Read Online Hooked #3 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 3) by Claire Adams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Claire Adams
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moment that passed, I fell away from the daydream, from the
certainty that we cared for each other. I understood the wealth that surrounded
us, that tormented me. I understood that he was probably just using me for sex.
I was good at sex, sure. I had a great body, yes. But I wanted to be thought of
as more than that.
But what did I, really, have to offer? I was just a fucked up girl with a rough past. A fucked up girl who
hadn’t made it as a dancer, who was probably just going to end up broke and
dead, like her father. I shivered, backing away from the bed. Drew sensed the
disturbance, but didn’t say anything.
I sat at the table and poured myself a cup of coffee,
piling food on my plate. Drew picked up his carefully made breakfast in bed
tray and walked toward me, sitting across from me at the same place he had sat
yesterday. It was like all that hard work, all that bonding was falling away. I
blinked at him as if he were a stranger. But he wasn’t. We had things in common.
My subconscious was trying to work against me. But even if it was true, even if
we had things in common, it couldn’t matter.
A sense of quiet worked over the room. I chewed my
food slowly, carefully, not wanting him to think I was overzealous with my
eating. (Of course, when I was alone, I always ate quickly, fanatically. Not
with him; not with him.)
Drew, unsure of what to do, began talking about his
life—about his real life outside of the realm of this beautiful,
millionaire-worthy hotel room. “You know. I’m going to finally be able to move
into my new home in Chicago. That nice building I was telling you about in
Wicker Park? It hasn’t been available for all this time, and I’ve just been
waiting and waiting.” He shook his head.
I hummed into my meal, raising my eyebrow. “That
sucks.”
“It didn’t suck so bad . I
hadn’t lived in such a little, cute- sy place like our
apartment building in many, many years.”
“You got rich pretty early, yeah? I mean. You were
rich by the time you were my age. I’m twenty-four, in case you don’t remember.”
Drew considered this, considered the fact that I was
talking so quietly, without any enthusiasm. He furrowed his brow, but he didn’t
mention anything. “I suppose I was rich when I was twenty-five. But twenty-four. That year was tough.”
He was teasing me, I knew. He was giving me confidence, telling me it was okay to be who I was. But I
didn’t know if it was because he wanted more sex before we left, or if it was
because he actually, truly liked me. I supposed it didn’t matter.
“What time shall we get going?” I asked him. I
reached behind my ear and scratched at my scalp. I thought of all the things I
had to do during the following week. I had to work out the loan
situation—figure out how I was going to pay it. I had to meet with Carol and
begin the process of re-working the upstairs studio to make sure it was appropriate
for the dancers. Maybe I would need to work with a marketer who could upsell me
to other ballerinas?
I didn’t know how to market myself to little girls
in tutus, but there had to be a way.
“Well. I guess we can get back now. I have a long
day tomorrow, and I’d love to re-group tonight.” His eyes were hot on me. “If that’s okay with you?”
“Perfect. I have a ton of stuff to get done, as
well. You know. Finding a new studio. Learning how to pay for it. All that.”
“You’ve taken out a loan?”
I nodded, frowning at him. I didn’t want to tell him
anything about my life, even though I knew not telling him anything about me
had sort of gotten me into the mess in the first place. If he had only known it
was my dance studio—if he had only known I was a dancer—perhaps none of this
would have happened. “I’m going to pack up my stuff.”
I packed swiftly, stuffing things into my suitcase.
Drew got dressed, jeans and a t-shirt—something I’d never seen him wear. I
watched as he casually maneuvered his suitcase toward
certainty that we cared for each other. I understood the wealth that surrounded
us, that tormented me. I understood that he was probably just using me for sex.
I was good at sex, sure. I had a great body, yes. But I wanted to be thought of
as more than that.
But what did I, really, have to offer? I was just a fucked up girl with a rough past. A fucked up girl who
hadn’t made it as a dancer, who was probably just going to end up broke and
dead, like her father. I shivered, backing away from the bed. Drew sensed the
disturbance, but didn’t say anything.
I sat at the table and poured myself a cup of coffee,
piling food on my plate. Drew picked up his carefully made breakfast in bed
tray and walked toward me, sitting across from me at the same place he had sat
yesterday. It was like all that hard work, all that bonding was falling away. I
blinked at him as if he were a stranger. But he wasn’t. We had things in common.
My subconscious was trying to work against me. But even if it was true, even if
we had things in common, it couldn’t matter.
A sense of quiet worked over the room. I chewed my
food slowly, carefully, not wanting him to think I was overzealous with my
eating. (Of course, when I was alone, I always ate quickly, fanatically. Not
with him; not with him.)
Drew, unsure of what to do, began talking about his
life—about his real life outside of the realm of this beautiful,
millionaire-worthy hotel room. “You know. I’m going to finally be able to move
into my new home in Chicago. That nice building I was telling you about in
Wicker Park? It hasn’t been available for all this time, and I’ve just been
waiting and waiting.” He shook his head.
I hummed into my meal, raising my eyebrow. “That
sucks.”
“It didn’t suck so bad . I
hadn’t lived in such a little, cute- sy place like our
apartment building in many, many years.”
“You got rich pretty early, yeah? I mean. You were
rich by the time you were my age. I’m twenty-four, in case you don’t remember.”
Drew considered this, considered the fact that I was
talking so quietly, without any enthusiasm. He furrowed his brow, but he didn’t
mention anything. “I suppose I was rich when I was twenty-five. But twenty-four. That year was tough.”
He was teasing me, I knew. He was giving me confidence, telling me it was okay to be who I was. But I
didn’t know if it was because he wanted more sex before we left, or if it was
because he actually, truly liked me. I supposed it didn’t matter.
“What time shall we get going?” I asked him. I
reached behind my ear and scratched at my scalp. I thought of all the things I
had to do during the following week. I had to work out the loan
situation—figure out how I was going to pay it. I had to meet with Carol and
begin the process of re-working the upstairs studio to make sure it was appropriate
for the dancers. Maybe I would need to work with a marketer who could upsell me
to other ballerinas?
I didn’t know how to market myself to little girls
in tutus, but there had to be a way.
“Well. I guess we can get back now. I have a long
day tomorrow, and I’d love to re-group tonight.” His eyes were hot on me. “If that’s okay with you?”
“Perfect. I have a ton of stuff to get done, as
well. You know. Finding a new studio. Learning how to pay for it. All that.”
“You’ve taken out a loan?”
I nodded, frowning at him. I didn’t want to tell him
anything about my life, even though I knew not telling him anything about me
had sort of gotten me into the mess in the first place. If he had only known it
was my dance studio—if he had only known I was a dancer—perhaps none of this
would have happened. “I’m going to pack up my stuff.”
I packed swiftly, stuffing things into my suitcase.
Drew got dressed, jeans and a t-shirt—something I’d never seen him wear. I
watched as he casually maneuvered his suitcase toward
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