Hooked #4 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 4) (5 page)

“Oh, yes,” Hector stated, leaning back with pride.
“I’ve been with Master Thompson for four years, now. He always gives back.
We’ve been doing the one hundred burritos once a week for three years now. And
as you know, I am excellent at doing the burritos.” He winked at me.
“Although it would be much nicer in a better kitchen, like the one
in New York.”

I shook my head, noting the antiquated nature of the
kitchen around me. “I’ll have to try one sometime.”

Hector placed his hands over his eyes. “No. We must
give you one now. HEY!” He called to the people before him, working hard with
fast hands.
“ONE MORE BURRITO!”

Suddenly, a man rushed forward with a burrito
wrapped in foil. He handed it to me and bowed, showing me a small bald spot on
the back of his head.

“Thank you,” I said to him quietly, feeling the
warmth of the burrito in my hand. “Wow.” I turned toward Hector. “You do good
things, Hector.”

He nodded. “We try our very hardest to do all good
things.” He clapped his hands.
“Now.
Must get back to work.
Everyone!
Back to
work!”

And the people hurried on from food process to food process,
working ever toward their three-o-clock deadline. I slipped away from the
kitchen in a hurry, ready to dive away from that chaos. I lurched into the
beautiful late-October afternoon, feeling the sun on my face as I began to open
my burrito. The first bite was wonderful. The tortilla was clearly homemade,
and the interior rice and beans rose up with such immense, spicy flavor. I put
my hand over my mouth politely, chewing, and smiling at the same time.

I passed by a park and walked toward the bench,
allowing myself to do a bit of people watching. I watched as a young couple
held hands, playing hooky from wherever they were meant to be. I watched as a
grandmother helped her grandson out of his small carriage and held his hand as
he waddled toward the playground. I took bite after bite of burrito, feeling
vital, energetic.
Like I could take on the world.

My phone started to ring in my pocket. I grabbed it,
leaning the burrito on my leg. “Hello?” I said, trying not to make it sound
like I had rice in my mouth.

“Hello? Molly? Is that you?” It was Drew. I wanted
to laugh out loud.

“Drew! I met Hector! He’s wonderful.”

“Ah, yes. Today is the day of the one hundred
burritos. Not a great day to meet him, but a good day to see him in action.
He’s usually much, much
more chill
.”

“I loved him,” I said. “He gave me a burrito.”

“Well. You are privileged today, aren’t you?”

“Mm hmm.
How are things on your end?”

“Fine, of course.”
I could hear something in the background. Was that a drill? What were they
doing?

“Construction?”

“Yeah.
I’m covered in dust, actually. It’s pretty gross.”

I tried to find a smile but I couldn’t. I took
another bite of burrito, wondering why he’d called. My face grew hot.

“Anyway.
I wanted to call you because—because I want to take you out to dinner tonight.
A high-end restaurant called
Maggiano’s
.
It’s
downtown, on the water.”

I looked around me at the beautiful, sunlit day. I
blinked heavily, falling into his words. Did this mean he wanted to be with me?
Be a couple with me? “I’d love to go. What time do you want to pick me up?”

“I’ll get out of here around five, which gives me a
few hours to get myself together. I can pick you up around seven-thirty?”

“I’ll see you then,” I murmured once more. I hung up
the phone and wrapped the rest of my burrito in aluminum. I tucked it into my
small bag and walked out of the park, away from the running children, away from
the beautiful, stunning Chicago architecture.

I ducked back into my apartment building, wondering
what I would wear. I wrapped my arms around my cat, breathing an even sigh into
his neck. He squirmed for a moment before resigning himself to his fate. He
began licking his paw as I held him, staring into my closet.

My mother had once lent me a beautiful, black dress
from her days in the 80’s. I allowed it to hang in my closet all the time
because it reminded me of a different person, a woman I’d never met—but perhaps
one I would have loved in a different sort of way. My mother was a blonde
beauty. She’d had big dreams, big desires, but my father had trapped her in
Indianapolis, and there she stayed. But when I imagined her wearing that dress,
traipsing around, I felt so happy, so free. I pulled the dress up over my
breasts, loving the way the tight dress hugged my curves. Luckily, I didn’t
have to wear my hair the way my mother had—in a tight almost-fro. But I curled
the ends, making my hair look full and brimming with vitality.

I rushed around, realizing that it was nearly
seven-thirty, that he was on his way. I strapped shoes on my feet—great, black heels—and
smeared make-up on my face. I grinned at myself in the mirror, knowing that
tonight was going to be the night. I remembered all the romantic, sexual flings
we’d had the past month. Tonight, it was going to be different. Tonight, it was
going to mean something.

I brushed my teeth last, as Boomer started meowing.
I stomped to the window and peered down, seeing the bright Porsche glowing at
the entrance of the building. I grabbed my coat and flew down the steps, all
the way to the first floor. I walked slowly, then, not wanting to seem too
eager. I saw him on the other side of the door, looking so cool, so casual.

I met him as he opened the door for me. His jaw
dropped when he saw me.
“Oh my god.
You look
incredible.” He leaned down and kissed me on the lips, romantically. I felt it
deep in my body. I longed to rough him up in the front Porsche seat.

But we both looked too good for that. I cleared my
throat and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for picking me up.
And,
of course, for the burrito.”

“I think you mean to thank Hector, but yes. Sure.”
He winked at me and we walked toward the Porsche. He opened the door for me and
I slid into the front seat, staring up at the sky. The sun had already careened
into the horizon, leaving the city in darkness.

Drew cranked up the engine and the speakers and took
us downtown. I brought my hand over to him and held it on the manual shift. He
smiled at me.
“So.
You liked sleeping in my bed last
night, at my new place?”

