Hooked (3 page)

I pulled at my yoga pants and tight shirt a bit as
we stood there together, eyeing each other. I felt each silent moment pass;
each of them felt so heavy. I blinked my long eyelashes at him and whipped my
blond hair around my shoulders. His face was glowing in the new moonlight. I
had lost track of time; certainly it was nearly eleven in the evening. I
would be up early, of course; planning
, teaching. My mind
was rushing with the business of it all.

But suddenly, Drew began to creep forward. He was
closing his eyes, moving his face into mine. His lips felt hot, rich on my own,
and we crept into earnest kisses. He reached around my neck, holding his hand
there, massaging my tense shoulders. I felt myself sigh into him, feeling the
way his tongue nipped in and out of my mouth, playing with me.
Tempting me.
I felt such stirring, such sexuality in me. My
pussy became wet, hot.
 

But then; he broke. He was breathing heavily also. I
could see such desire in his eyes. He wanted me. Why was he moving so fast? Why
didn’t I care?

“Do you think—
“ he
began.
His eyes skirted left to right. “Do you think we could go upstairs?
To your place?”

I breathed in a cool sip of air, trying to clear my
head. I turned my face toward the street, watching the rushing cars pass by. I
thought of the mess upstairs; the oatmeal I had spilled earlier that morning,
the empty wine bottles collapsing in a heap against the microwave. I shuddered,
thinking about making quick love to the man before me—this most beautiful man.
It all seemed too terrible to bear. I closed my eyes, centering myself. “I
don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said firmly. Some small part of me rejoiced.
I was out of it; I was safe.

“Are you sure?” Drew
said, nearly hanging his head down like a dog.

“Yes,” I said again, raising one of my eyebrows high
on my head. I could be sassy. I remembered my college-aged self, how I had put
my hand out to only the best, the sexiest.
The real men who
could handle my unique, supple sexuality.
This man, this Drew; he could
handle it.
But not now.
Not now.

“Well then. I will go about this a different way.”
Drew tapped his foot, looking around him. He shot his arm out. “I’m just going
to go ahead and be that guy—that traditionalist. Why don’t you go on a date
with me? Friday night? Isn’t that when the kids are going out these days?” His
eyes flashed.

I considered this for a moment, tracing my tongue
around the inside of my teeth. I could still taste him. I wanted him. “I don’t
know,” I said. “I always have so much to do on Saturday mornings.” I remembered
the tiresome day that had come before; the constant classes, the constant
complaints.
The constant pliés and
reléves
.
The pointed toes; the classical music.

“Then Saturday evening, a week from
today.
If I can wait to see you that long,” Drew said
earnestly, moving toward me. God I wanted his lips on my lips. “Come on. If you
don’t agree, I’ll just start stalking you or something. I have to see you.
You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in all of Chicago.”

I knew this was not
true. I had seen a million more beautiful women than me only just that day.
Five just in the coffee shop.
But his voice seemed true, not
riddled with any sort of falsehood, with lies. His eyes shone brightly.

I thought for a moment. “I don’t know—
“ I
sputtered again, unsure. My thoughts were rushing around
in my head. Finally, seeing the desperation, the loneliness deep in this man’s
eyes—a man, not a boy like so many of my last pursuits!—I said okay. I nodded
my head languidly, rolling my eyes a little bit. “Saturday night. Sure.” I
nodded firmly. My mind was screaming; I’m going on a date! I’m going on a date!
With a real person!

“Wait—
“ Drew
interrupted,
reaching into his pocket. He turned his phone toward me. “Can I have your
number? You know. So we can make plans for next week.”

My heart was humming in my chest. How long had it
been since a boy asked for my number? I tapped it into his iPhone, watching how
my slim, white fingers worked with such femininity. I made a mental note to
think about the intricacies of sex, to remember just how it all happened; it
had been too long.

Drew leaned down as I handed him his phone once
more. He kissed me for a subtle moment on the side of the mouth. A horn blazed
by us, bringing us back to the city, away from the moment. I swallowed, looking
up at him.
Nodding.
I was going to see him again,
wasn’t I? I thought. Or would he disappear, like a memory?

I turned my back then, and pushed my key through the
lock. I was trembling a little, and the key was difficult—like a puzzle.
Finally, the door lurched open for me and I stepped through, watching as my
shadow careened over the tile floor.

“Good night, sweet Molly,” were the words that I
heard him say in the end, as I pushed the door closed and dismissed him,
feeling the strange empowerment of saying “no.”

CHAPTER THREE

I took the stairs to my fourth-level apartment. The
elevator always took incredibly long to reach me, and it had gotten stuck more
than once, with me on the inside. I had grown accustomed to blaming my elevator
for everything. Every time I was late.

I was huffing and puffing when I reached my sad,
gray door. I opened it with the other key and immediately heard the shrill
“meow” emanating from somewhere deep in the crevice of my tiny, hole-like
apartment.
“Boomer?”
I called out. I tossed my keys on
the kitchen table, noting the crumbs, the wrappers that Drew would have seen,
had he come upstairs. I made a mental note to always clean up after myself—just
in case of chance encounters. What a slob he would have thought I was!

I walked toward the couch, still hearing the meows.
I reached down behind the chair, wrapping my hands around the fat, grey cat. I
had adopted him when I moved to the city as my first faux-friend—until I
actually found friends of my own. But, alas, that had never happened; I had
always been too bogged down with “making Chicago work” by becoming a successful
dance instructor.
Proving to my mother that I could get out
of the ravine that was Indiana and truly become strong and hearty in this world
of continuous momentum.

I pet the cat while setting up my Netflix feed. The
cat’s rough tongue scrubbed against my finger and palm.
“Yeah.
I would much rather hang out with you,” I whispered to Boomer, not really
believing it. “That man is probably a rascal, anyway.
Over
thirty years old, and trying to come up to my apartment after a first
encounter—a first non-date!”
I spoke on and on to little Boomer, who had
not a care in the world.

