Learning Curves

Chapter Seven





“So, where are we meeting up with your friend?”

“Meeting my who?” Leanne suppressed a grimace. She’d hoped her father would have picked up on her conspicuous lack of specifics without her having to spell out the embarrassing details. Just because she’d succumbed to a momentary fit and invited Brandon to the potluck didn’t mean she planned on introducing him to her father. The fact that Julia whispered, “I like him,” when she’d said her goodbyes last night and Cassandra—who’d made up her mind to dislike him sight unseen by virtue of her job description as overprotective best friend—warmed to him once they’d discovered a mutual love of music, had no bearing on this potentially embarrassing meet and greet.

“Your friend, the choreographer.”

The subtle approach hadn’t worked quite as well as she’d hoped.

Licking her lips apprehensively, she tried to distract him, skirting the fine line between outright lie and misdirection. “We’re not meeting up. When he gave me the tickets, I wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to make it so I told him not to look for me afterward.”

“Oh, I see,” her dad said, the disappointment clear on his face, and guilt crept in at her prevarication.

The lobby was taking on the appearance of a human sardine can, enthusiastic performers and audience members mingling raucously, buoyed by post-show giddiness. “We’re never going to find each other in a crowd like this anyway. We should just grab our coats and head out.”

But before she could steer her father toward the snaking coat check line, a murmur swept the room. Applause, long and sustained, erupted.

“Woo-hoo, Brandon!”

“Brandon, you rock!”

Leanne turned in time to see Brandon emerge from backstage. Despite being dressed casually in crisp khakis and a light blue dress shirt, nothing could hide his broad shoulders or the tapered lines of his lean hips and taut ass. The many longing glances she intercepted, confirmed most, if not all, females in the room shared the same opinion. He accepted the applause graciously, with a self-deprecating smile, before he began to circulate around the room. His modest demeanor seemed genuine but there was no mistaking the regard with which he was held by all the dancers. Tonight’s performance had been an extraordinary team effort but no one could mistake who the captain was, either.

He was shaking the hands of a well-dressed middle-aged couple when he saw her.

For a moment, the air in the room disappeared. Leanne couldn’t breathe or move. He studied her, from her tousled curls to the patent Mary Janes she’d worn to compliment her velvet skirt, and his smile widened.

He never missed a beat, though, greeting the parents warmly, accepting their praise and, if the blushes of the young dancer were any indication, returning the favor with kind words about their daughter’s skills. But there was no mistaking the expectant curl in his lip. Leanne knew it was only a matter of time before they came face-to-face once more.

The line moved at a snail’s pace. Short of dashing from the auditorium without their coats, she would have to introduce him to her father. At least she had a few minutes to prepare herself.

Hugs and introductions with the large cast slowed his progress but he made his way toward the line where Leanne waited.

“Leanne, I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

She held out her hand and he shook it, his fingers lingering against her sensitized palm. Her knees weakened and it took every ounce of strength not to show him how a simple touch turned her on. “This is my dad, Larry Galloway. Dad, this is Brandon Myles.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir.”



Leanne’s dad smiled. A tall man, in his mid-sixties if the salt-and-pepper in his hair was any indication, he moved like someone much younger. His face was friendly and inquisitive as he shook Brandon’s hand.

He hoped that inquisitiveness hadn’t been triggered by the startling moment he and Leanne just shared. Those shoes…Those legs…Somehow this unassuming scholar had a direct line to his libido. A single touch—hell, a single look—tapped into to his most primitive urges. Urges he’d rather not share with her father. He wouldn’t give his desires free rein, however tempting it might be.

“I understand you’re the fellow who organized all this.”

Brandon shook his head. “I oversaw the choreography but there were a lot of different people who made it happen. The costumers, the dancers, the crew.”

He glanced again at Leanne. Her eyes seemed fixed on him but her expression was unreadable.

Feigning a casualness he didn’t feel, he asked, “So, Larry, Leanne, what did you think of the show?” As he waited for their answers, he was surprised by how much their responses mattered.

Leanne cleared her throat. “It was…it was really fantastic,” she admitted. “I was mesmerized.”

As if to emphasize her point, she reached out and touched his arm. Her soft, slim fingers on his forearm hit him like an electrical current, short-circuiting his already addled brain. He remembered the feel of those same fingers wrapped around more intimate places. A twitch gave proof to the fact that those places could remember them too. His tongue glued to his mouth, he tried to formulate a response that didn’t involve a) kissing her senseless or b) dragging her off to the nearest dark corner for another round of hot, sweaty sex.

