Love Lessons
“Oh well, it isn’t as if you’d be interested in boffing the maintenance stud, anyway,” Julia said with a shrug. “You’ve got more common sense than that.”
“No, of course I wouldn’t be interested in anything like that,” Catherine agreed with a laugh that sounded a bit hollow to her own ears.
“And he hardly sounds like the kind of man you’d want to date for any other purpose. A young maintenance man? What on earth would you have in common with him?”
Julia, bless her, was pretty much as clueless as Catherine when it came to men. A natural blonde who defied all the stereotypes, she was a fiercely focused and ambitious dynamo in a deceptively fragile-looking package. Unlike Catherine, Julia was frequently the target of passes from prowling males, few of them interested in her mind. Her experiences with the opposite sex had left her decidedly cynical when it came to romance.
Losing interest in the subject of buff young men—and totally oblivious to the man who was openly ogling her from a table nearby—Julia launched into a discussion of a workshop she had attended at the conference in New York. Catherine was quite sure her friend had rarely, if ever, left the conference hotel to enjoy all the wonderfully exciting things to do in the “Big Apple.” For Julia, nothing in the city was as interesting and challenging as scholarly discussions of the law.
Hopeless, Catherine thought with a slight shake of her head. Both of them.
Settling in for an evening of spicy Mexican food and stimulating conversation, she pushed the lingering thoughts of Mike Clancy to the back of her mind. She knew full well those thoughts would be there to tease her again later, when she was alone in her apartment.
Friday afternoon Catherine was sitting at her desk behind a mountain of paperwork for an important grant, when she accidentally overheard a couple of graduate students chatting out in the hallway. Maybe they didn’t know she was in her office, or maybe they weren’t aware of how clearly their voices carried through the partially opened door.
“Got big plans for the weekend?”
“Uh-huh. Scott’s taking me to Tunica for a weekend at the casinos. We’re leaving tomorrow morning. I can’t wait.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“I know. What are you doing this weekend?”
“Going clubbing tonight with Tommy and Jan and Nick. Tomorrow Tommy and I are driving up to Jonesboro for the football game and staying the night there.”
“Cool.”
“You and Scott want to go clubbing with us tonight?”
“Maybe. I’ll ask him and give you a call.”
There was a momentary pause before one of them said, “What do you think she’s doing this weekend?”
“Dr. Travis? Same thing she does every weekend. Working.”
“Think she ever just cuts loose and has fun?”
A laugh of disbelief was followed by a cynical, “I think fun might be one of the few words missing from her extensive vocabulary. She’s nice and all, but can you imagine her partying?”
“No. The image just won’t form in my mind.”
The voices faded as the unseen speakers moved down the hallway, leaving an echo of laughter behind them. Only after she was sure they were gone did Catherine get up to quietly close her door.
By the time she arrived at home that evening, her steps were dragging. Though it was after seven, it was still light. The days were getting shorter, though, she mused with a sigh, tucking her bulging briefcase beneath her arm. Soon it would be dark when she came home alone. And cold.
Locking her car door, she glanced across the mostly empty parking lot. Most of the other tenants were already home from work, and quite a few of them had probably already headed out for Friday night fun. Someone climbed out of the driver’s side of a small pickup truck, and she recognized Mike, the maintenance man. He seemed to be carrying a stack of books, but he managed to free a hand to give her a quick wave.
She waved back, hoping she looked friendly and casual rather than stiff and self-conscious, and then she turned toward the outside stairs that led up to her second-floor apartment. She smiled when she glanced up and spotted Norman sitting in his favorite spot on the living room windowsill, watching her.
At least someone was glad to welcome her home, she thought, walking a bit faster.
She unlocked her door and pushed it open, thinking that maybe she would throw on some sweats and make an omelet for dinner….
For the first time since she had brought him home six months ago, Norman dashed past her through the open doorway and streaked down the stairs, straight into the parking lot. Terrified that he would run in front of a car, Catherine threw down her bags and raced after him, calling his name. “Norman, stop! Come back here.”
