Chapter Twenty-Five
The morning flies by, with Bentley taking me all over the city. First we got coffee at the best little mom and pop coffee shop I have ever been to. Then, we walked hand and hand through the heart of the city, Bentley pulling me into some of the most amazing boutiques Chicago has to offer and trying to buy me everything I showed even the smallest bit of interest in. Of course, I didn't actually let him buy me even one thing, insisting over and over that he has done more than enough already.
When he sticks me in an elevator and sends me hundreds of feet in the air, I don't have a care in the world, other than how incredible it feels to be with him. That is, until he leads me out onto the famous Sky Deck. Completely made of glass, it gives the illusion that you are hanging above the city and I guess in a way you are. The moment we step inside the glass box, my anxiety kicks in. I have never been one for heights and immediately my mind begins to race with worse case scenarios. The biggest one being the glass falling out from underneath me and falling to my death.
“You've never been to the Sky Deck before?” Bentley asks, coming up behind me where I have my forehead resting on the outer pane of glass, taking deep breaths trying to calm myself as I keep my eyes firmly closed.
“Never.” I breathe out a shaky breath.
“And you're scared of heights.” He laughs lightly, stepping up next to me. I peek one eye open just in time to see him rest his forehead on the glass also, mirroring my actions.
“Not a fan.” I admit, tensing slightly when he steps closer to me, the glass making a noise under his feet causing my anxiety to sky rocket again.
“You are perfectly safe.” He reassures me, stepping behind me. Reaching around my body, he takes one of my hands in his and then the other, flattening my palms against the glass in front of me. “Open your eyes.” He whispers against my cheek.
Peeling them back open, I glance to the side to see his face hovering next to mine. “Now look.” He says, flattening his hands over mine against the glass and dropping his chin to my shoulder.
Hesitantly I look down, the ground seeming to shift when I do. My knees shake under my weight but Bentley holds me in place against the glass. “Don't focus on the distance, focus on everything you can see.” He says, pushing further into my backside causing my body to become almost flush with the glass.
He drops one hand from the glass and firmly wraps his arm around my waist, his fingers spreading out against my stomach. “Tell me what you see.” He says, tucking me more securely into his body.
“Um....” I look out, trying to focus on one thing rather than the ground that seems to be closing in on me. “I see buildings.” I swallow hard, scanning my eyes along the city spread out before me. “I see.....” I break off, for the first time really grasping the view. “It's beautiful.” My words get lost somewhere in the space between us and I brave a look down, immediately regretting it as Bentley's grip tightens against my stomach, holding me in place as my knees weaken.
“Don't look down.” He laughs lightly in my hair.
“Good idea.” I let out a shaky laugh and try to refocus again.
“I think you need something to distract you. Perhaps you can appreciate it more if you are not focused on falling.” He whispers into my neck, pushing his lips gently against my pounding pulse. Trailing his lips upward, he nibbles lightly on my ear lobe before removing his other hand from mine. I allow my hands to fall from the glass as he turns my face inward and kisses along my jaw, slowly turning my body completely before finally taking my mouth.
“How do you feel now?” He breathes against my lips, running his tongue along the lower one before pressing his firmly against mine once more.
“Better.” I manage to get out just as his tongue slips inside of my mouth and his hand slides around my waist, coming to stop just at the small of my back as he secures my body to his.
“And now?” He asks, kissing me more deeply, working my mouth in long seductive sweeps that has me thinking of only one thing when he finally pulls away.
“I'm thinking if you keep kissing me like that, the only other place we will be going today is back to your room.” I threaten, feeling the smile on his lips as he gives me one more sweet kiss and then takes a step back.
“Come on.” He says, taking my hand and leading me out of the glass box of death and safely back inside of the building.
The next stop is lunch at one of the cutest little outdoor restaurants I have ever eaten at. Then more walking around the city and talking. He doesn't say much about himself and seems more interested in me. While I have never been one to open up to people, especially a man, I find that talking to him is one of the most natural things I have ever done.
By five o'clock, my feet are tired but other than that, I feel ready to take on the world. As Bentley leads me hand and hand past Wrigley Field, I expect him to keep walking, so when he veers towards the field and drags me along with him, I am more than a little confused.
“What are we doing?” I ask, struggling to match his long strides.
“A game is getting ready to start.” He smiles back at me, pulling me up to his side.
“Do you have tickets?” I ask, just trying to figure out his game plan.
“Nope. Flying by the seat of my pants here.” He smiles wider and then leads me to the ticket counter where he proceeds to buy two tickets, insisting that they put us all the way at the top which surprises me. I would expect a man like him to take no less than the best seats in the house.
After leading me through the crowds of Cubs fans making their way inside, he pulls me inside the souvenir shop and insists on buying us shirts and hats for the game. While I think it is completely unnecessary, I decide not to ruin his fun and even let him slide the blue hat onto my head once I have slipped on the t-shirt he got me with
CUBS
written across the front in large letters.
“Happy?” I ask, reaching back to pull my hair through the back of the hat. Not missing my chance to take in his appearance, I let my eyes travel his body, taking a sharp inhale at how amazingly sexy he looks. The blue of his shirt matches his eyes perfectly and when he flips his hat on backwards and gives me a goofy grin, I all but melt onto the floor.
