I scurried from the office, eager to tell someone—anyone—about the loan. I called Mel. On the other line, she seemed distracted but eager to listen. She was holding Jackson, and I could hear the way his lips bumbled together as he spoke nonsensical, one-year-old words. “That’s so great, Molly! I always knew you could do it!” I pictured her with spit-up on her shoulder, and I grinned—knowing always that this was what she wanted. This was the life she had chosen.
I hopped along to my apartment, feeling like everything was coming together. As I walked down the hall, I yearned for Drew to come bursting out of his apartment, to say sorry once more. But I knew I needed to wait to see him until Saturday. I realized that I missed simply having someone to talk to—someone around. My tireless existence in my sad-sack apartment was getting rather lonely.
CHAPTER SIX
The next few days went rather smoothly. I made the appropriate calls to the woman, Carol, who owned the studio above The Goat Pub. I couldn’t wait to get into the studio and get my hands dirty, make it what it needed to be. It was October, and with the loan money I had received I assumed I wouldn’t have to rush into anything. I could wait until the end of the holiday season to begin having dance classes again, if I wanted to. Start at a good time, a good place. A new year. I hummed as I worked over the spreadsheets, thinking about all the new routines I could show the girls. Maybe I could even introduce a hip hop class? A tap class? Burst beyond the realms of ballet, of old-fashioned Tchaikovsky?
The morning of the benefit, I woke early and went running by the lake. I had felt my muscles begin to tone up during the previous few weeks. I assumed it was my serious distraction. I hadn’t been eating as much; I’d been so focused on my future, on making my life work. I looked at myself naked in the mirror, admiring the feminine way my body arched, my waist cinched. I admired my still-large breasts as they sat, pearly-white, atop my chest.
I parsed through my outfits, attempting to find the perfect dress for the evening. I felt the fabrics; I tried on several in front of the mirror, noting the way my slim shoulders arced in all the right ways as I turned this way, then that. I was going to look good out on that dance floor that evening, I knew. I was going to look fabulous.
Finally, I decided upon a dark maroon dress—one I hadn’t worn in years, one I had hardly ever worn. The neckline lurched down over my breasts, and the back was lace, allowing my taut back muscles to be seen. I stepped into high heels, attempting to practice dancing in them a bit over my sad wooden floor. Boomer looked at me with vague curiosity. What the hell was I doing?
I prepared my make-up perfectly, smearing rouge over my face, and giving myself a bit of lipstick—just enough to make me look sophisticated, fit for a benefit. I imagined the types of people who attended benefits; old women and men with millions, their sons and daughters with millions in equal measure. I had to look like them, to seem like them. I would never be like them, of course; I had too much passion, too much love for art, for dance, to ever sell my soul to any sort of money god.
Five minutes before he was meant to, Drew knocked on my door. I was staring at myself in the mirror, and I watched as my face took on a sort of stressed expression. I sighed deeply, attempting to release my anxiety. It was going to be fine, I told myself. Drew and I were simply going as friends, and certainly he would respect that. He had to. I wouldn’t let him accept anything else.
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 ski
n, 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.
After a few moments, Drew spun me back down and I looked at him—nearly flustered. “What the hell?” I asked him, so curious.
“My mother had me take dance lessons, actually. You thought you were the only dancer here, didn’t you?” Drew smirked at me once more. A small tuft of his hair had come undone from all the dancing, all the energy. I didn’t want to fix it. I wanted proof that it had happened.
“Well. You’re quite good,” I replied. The song had descended into a slow, romantic song. We began to weave back and forth, holding each other’s eyes. “Have you considered picking it back up again?”
He shook his head. “Men in my line of work don’t tend to take dance too seriously. Of course, I do. I grew up with Mel, as you know.”
“Your aunt,” I teased him. “Who is younger than you.”
He threw his head back. “We have a crazy family, it’s true,” he murmured. He allowed me to spin out and back into his body. I felt the heat emanating from his strong, muscled chest. “A crazy family of dancing, of laughter, of love. It’s quite beautiful. I wish you could meet all of them.”
I beamed my head this way, then that. “You wouldn’t want to meet my family.” I thought of my mother, honed with such anger, such resentment back in her Indianapolis home. She was waiting for my failure, for my phone call demanding money—anything. But I wouldn’t give it to her.
Sensing a bit of sadness in me, Drew led me from the dance floor and ordered us more drinks. He spent the rest of the evening distracting me; from my money problems, from my loan. He made jokes and sang songs; he spun me in circles in the spotlight, making everyone notice. “Who is that stunning man and woman out on the floor, dancing so beautifully?” so many people wondered.
I had never been such a Cinderella; I had never been so envied, so hated by the most beautiful, richest people of Chicago. Feeling their eyes trace my slim frame, my strong arms, I felt electric—like the rush of the strings from the orchestra. I felt like nothing was impossible.
We stayed deep into the night. Before we left, I noted that Drew had to make a donation. I watched as he wrote the check, but I couldn’t quite make out how much he had donated. Quite a bit, I was sure. I watched as the elderly woman he handed the check to nod at it with approval, bringing her white, stark eyebrow high over her eagle eye.
Drew placed his hand on my lower back, leading me away from the dying party. I could still hear the strings playing, but the fingers, the arms of the musicians were tired, lackluster. My feet ached. As we flung ourselves into the front seat of the Porsche, I removed the shoes, feeling the way my feet throbbed in their freedom. I leaned my head back against the seat, loving the rushing street lamps, hearing the city as it went to sleep.