Alerted by her shout, Mike got to Norman first, dropping his books to scoop the cat into his arms. Rather than resisting, Norman butted his head happily against Mike’s chin, as if in greeting.
Her heart still pounding against her ribs, Catherine skidded to a stop in front of them. “I can’t believe he did that. He’s never run out before. Thank you so much for catching him.”
“No problem.” Smiling, Mike transferred her pet into her arms. “Guess you’d better start blocking the door when you open it.”
“I guess so.” Catherine frowned down at Norman, who was purring as if he were quite pleased with himself. “Bad cat. You could have been hurt.”
“So could you, the way you pelted down those stairs,” Mike told her. “You’re lucky you didn’t trip.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t even think about it,” she confessed. “I was so afraid he would run in front of a car.”
As if to emphasize what could have happened, an SUV passed them at that moment, the driver nodding to Mike in recognition. Mike waved back, then turned again to Catherine. “So, how’s it going—other than escaping cats? Everything in working order in your apartment?”
“Yes, thank you.” She glanced down at the three hardcover books scattered at their feet. “I hope none of your books are damaged. If so, I’ll certainly pay for replacements.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. They’re just textbooks, and I bought them used, anyway.” He crouched to gather them, and Catherine couldn’t help but notice the titles.
“Biology and American history. You’re taking classes?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she cursed her own stupidity. Of course he was taking classes—why else would he be carrying textbooks?
But he merely nodded as he straightened. “I’m taking a couple of classes at UALR.” He pronounced it “you-ler,” as many locals did.
She wasn’t sure what to say, except, “Are they going well?”
He started to nod, then stopped himself with a grimace. “History’s fine. Biology’s kicking my butt.”
“Really? Anything in particular?”
“We’re having a test on glycolysis Monday, and to be honest, it doesn’t make a lick of sense to me. I’m going to try to study this weekend, but I have a sinking suspicion it isn’t going to help much. I can’t make heads or tails of this stuff.”
She would never know what impulse made her open her mouth and blurt, “I’ll help you.”
He looked at her with a curiously lifted eyebrow. “Um—what?”
She told herself that it would make her look even more foolish to take her words back now. And why should she, really? After all, he’d done the favor of helping her rescue Norman. And this was certainly something she was qualified to offer him in return.
“I’ll help you study for the test…if you’re interested. My undergraduate degree was in biology. So if there’s anything I can do to help you prepare—”
“Hey, I’m not too proud to beg for help,” he said with a devastatingly attractive, crooked grin. “If you’re sure you have the time, and it isn’t too much trouble, I would be grateful for any help you can give me. I really want to pass this test.”
She nodded. “It’s no trouble at all. When would you like to come by?”
“Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”
“I have some things to do at work in the morning, but I should be home by about two. Shall we make it three o’clock?”
“I’ll be there. And, hey, thanks, Dr. Travis. I really appreciate this.”
She glanced down at the cat dozing contentedly in her arms, purring like a chain saw. “It’s the least I can do. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Eager now to get away before she said something incredibly dumb, she carried Norman up the stairs to her apartment. When she glanced down from her front door, she noticed that Mike was already gone.
Chapter Two
“Hey, Mike! Heads up.”
He turned just in time to snatch the basketball out of the air, spin and sink it into a basket above his head. Nothing but net.
Three male voices groaned loudly. Two others cheered. Mike’s three-on-three teammates slapped him on the back and offered upraised hands for high fives.
“And that would be…game!” Bob Sharp performed an embarrassingly dorky dance of victory, his near-shoulder-length red hair flying around his square-jawed face.
“Dude.” Mike rolled his eyes. “Chill.”
“Seriously.” Black-haired, green-eyed Brandon Williams, the third member of the winning team, tossed a sweaty towel at Bob. “You’re making us look bad.”
