Page 12 of Sweet (Chicago Underground 7)
Which was true. Vicarious orgasms had that effect, I learned.
Drew picked up the ice pack from the bed where I must have set it down. Like he didn’t have a care in the world, he was casual, tossing the blue plastic compress and catching it in his palm. “Works like a charm.”
Though the expression on his face said he wasn’t talking about ice packs at all. He winked at me as he shut the door behind him, and their muted words turned to work.
Arrogant man. No, that wasn’t right. Confident, charming man who found a friend in everyone he met, who smoothed over feathers that Philip was forever ruffling. If I pursued a relationship, even a purely physical one, I would fall for him.
Hell, I already had.
Which wasn’t a good thing. When our brother Colin had fallen for a girl, Philip had almost gotten her killed. If I cared about Drew, I would leave him alone.
And yet, I couldn’t resist. I may have lived with luxury and excess for over a decade, but the years before that had been barren. For those few years in a group home before Philip had gotten me free, I had learned to take what I was given and steal what wasn’t.
Drew was a banquet when I hadn’t eaten all day. I was a poor girl who didn’t have the will to pass him by, even knowing he wasn’t for me.
Chapter Five
The next day after practice, I followed Lindsey out to the space to let. We parked on a sunny street lined with thick, evenly spaced trees and red brick townhomes. As a large truck pulled away from the meters, we nabbed parking spots one behind the other.
“No parking lot,” I commented as we crossed the street.
She snorted. “In this neighborhood? You’ll be lucky to get a few parking spaces in the garage out back.”
“Yeah, but parents need to drop off their kids.”
“And they can,” she said, gesturing to the fire zone in front of a courtyard area. “This is what everyone else in the city has to do.”
Resigned, I pushed through the throng of people in front of the coffee shop we passed. They had figured out a way to get there, and of course my customers would too. We crossed the courtyard, which, I had to admit, would be a lovely space for the girls to wait to be picked up. And after Lindsey unlocked the door and let us inside, all my worries faded.
Just as Lindsey had said, the place had been a yoga studio at the height of Chicago’s minite
ch boom but had lain dormant ever since. A beautiful wooden floor would need to be refinished and then covered with more knee-friendly material. I would install barres, which probably meant redoing the wall of windows. But it was perfect. Any place would need some renovations, and besides, something about this place just felt right. Warm and hopeful…or maybe I was projecting. I didn’t want to jinx it, but I had a feeling good things would happen here.
And the apartment above the studio was icing on the cake. It had been some sort of lounge, complete with beanbags and hanging beads in the doorway, but it had all the right parts for a living space, as Lindsey had said, and that was exactly how I planned to use it.
My savings would cover the rent on the whole space for a year. Not a huge cushion, but I had to have some faith that my business would succeed. I had to trust.
After I returned home, I stayed up late reading the contracts and rental agreement. The phone sat beside me, a silent testament to where my thoughts strayed so often. He was a busy man, hard at work, and if he was too tired to call, well, that was fine by me. But oh, I wanted him to. I lay back on the bed, stretching my shoulders, and wanted, wanted, wanted him to call.
The phone vibrated in my hand, startling me. I must have drifted off for a minute, as my brain was sluggish to start again. I checked the screen. Drew.
“Hello?” My voice was thready, not quite there.
There was a pause. “It’s too late.”
“No, no.” I turned and blinked at the bright red dashes on the alarm clock. One a.m. Okay, it was too late. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah.” He swore softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I just got home, and I didn’t want you to think that I had forgotten or that I wasn’t serious about you.”
Like a splash of water on my face, and I was awake. “You’re serious about me?”
Silence, and then, “Yes.”
I rubbed my eyes, shaking off the remnants of sleep. “Okay, you have to help me out here. I understand why you didn’t want to start mauling me in my own home, but if you were really interested in me all this time, why didn’t you ask me out? I’ve been out of the game for a while, but I’m fairly sure that’s the typical progression of things.”
“You’re not a typical woman, Rose.” His voice was dry.
He was talking about my brother. Me? I was as common as snow in a Chicago winter. As drab too. He seemed to have heard my unvoiced denial, because he explained.
