice bedspread. I imagined my night lined up before me; chocolate chip cookies and as much television as I could muster until I fell asleep.

Okay, okay. It didn’t seem like such an appealing life, after all. “Okay,” I said, bobbing my head back and forth with hesitation. “I live just around the corner, anyway.” I could be free of him in just an instant if he was a creep. And I could run pretty fast. Dancer legs.

He stood before me, revealing his full height once more. I felt a heat about him, something I couldn’t shake. I touched my eyebrows, my cheek. “Shall we?”

We rushed into the city before us, turning right toward my apartment. As Drew jaunted up beside me, his long legs pulsing, revealing his shining, stylish black shoes, I decided I liked the way it felt, walking side-by-side with one of the most attractive men I had ever seen in the city. I watched as several women along the route back to my apartment eyed us, eyed him—and struggled making the connection between this stunning man and this sloppy blonde in yoga pants. I felt like grinning from ear to ear.

“So. How are you liking the city, after so much time away?” I asked him after a few moments of silence between us, the horns honking out in the street.

“You know. I like it. It’s a good deal different than New York. But perhaps that’s just because I don’t really know anyone yet. I have a few friends here; I’ve gone to a few of their parties, of course. But.” He paused before speaking once more.

I felt tension in my shoulders, nervousness. Was I never going to see this guy again? I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t. My schedule loomed over my head like a shadow. I needed to have another class! I needed to make rent—for both the dance studio and my goddamned apartment! But I kept my focus.

“But. It’s been difficult. You know. I was tired of all the New York women, the drama. The grandeur,” he spewed forth, speaking with his hands. “But then, I came here, and I haven’t met a single hot, beautiful, interesting girl.” He stopped short at the corner, turning his eyes toward me. I felt them burn. “Until you,” he said. He said it so directly, so confidently. I felt like my stomach was churning with the small bites of tuna I had nearly been too nervous to eat. “Not that meeting beautiful women was my necessary purpose for coming here—“ he trailed off.