Larry cleared his throat.

This time, there was no missing his amused awareness. A smile danced around his lips as his gaze swung between his daughter and her new acquaintance. Brandon realized he was gaping at Leanne and that her hand still rested on his arm. But when his eyes met hers, she suddenly seemed to become aware of who she was touching and in front of whom, and snatched her hand away.

Brandon made a valiant attempt to respond to her praise. “Mesmerizing, huh? And what about you, Larry? Did you enjoy it?”

“Absolutely. Dance is usually my wife’s thing but this was definitely not a night at the ballet.”

“Not a fan of men in tights?” Brandon laughed.

“Not so much,” the older man confessed. “But this was different. There was a story like a ballet but it was stronger somehow. More intense. Really…” he paused, searching for the right word.

“Dynamic?” Leanne suggested, and he nodded.

“Exactly. Dynamic.”

Their honest appreciation made him happy. He appreciated their genuine praise, their enthusiasm for the production.

He’d been determined from a young age not to sink into the halfhearted apathy that had infected his parents. Lisa and Dustin Myles never put in more than minimum effort at anything: dead-end jobs, their marriage, their kid. They’d been content to drift along. The only thing they’d ever shown any long-term commitment to were their arguments. Vicious knock-down, drag-’em-out affairs that could rumble and menace for days on end. For that at least, they’d shown flair and inventiveness, relishing every opportunity to strike a blow against each other.

Their son’s attempts at diligence—a paper route, a summer spent cutting lawns, a plaque for perfect attendance—only received jeers and derision. In their scornful eyes, these weren’t achievements to celebrate but proof of his refusal to accept his lot in life.

Without conscious planning, he’d taken the opposite path. Some of his earliest memories were of staying up late to finish his homework, working the extra questions, drawing the neatest diagrams. He lapped up his teachers’ praise, pathetically eager for even a few obligatory words of kindness.

It took years for Brandon to realize that he’d come to enjoy learning for its own sake. The approval he’d earned from his teachers, coaches and the dance faculty mattered but it was the effort itself that filled him with satisfaction. By giving it his all, he never doubted his worth.

“I’m glad,” he said. The line moved again, and only one more couple remained ahead of them. But before he could think of a reason to delay them further, he was hailed by the production’s technical director.

“Hey, Brandon! We’re headed to the Judge for a pint. You in?”

Larry reached into his blazer pocket for his coat-check tickets. “You’re not joining us at the restaurant, Brandon? I’d been looking forward to treating you to dinner. My thanks for the tickets.” Turning to the clerk, he collected their coats and gave one to Leanne.

Brandon glanced at Leanne but once again, her face gave no hint of how she felt about him presuming upon their “friendship” like this. He’d already found himself thinking about her far more than was wise the past few days. He’d insinuated himself into her life, and her body language revealed her uncertainty at his pursuit, even approaching as he did under the banner of friendship.

He wasn’t the kind of guy for long-term relationships anyway. He always disposed of his girlfriends after a couple of months, the better to keep them from getting too close or building too much stock in their relationship. She’d be better off without him in the long run, even if she did make his blood heat to unprecedented levels. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” he said to her father. “Leanne mentioned that she doesn’t get to see you as much now.”

“You wouldn’t be in the way,” she said.

Brandon turned. He was wary of reading too much into her statement but felt a small glimmer of hope. Hope his rational mind knew he shouldn’t be happy about feeling. “No?”

She nodded. “Dad’s right. You were kind enough to share your tickets, so we owe you a good meal in return. I’ve got reservations at that new restaurant on Cumberland. Do you like Thai?”

“Love it,” he said. “Maybe not as much as I love Nonna’s eggplant parmigiana, but definitely a close second.” She laughed awkwardly, a warm glow flooding her cheeks, and busied herself sliding into her thick wool coat her. It covered her from throat to midknee but he could still make out her delicious curves.

Sexual attraction waned. It always did. If he was smart, he’d ignore her attractions and start the process as soon as possible.

It was difficult to be smart standing so close to Leanne. The charge between them short-circuited whatever good sense he might have otherwise claimed.

“Great.” Larry shrugged into his own tweed overcoat before securing his scarf and gloves. “It’s a date. You’ll need your things, Brandon. We’ll wait here and then we can all head over together.”

Leanne froze for a moment and Brandon was sure she was about to rescind her offer. Then she nodded and he felt something he hadn’t felt in quite some time—anticipation.