Page 66 of The Lessons

I peered through the stained glass windows that flanked the large mahogany door, but it was no use. I couldn’t tell if anyone was home. I was about to turn away to call him when the door flung open.

A twenty-something platinum blonde was standing just inside the threshold. She was dressed all in black, and her eyes were rimmed with heavy eyeliner. She seemed to be slightly annoyed by my presence but, after surveying me from head to toe, shouted, “Brad!”

Debbie Harry turned and left, leaving me standing on the threshold.

“Nat, hey!” Brad came running up and leaned in, giving me a peck on the cheek. “You look beautiful. I like your hair like that. Come in, come in.”

“Thanks,” I said before following him down the hall. I usually wore my hair down, but tonight I had thrown it up. “Nice house. IT must pay a heck of a lot more than the marketing department does.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, right. I wish. I just rent part of it. I hope you got a good parking spot.”

I started to shed my coat as we emerged into an open kitchen area. “Actually, I walked. Man, I thought we had cold weather back East, but you guys here are giving me a run for my money.”

“The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco,” a third voice said. It belonged to someone who was standing at the stove, his back to us.

I froze.

I knew that voice.

And I knew that back.

What the hell was Ryan Andrews doing here?

Chapter Twenty

Natalie

Everything fell away. Well, everything, that is, except Ryan. Yes. Ryan Andrews was still right in front of me, dominating my field of vision. Everything else was a blur.

“Natalie?” a voice came crashing through the haze.

I closed my eyes and turned toward the sound.

“Huh? Sorry?”

“I was just saying this is my roommate, Ryan.”

“Hey.” Ryan offered his hand after wiping it on his apron.

That’s right: I said apron. The man was wearing a pink apron. And not just wearing it, he waswearingit. Somehow my stupid, recently de-virginized brain decided to get turned on by this.

I was instantly soaking wet.

“Hey,” I said, barely aware that I was taking his hand. When I did, I felt a rush of heat pulse through me. I stood there for a moment, silently gathering myself. Okay, so, we’re pretending not to know each other again. Thank God. I can play that. As the fog in my brain started to clear, I realized Smokey Robinson was playing on the stereo.

I turned to Brad. “I didn’t know you were a Motown fan.”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m not. Martha Stewart over there has been playing that stuff all week.” He nodded toward Ryan.

Once again, I got lost in the image of Ryan Andrews in a pink apron. Under the apron, he wore jeans and a short-sleeved, white T-shirt, the latter of which carefully traced his shoulders and left his inked arms exposed.

Sexy sex.

“I’m just going to grab my things, and then we can go,” a voice cut in again.

The voice was Brad. Brad was talking to me. Brad and I were on a date. I needed to pay attention to him, respond to him.

“Uh, sure. Yeah. Go ahead,” I managed to say, squeaking out a semblance of an answer. I placed my hand on a nearby countertop to steady myself. Debbie Harry had settled onto the sofa in the living room and was immersed in her laptop.

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