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

building—the place he would no longer call home. Perhaps he never
had. I walked up the steps, dragging my suitcase behind me. I wasn’t sure why I
was crying. I felt such a desolate loneliness as I hoisted myself up to the
fourth floor alone.
    I entered my apartment to find Boomer on the table,
to find that Mel had come—just as I knew she would—to feed the cat and give him
water. She left me a note on the table. “Love you, Mol. Fed Boom. Let me know
how the loan comes through. Mel and Jackson.” To the
side, Jackson had scrawled something in purple crayon, leaving his mark. What a
strange thing, that a baby and a mother had brought brightness and laughter to
my desolate apartment.
    I went to bed early that evening. I left my windows
wide open, allowing the surprisingly warm wind to waft into my apartment. I had
been feeling stifled, and each time the new city oxygen entered, I could
breathe a bit easier.

 
    CHAPTER
ELEVEN
    The next morning I woke up early and went for a run,
trying to balance out the wayward feelings of my brain. I ran by the new studio,
where I was certain I could begin construction later that month. I tried to
imagine teaching new students there, loving my life there. It was difficult to
see into the future.
    I jogged on, past the many parks, the rushing and
talking people. It was still very early in the morning, but I knew already that
it was going to be another brilliant, hot day—another Indian summer.
    Back at my apartment I made coffee and read for a
bit, scratching at Boomer’s neck and trying not to think about Drew. I wondered
what he was doing, what he was thinking. I wondered if he missed me. I wondered
if I would have the strength to avoid his text messages and calls in the coming
days if, in fact, he decided not to avoid me. Would I have the strength to
avoid such supreme sexuality, such grand times? For what,
anyway? What was I living for?
    Sometime at around one or two in the afternoon,
after I had run my thoughts into the ground too many times, forcing myself into
a sort of frenzy, my phone began to ring. My eyes widened. I reached for it,
realizing in that moment that I truly didn’t have the strength to avoid him;
that if it was him calling, I would answer and give my
entire life to him.
    But it wasn’t him. It was the bank. About the loan.
    “Hello, Molly? Molly Atwood?”
    “Yes. That’s me.”
    “Right. Well. We wanted to call and thank you for already paying back that loan. What a
marvelous turn around. This is really going to benefit your credit.”
    I raised my eyebrows, turning my head out to the
balcony toward the sun. What? “I’m sorry? Paid back the loan?”
    I had received the loan and it sat in my bank
account, waiting for me to do something with it—to create with it. However, I
had to create with the loan before I would be able to make any money to pay it
back. That would be—oh—five years from now. Maybe a little
more.
    “The loan has been paid back to us. Thank you.”
    And the bank manager, a bit confused by my words,
hung up the phone. I stood, perturbed. What the hell? Had there been some sort
of mistake? I was continually stressing about paying that loan back; I was
putting serious pressure on myself. Here I was, struggling with the fact that I
had an extra 10,000 dollars in my account—something that I would ultimately
have to pay back with interest.
    But now I didn’t have to.
    I walked out to the balcony and gazed out at the
city before me. I sat on the ground, watching the cars shuffle past. Boomer
sauntered behind me and started crying at my back. “I know,” I murmured to him
as I scratched his ears and head. “I know.”
    I remembered those days, just a few weeks before,
when someone—someone who had ultimately been Drew—had stood on his balcony,
talking about me with Marty. “That girl he had slept with.” I wondered if Drew
was talking about me in that manner, now. “That girl he had taken to Iowa. For a scandalous vacation