I reached down toward my phone, noting that Drew
hadn’t texted me yet to give me his number. I already deemed him lost in a sea
of other lost men all throughout the city. I hadn’t a friend anywhere.

Sure; I had Melanie, sometimes. Melanie was my dance
assistant. She had had a child the previous year, and was constantly busy. Just
that day, she hadn’t come into the dance studio because her baby had been very
ill. I missed her, of course, now that the baby and that chubby husband of hers
were happy, living out their lives in their lake-side apartment. (I was sure
the husband did something very, very important, but I could never really get
the information out of Melanie. Melanie was a closed vault about that man.)

I thought about texting Melanie about this strange
encounter with this Drew fellow. But I knew she would never message back. She
was probably covered in spit-up and could not be bothered with the
rough-and-tumble information of my personal non-sex life.

Melanie knew, of course, that I hadn’t had sex in a
great number of years; something
like—
oh—three.
Or four.
I rubbed at my inner thigh, remembering the
tantalizing, college sex I had had all those years before. Until there had been
Kevin, the boyfriend.
The college student.
He was
majoring in business when I met him; a hot, successful guy who lived with my
college friend’s boyfriend. We had hit it off instantly, nearly. I remembered
rubbing myself over him, forcing him to cum in the back of the library during
finals week, when everyone else was studying in other book aisles and at other
tables.

I
shuddered
just thinking
about it. But then, Kevin had grown ever-so-lazy. He had stopped trying in our
relationship, certainly. But he had further stopped trying in school. He had
dropped out during junior year, turning instead to a lucrative career selling
marijuana. He had grown a bit pudgy from all the munching, all the chips and
college pizza. His metabolism wasn’t riding along with him anymore; it had dropped
him off, forced him into the dark, brooding,
nearly
-fat
man. And I, the perfect dance major, continually going to rehearsals, eating
like
a bird, staying away from the “green” stuff, felt I had
to dump him. He was lazy; he was going to ruin me. I was certain of it. (Of
course, I could ruin myself just as well. And I did.)

Of course, my mother had been certain that Kevin
would ruin me too. Since the day she had met him, she had told me he was going
to ruin me, ruin my dance career. In the end, I wasn’t sure if I actually
blamed him for the fact that I didn’t get any big calls out of college, that I
had turned to teaching dance instead of performing it. Sure; maybe if I hadn’t
indulged a few times on the burritos he was shoving into his mouth. Sure; if I hadn’t
skipped a few rehearsals, just to laze with him on the couch. But I had thought
he was the love of my life!
Just a twenty-one-year-old-girl.
What had I known of the world?

My apartment was in a sad state. Throw
pillows—gifted to me the last time my mother had redone my childhood home—were
strewn all over the floor. I started to clean, then, trying to see my apartment
through the eyes of Drew. I wiped the crumbs from the table, allowing Boomer to
leap up on the wooden table to lick the stick away. His dark eyes were on me
the whole time, as if he was also centered in on helping me, working to make me
less of a sad-sack and more of a real, sexual person. I imagined him speaking
to me, “Come on, you sad sack. Pull yourself together, and get out there!” I whipped
my blonde hair over my shoulder, noting the way I looked in the mirror. Good.
Good. I was in the prime of my life! I needed to start living!

I went to bed after gazing at the Netflix queue, my
mind in a rushing haze. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but Drew; the cut of
his jaw, the way he smiled at me when I made a joke. I felt such an air of
anticipation,
I couldn’t even hear the dialogue, the music
in any of the episodes I watched. Finally, bringing Boomer up to my chest, I
fell instantly asleep, looking forward to a full day of daydreaming the next
day—when the girls didn’t come to the studio and I could be safe in my head,
worrying and re-working what would happen during Drew and I’s date on the
following Saturday.

CHAPTER FOUR

The vibrations started at five in the morning. I
felt them through my pillowcase. With my eyes closed, I started tapping my hand
around the bedspread, searching. I felt Boomer, who growled at me in his sleep,
certain that I was an attack. My eyes fully opened now, I finally saw the
flashing light. I grabbed my phone and brought it up to my face. Without my
contacts in, I could hardly read it. The number was unknown.

I answered it,
groggily, expecting the worst. “Hello?” My voice croaked.

“Hey.
Babe.”
The voice was familiar, laid-back.
Confident.

I tried to parse through it, to make sense of it. I
rubbed at my forehead.
“Um.
Hi,” I said, trying to
keep the conversation
flowing.

“So.
I know we agreed to have a date on Saturday. But I’ve been up all night,
thinking.
Talking.
Drinking.
Thinking about you, mostly.
I wanted to know if you could go
to the Cubs game with me today. Wrigley Field, you know? I haven’t been since I
was a kid, and I’m a mad fan.” He was speaking quickly, as if he were hopped up
on many different drugs or constant cups of coffees.

My heart was racing, realizing who it was. Drew. He
had called me at five in the morning. What was going on? Why was I smiling?
Boomer, annoyed with the commotion, hopped down from the bed and sauntered out
of the room. “The Cubs game, huh?” I said. I had never been to one either,
always too broke to toss the money over for a ticket. I looked outside, at the
darkness, imagining us beneath the sun in Wrigley Field.
Sharing
a beer, a Chicago dog.
I imagined the day I was meant to have stretched
before me, at least in the hours after my first few classes I was to teach in
the morning; the hours and hours of television, of bagel-eating, of thinking
about how my life hadn’t worked out the way I had planned. “That sounds fun,” I
murmured, thinking that I was saving myself FROM myself. I was doing the right
thing; carpe diem.