Drew helped me up the steps to our separate apartments, taking me step by step. I could feel the champagne coursing in my veins, and the drunkenness was putting me to sleep. When we reached our floor, I stood by my doorway, looking up at him with earnest doe-eyes. I longed to invite him in in that moment. But I knew I couldn’t. I knew the world we had just visited together was his world, and this grim apartment—this sad-sack place around us—was my world. I couldn’t enter into his permanently, and he couldn’t stay in mine forever, either.
Suddenly, he leaned his face toward mine, bringing his lips closer and closer. I lifted my fingers above my lips, halting him with a small whisper, “Don’t.”
He reared back, his eyes a bit hurt. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I apologize. I realize this was just a friendly encounter between two friends.” His eyes swept from left to right. He leaned toward me again. “But I have to say, it was one of the best nights—between friends—that I’ve ever had.”
My heart hummed with this knowledge. I slipped my key in the lock before he stopped me one final time.
“One more thing,” he murmured. “Do you want to go on another not-date with me, perhaps next weekend?”
I raised my eyebrow, feeling exhaustion take hold of me from the continuous night of play, of dance. “Next weekend?”
“A weekend trip, actually. Just one night. Not a date, of course.”
I nodded, feeling the information parse through my brain. He had taken me on so many adventures so far; the Cub’s game, bungee jumping, and dancing at the benefit. What harm would one more night do? Especially if he knew we were just friends? He could behave. And so could I. “All right. Just one more night,” I answered.
I pushed at the door, hearing it creak throughout the hall. My eyes blinked up at him, unable to rip themselves away. His want for me emanated on my skin; it was hot in my stomach. I longed for him to take me, right there in the grimy hallway. But I knew it wasn’t time.
“So. Next Friday, then,” he whispered. He started to back down the hallway, all the while removing his bow tie, unbuttoning his tuxedo shirt.
“Next Friday!” I responded timidly. He tucked into his apartment door, grinning out at me. I ratcheted into my own apartment, feeling the warmth of familiarity take hold. I flounced into bed, allowing the passion, the drive of the evening to fold around me and place me in a coma of happiness, of hope.
I didn’t wake up the next morning until noon, when Boomer trounced on my head, and I remembered that an entire week had to form; a week of hard work, of preparation for the new studio, before I could laugh and dance with Drew again. This knowledge forced me into a frenzy of continuous work. I was always on the phone, always tracking down new ballerinas, always looking for more money—money that could work me out of this hole. Soon, I knew, I would have to start paying the loan back. Not this year, sure. But in the next one. This knowledge made me nervous, made me wide-eyed and committed. I wouldn’t lose another studio. I wouldn’t lose it to that fast-talking, spirited woman—Carol—who owned the Goat. This was my dream, and I was going to make it work, no matter what.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After a week of this frenzy, I was entirely ready to fall into the world of Drew once more. In this world, I knew, there were no worries. Everything was easy; everyone knew how to dance, how to dress. I paused in front of my closet, naked, tracing the dresses over and over again. I wasn’t sure where we were going for this overnight weekend trip. He had simply called me, out-of-the-blue that morning to tell me that I needed to pack something elegant for the next evening’s festivities. I had heard drilling in the background. Had he called me from the worksite, from the excavation of my old dance studio? Also, I had thought this was going to be one overnight; not two. I furrowed my eyebrows, becoming nervous. I knew I couldn’t fall in love with this man (not more than I already was).
I had to put it out of my mind. I dipped my hand into the closet and brought out a fiery red dress, one that showed far too much cleavage. He hadn’t told me if the next evening was a grand benefit or a goddamned concert. Either way, I would be prepared. I slipped the dress over my slim frame, admiring the way it held tight to my body, showing the outline of my breasts. I could see a flash of my nipples, as well, as they glistened in the bright light from the Friday sun.
I packed the dress in a suitcase and chose some black leggings and a cute top for the travel. I knew we were leaving the city, but I couldn’t be certain where
we were going. In my head, I was worried we were going to Indiana for some reason. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t bear to see my home state again, not wrapped in the arms of Drew, not in the sleek Porsche.
Drew knocked on my door at around six. I stepped toward it and opened it only for a moment, revealing him in his long winter coat, a nice, warm winter hat. “Well. Aren’t you prepared for snow?” I teased him.
“It’s going to be rather cold there this weekend. I’d grab a hat, if I were you.” His eyes looked bright, excited. I decided to play his games. I grabbed my suitcase, my coat, and followed behind him into the hallway, locking the door behind me.
“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked him, smiling.
He raised his eyebrow, taking my suitcase. “We’re actually going to Iowa.”
My heart sunk in my chest. What the hell was in Iowa? Was this guy going to take me out to the boonies and murder me? As I tapped down the steps and out onto the whirring streets, I felt regretful, sad to leave my home behind. Chicago! Leaving for Iowa?
I sat in the Porsche and brought my hands together timidly, looking over at Drew as he pumped the engine. He noted my wayward expression and laughed. “It’s not going to be that bad,” he said.
We shot west toward Iowa. I watched as the sun dipped low in the sky, leaving us in a quiet darkness on the Friday night highway. I tapped at my leg quietly, peering out the window. “It’s been a long time since I was out on the road.”
“You don’t travel much?”
“Can’t afford it. I don’t know if I would, anyway. Sure. Maybe Europe, Australia, or something. But not in the Midwest.” I cleared my throat, watching the signs pass us as we whirred by, going eighty, then ninety.
“I love to drive. I feel so powerful, you know. Like the entire world is mine, before my feet.” Drew kept his eyes on the road, maneuvering the manual stick of the vehicle as we climbed in speed.
Hooked #3 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 3) Page 3