Learning Curves - By Elyse Mady Page 0,33

her, yes.

For now.

He didn’t want anything else.

And that, she told herself firmly, was as it should be.

But as she stood and collected her program, waiting for her father to file out into the aisle and join the river of people exiting the theater, she made herself a promise. When the timing was better, when she wasn’t overwhelmed by her thesis, her teaching, her research and her goals—she would find time for a real relationship.

She deserved that much.

Just not with Brandon.

It simply wouldn’t work.

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