Learning Curves - By Elyse Mady Page 0,34

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