“Extremely.” He smiles, fixing the bill of my hat. “I think you should wear this for the rest of the night.” He winks, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as he us leads away from the shop.
After stopping for beer and hot dogs, we finally reach our seats just before the opening pitch. While we are fairly high up, I can still see the field perfectly, though the players look pretty small. Looking around, I notice almost immediately that there is next to no one around us. Apparently no one shares Bentley's love for the nose bleeds and as such, the majority of the people near us are in the section below a few feet away.
There is a couple of people scattered throughout the top section but for the most part, we are pretty much alone. I glance over at Bentley who has his eyes on the game. He flicks them towards me and then holds up his hot dog, taking a huge bite.
I can't help but laugh at how goofy he's acting. It's so strange. I had him pegged for this controlling, powerful, dominant man, and while he is all those things, he's also so much more. He's sweet and playful and has the most infectious laugh I have ever heard. The more I am with him, the more I see him as a
real
person and not just some rich asshole.
Turning my attention back to the game, I proceed to enjoy my very first baseball game hotdog, which Bentley seems to think is the weirdest thing in the world. Apparently I am the only Chicago resident that has never had a hotdog at Wrigley Field. We make small talk while working through three more beers. I have never been a fan of beer but I realize very quickly that once you get past the first, it's actually not that bad. And even though baseball is not my favorite thing in the world, I am still having an amazing time.
“My dad used to bring me here when I was a kid.” Bentley finally speaks, after a long stretch of silence. I don't know if it's the drinks or maybe just that he feels more comfortable with me, but the moment he starts talking, I find myself hanging onto every word.
“We didn't have much money growing up but whenever he got the chance to bring me here, he did. Of course, we always sat up here because we couldn't afford the more expensive tickets.” He says, reminding me of the only other thing he's ever told me about his dad.
“I thought your dad was in politics?” I ask, not being an expert on politicians but assuming they make enough to take their child to a baseball game and get decent seats.
“My father was in politics.” He glances towards me. “My dad was a factory worker.” He says, leaving me confused by his statement.
Laughing lightly, he turns his attention back out to the game but to my surprise, continues talking. “My biological father was Jack Monroe. My mom met him their senior year of high school and fell head over heels. They conceived me while in college and Jack decided that was his moment to walk away. He left her. He left us.” He says, his face expressionless.
“I'm sorry to hear that.” I say, reaching over to run my hand along his shoulder.
“Don't be.” He says, turning his eyes towards me. “My father, was Lucas Reed. My mom met him a couple of years after I was born. He accepted me as his own and raised me as such. Jack signed over his rights and Lucas adopted me when I was six. Officially making me a Reed.”
“Did you ever get to know Jack?” I ask, curiosity making it impossible not to push for more information.
“He decided my Junior year of high school that he was ready to be a dad. By that point, I wanted nothing to do with him but for my mom's sake, I tried. We talked here and there through college and he even made it out to a few of my games but it never really amounted to anything beyond that. He died a year after...” He pauses. “After I left the league.” He skirts around his injury and keeps going, clearly not wanting me to pry for more. It's easy to see in that one small statement how much he misses the sport. A pain I am very familiar with.
“And your dad?” I ask.
“Passed away two years after that. Heart attack.” He says on a heavy shrug.
Not sure what to say or do, I reach across and take his hand, entwining my fingers with his. “He sounds like he was an amazing man.” I say, leaning into him.
“He was.” He says, turning his face inward. “He would have loved you.” He smiles. I can't stop the rush of excitement that runs through my veins at his words. Even when having such a serious conversation, he still finds a way to make it okay, to make me feel like I'm worth sharing the pain with. Or at least, some of the pain. It's clear to see his largest wound is one that has simply been bandaged up and has never fully healed.
The rest of the game goes by in a blur. The conversation quickly lightens after that and by the time we exit an hour later, we are both a bit intoxicated and laughing like teenagers as we make our way out of the stadium.
“There's some place I want to show you. If you're up for it.” He says, leading me down North Clark and then left on Addison when I agree.
We only walk about three blocks when Bentley comes to a stop outside of a little brick building with blacked out windows and an old rickety fence surrounding the outskirts of the property. “It's fine, I promise.” He laughs, catching my worried expression.
Tightening his grip on my fingers, he leads me down the cracked sidewalk towards the building. The closer we get, the more I can hear the sounds coming from the small establishment, but it isn't until Bentley pulls open the door that the full effect of the music streams all around me. Jazz. I know it the moment the saxophone kicks in.
Leading me further inside, I immediately squint through the smoke filled room trying to take in my surroundings. It's a little room, an old bar lining the right side, round tables lining the left. The room is lit only by dim red lights and makes it difficult for my eyes to adjust at first. Bentley takes my hand and escorts me to the bar, ordering two beers from the old white haired bartender before leading me to the far corner of the room, where a vacant table is shoved up against the far wall closest to the stage.
I know why he brought me here without him needing to tell me further. I can tell by his ease, the way he spoke to the bartender and the way he commands the room, that he has been here many times before. No doubt one of the places his mom brought him as a child and somewhere he has continued to frequent through the years.