“I loved it,” I said, laying my head back on the
seat.

“Me too,” he whispered. He held my hand as we pushed
toward the restaurant, stopping and starting all the way.

Maggiano’s
was a beautiful Italian restaurant not far from the museums. It was situated
just on the water, with great big windows spanning the length of the restaurant
and giving a beautiful view of Lake Michigan. The host brought us in through
the grand entrance, and I caught my breath with the view of the lights from the
boats shining over the water. I could even see the stars.

“It is one of the best views in all of Chicago,” the
host stated as he pulled the chair out for me. I sat, thanking him.

Drew sat on the other side of the small table by the
window, and he ordered wine right away—an aged Italian red. The host said,
“Right away sir,” with a little bow, and then he left us alone, a large
flickering candle between us.

“You know. I’ve actually never been to this
restaurant,” Drew began. “I remember when my mother and father used to go out
for their anniversary, they used to go here.”

I swallowed, looking around me. What a beautiful
place it truly was, and what joy it had held in this young man’s past life.
“What a memory that must be.”

Drew nodded. “Yes, of course. I never was able to
get a great sense for their love, you know.
Just because back
then, everything was very formal.
And also, they were trying to just
raise a son or whatever. They got married so young.”

“Which is why Mel is your aunt, for some reason,” I
chimed in, smiling.
“Yeah.”

The host came back with two wine glasses and poured
a small amount into mine, allowing me to taste it and approve it first. I
nodded subtly, remembering what I’d seen in the movies. And then he poured the
rest of the wine for me. I drank the first drink too quickly, allowing it to
coat my tongue. I grew embarrassed when I remembered that the wine was several
years old; that it had taken much longer to make this wine than it took to make
a baby.

I looked up, blinking at Drew. I tried to re-orient
myself. This had been the one place where Drew’s parents had been able to be
alone, to enjoy each other’s company. They were able to fall away from the
chaos of family
raising
, of the city, of money
problems in order to eat pasta and drink wine and love.

But it had only lasted so long.

The waiter came and spoke to us with great,
elaborate strokes of his hand. He described the menu and what would pair best
with the wine. He plopped a great plate of olive-oiled bread between us, and it
took all my concentration not to inhale it immediately. I realized I was
completely famished. I wondered if it was the deep fear that tonight would go
wrong; I wondered if it was the deep fear that tonight would go completely
right.

Drew ordered the chicken Parmesan, and I ordered the
vegetarian lasagna. We ordered a few appetizers, as well. “I want it to be
special,” Drew spoke shyly, smiling. His wide eyes met mine, and I felt oddly
naked there in the restaurant.

I dipped a small piece of bread in the oil and ate
it, closing my eyes.

“You know. It’s really sexy when you eat,” Drew
whispered, leaning toward me.

I grinned, feeling my face grow warm. “I don’t know
what you mean,” I said, trying to chew as politely as possible.
As sexily as possible.

Drew grabbed a breadstick as well and started
eating. “I don’t know. I just like doing normal things with you.
Ordering pizza.
Making fun of things.
And all the other things, of course.”
He winked at me.

I wasn’t sure what to say next. I placed my hands on
the table and watched as the lights glittered off my nails. “I think I’m going
to have another class tomorrow. The over-fifties are bringing a few of their
friends in to try it out. I might have more clients. Which is really wonderful,
given the fact that I need to start making rent money.” I smiled at him, trying
to make a joke.

But suddenly, Drew’s businessman face took over. He
frowned for a moment. “Are you really in over your head, Molly?” he asked me. I
felt like I was being asked something horrific, like I had an STD or something.

I shook my head, frowning back to him. I started
looking for our food. What was taking it so long? I cleared my throat. “I’m
definitely all right. I can afford everything, I just need. You know. Not to
have my place bought up before I can make something of myself.”

I knew I’d gone too far referencing this. Drew
hadn’t known it was my dance studio, and I had a new dance studio—perhaps one I
could make into a better one (over a period of many months, and several
thousand dollars). “I mean. It’s fine,” I murmured, trying to make up for it.
“I have everything I need, you know. I have a place. They come to me for me,
not for—not for a nice-looking dance studio. And at least I’m in the
neighborhood—“

Drew had placed his half-eaten breadstick on the
plate before him. He chewed slowly, waiting. And then he spoke: “And the loan? How
did you pay for it already?”

My jaw dropped, suddenly. My heart started beating
hard in my chest. I felt like I was going to explode. “I’m sorry—” I whispered.

“The loan.
How did you pay for it already?”

But I hadn’t told him about the loan being paid off.
I hadn’t told anyone except Mel. I thought for a moment. If Drew hadn’t found
out about my loan being paid through anyone else, that meant. That meant he
paid for it.
Himself.
With his own
charity money.
My face started to burn as I thought about it. I thought
about all the burritos he had Hector make every single week for the poor people
of Chicago, and then I realized that I was one of those very poor people. He
was helping me with my loan payments; he was giving me money for my dance
studio.

I stood up abruptly, nearly toppling the table to
the floor. This was supposed to have been a beautiful time together; this was
supposed to be a beautiful date. But I felt so angry, so betrayed. “I have to
go,” I whispered, not wanting to make any more of a scene than I already had. I
scurried away from the table and out into the foyer. Instead of the entrance
I’d take, I went out the other way, onto the beach. I began to walk tall,
haughtily, through the sand. But my shoes couldn’t take it. It was slow-going.

I could hear him behind me, running. I could hear
his heavy breathing, so familiar to his heavy breathing when we made love to
each other. What a beautiful time that had been!
But never
again.
It couldn’t be. Too much had happened.