Love Lessons

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

He was smiling as he spoke, but the quip confused her a bit. Was he implying that he would have liked an excuse to visit her apartment again? She almost told him that he didn’t need an excuse to drop by anytime, but she swallowed the words for fear that they would sound too suggestive.

“How’s your class going?” she asked instead, steering the conversation back into familiar territory.

“I’m still not plan

ning a career in biological sciences, but I’m hanging in there. I’ve got a test Friday. I don’t suppose you’d be available to quiz me Thursday evening?” he asked hopefully. “I’ll spring for dinner.”

She almost agreed immediately. At the last moment she remembered why she could not help him. “I’m sorry. I can’t on Thursday.”

“No problem,” he assured her with a shrug of acceptance. “You have to work, huh?”

“No, actually I have a date.” She wasn’t sure why she had told him that, but she suspected she wanted him to know that he wasn’t the only one with a social life.

She couldn’t quite read the expression that briefly crossed his face. She hoped it wasn’t surprise, since that wouldn’t have been particularly flattering.

“Oh. Well, I hope you have a great time. This is just a weekly quiz, and with the study tips you’ve already given me, I’m sure I’ll do fine.”

“Maybe I could make some time—”

Mike rested a hand on her arm, just beneath the hem of her three-quarter-sleeve knit top, and shook his head, smiling faintly. “I can handle it, Catherine. I think I was just looking for an excuse to spend another pleasant couple of hours with you and Norman.”

She had read about it in novels. Had heard it described in songs. Had watched it happen in movies. But she had never experienced it herself. Had never even quite believed it was real, and not just a romantic fantasy. But now—with Mike’s hand on her bare arm and ripples of decidedly electric sensations running from that point of contact to somewhere deep inside her—now she believed that a simple touch could be so powerful.

“Norman and I would enjoy that,” she said, and no one would have called her voice quite normal that time. There was a definite hoarse edge to it.

Mike looked at his hand on her arm for several long beats. And then his eyes rose slowly to her face. “So would I.”

They stood there just like that, looking into each other’s eyes for a few more moments. And then a door slammed somewhere below them, followed by a burst of laughter and conversation. The noise penetrated the silence that had fallen between them, causing them both to blink and move apart. Mike’s hand fell to his side.

“I’d better go,” he said. “I have a class tonight.”

“And I’m sure Norman is ready for his dinner.”

“I’ll see you around, then.”

“Yes. Good luck with your test.”

“Thanks. I’ll, uh, let you know how it goes.”

“Yes, do that.” Catherine turned abruptly and opened her door, stepping into the apartment before she could make a bigger fool of herself. What was it about Mike Clancy that turned her into such a blithering idiot?

Mike had a good reason to be in the apartment next to Catherine’s Thursday evening, he assured himself. He had several minor repairs to complete before the painters and carpet layers came in to finish the apartment for its new occupant. He would have been working in that apartment even if he hadn’t known Catherine was going out with someone that evening.

Whatever his reason for being in that place at that time, he walked out of the empty apartment just as Catherine and her escort stepped through her door on their way to the parking lot.

Mike’s first thought was that the dude was too old for her. Too stuffy. Only then did he reluctantly concede that he looked like a nice guy with a friendly face and nice gray eyes. He supposed most people would think this man and Catherine made a very attractive couple.

As for Catherine—she looked amazing. He had only seen her in casual clothing before. The red dress she wore this evening made his breath catch hard in his chest. It was cut into a scoop at the front, and the hem fell into little points that drew his eyes down to a pair of long, slender legs. Her narrow feet were encased in strappy sandals that revealed red-painted toenails.

He found himself fighting a sudden urge to cover those pretty feet with their frivolously painted nails. Why couldn’t she have worn her usual sensible shoes?

He thought she looked just a bit disconcerted upon seeing him there. And for some reason, that pleased him. “Hey, Catherine.”

“Hi, Mike.”

“How’s Norman?”