Hooked #3 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 3) by Claire Adams Page A

it. If Mel had
known, then screw it. It had all happened; it was done. I couldn’t roll over
now; not yet. If I went back to Indianapolis because Drew had taken all I had
ever known, I would ultimately show Drew I was weak—that I couldn’t handle his
prowess, his money. I cleared my throat and stomped to the doorway, thinking
about his sleeping form just a few doors down. His incredible
body, his furrowed eyebrows. I shuddered. I would go into the world and
find a new dance studio. I couldn’t mope anymore; this was the world I was
meant to have. And screw Drew for letting him take it away from me—if only
momentarily.
    I ripped into the cold Wicker Park morning, looking
at my watch for a moment to discover that it was only nine in the morning. Rush hour. People swarmed around me, dressed in business
attire and huffing with a sense of seriousness. My eyes were wide as I pushed
through them, exerting my stance in their world. I parsed through the Wicker
Park streets, knocking on my leasing agents’ doors. “You have a moment?” I
asked the secretary each time with my smile gleaming, my teeth white. They
always had exactly one moment, and I always asked them detailed information
about their properties and their rents. I wrote everything down in a notebook
and nodded with a sense of importance as I placed the information on the pad.
“Thank you for your time,” I murmured after each conversation before scurrying
out into the world, my heart beating fast and my brain knowing that I could
never—ever—afford whichever place I’d just been offered.
    After a rough morning, I decided to march back to my
apartment and take a hot shower. I thought of the tea bags in the corner, the
leftover cinnamon roll from a previous morning. I could have a nice early
afternoon with myself, regroup. Catch up on some moping time. I deserved it,
after all. I grabbed my keys and flung through my apartment door, inhaling the
unique, personal smell of my apartment. Boomer meowed at me with a bit of
resentment, and I held him close, allowing him to lick my salty finger.
    I placed a kettle on the stove and walked aimlessly,
side-to-side, peering down at my notepad. I tapped my pen against my lip,
considering rents and loans. I didn’t know much about that world. In my head,
my first instinct was to ask Drew about it. Surely, he knew all about loans,
about the unique process behind the dark shades of the bank. But then, I
remembered to hate him. I shuddered deep in my stomach.
    The pot of water was finished, and I poured it
earnestly into my teacup, allowing the tea to steep
for a moment. I had been in contact with a few of my dance students in the
recent days, trying to feel out whether or not they’d be interested in more
dance classes. Only a few of them—mostly the all-too-serious high school girls,
had continued on with other dancers throughout the park. “But the expenses,
Molly,” their mothers told me over the phone. “You tell me if you ever get back
up and running.” They seemed to assure me like they would assure their own
daughters; they would keep me in business if they could.
    I sipped at the tea, feeling the aroma from the
herbs emanate over my face. I inhaled, exhaled, allowing my eyes to dip closed.
A quick nap, perhaps, before I exerted myself into that world once more?
    Suddenly, there was a tremendous bang on the door.
My heart jumped into my throat, and I nearly spilled the tea down my dress. I set
it on the counter and looked toward Boomer with furrowed eyebrows, as if to
complain.
    My soft feet led me toward the door and I peered
through the peephole. There, on the other side of the wooden slate, stood Drew. Tall, stoic; with that hint of a smile peppered on his lips. My heart was pounding faster and faster in my chest, and I felt a strange
passion in my body, a tingling in my breasts. Something sexual stirred in me. I
cleared my throat and pulled at the handle.
    He stood in his pleasing grey suit. His hands