Still joking around with his teammates and opponents—also all friends—Mike moved to a bench at one side of the park basketball court and rooted in his gym bag for his watch. He groaned when he found it. He had lost track of time during the game and now he had ten minutes to shower, change, grab his books and make it to Catherine Travis’s apartment by three o’clock.
He was going to be late.
“Hey, Mike. Wanna go have a beer and watch a game or two?”
“Can’t,” he replied to Bob’s suggestion. “Gotta study.”
Typically, Bob brushed off the excuse. “C’mon, man, you can study later. It’s not like you’ll be grounded if you don’t get an A.”
He laughed heartily at his own joke. Bob still couldn’t understand why Mike had decided to go back to school almost ten years after dropping out of his first attempt at higher education. Bob was perfectly happy driving a delivery truck and stocking snack machines in local businesses, spending his leisure hours hanging with friends and chasing women.
Until a few months ago, Mike had been pretty much content with that lifestyle himself. Now that he had decided he wanted more, some of his friends seemed determined to try to talk him out of it.
“C’mon, Mike, have a beer with us,” Brandon seconded. “It’s too nice a day to study.”
“Sorry, guys. Can’t. I’m supposed to meet someone at three for a study session, and I’m already running late.”
“Oh, ho.” Bob gave a sudden, knowing grin. “That explains your hurry to hit the books. So who is she?”
“Just someone who offered to help me get ready for a test Monday. And I’ve really got to go, guys. See you later, okay?”
“You’re holding out on us, Clancy,” Bob called after him. “We want to meet this chick.”
As he jumped into his pickup and threw it into gear, Mike wondered how Dr. Travis would feel about having herself referred to as a “chick.” He wouldn’t think she’d care for it much.
Dr. Travis. It felt sort of odd to refer to her that way. Made her sound like one of his stuffy professors, rather than the attractive young woman she was.
Glancing at the dashboard clock, he saw that it was almost straight-up three o’clock. He was definitely going to be late.
He had been criticized quite often for his rather fluid concept of time. His friends had pretty much gotten used to never knowing when to expect him. He hoped Dr. Travis wasn’t one of those clock-watching types who got upset about that sort of thing.
But when she opened her door for him at twenty minutes after three, she didn’t look at all annoyed. In fact, strangely enough, she seemed almost apologetic.
“It occurred to me a few minutes ago that I never gave you my phone number,” she said, motioning him inside. “There was no way for you to let me know you’d been held up. I hope you didn’t have to rush too hard to get here because of my oversight.”
She really was blaming herself because he was late. Interesting. “It’s my fault for letting time get away from me,” he assured her. “I hope it didn’t cause you any inconvenience.”
“No. I don’t have any other plans for the afternoon.” She motioned toward her small, rectangular dining table. “I thought we could spread your books and notes on the table. Can I get you a glass of fresh lemonade before we get started?”
“That sounds great, Dr. Travis. If it’s no trouble.”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’d like a glass, myself. And please call me Catherine.”
He watched surreptitiously as she moved into the kitchen. Wearing an olive-green camp shirt open over a khaki-colored pullover and khaki slacks, she looked even younger than she had the last time he’d seen her. He still couldn’t really guess her age, though he would bet she wasn’t more than a couple of years on either side of thirty. Very close to his own age.
She must have earned her doctorate at a young age. One of those brainy, ambitious, superfocused types, apparently. But not an intellectual snob. She wasn’t giving off any vibes that suggested she considered herself superior to a twenty-eight-year-old maintenance man with only a few hours of college credit behind him.
Remembering a recent, painful encounter with a woman who had made no secret of her disdain for his current status, he winced.
Something touched his leg. He glanced down just as Catherine’s cat meowed a greeting. “Well, hello, Norman. I wondered where you were hiding.”
Returning to the table with two glasses of lemonade and a plate of brownies, Catherine slid into the chair beside him. “He’s been asleep on my bed. He has to have at least ten naps a day or he gets cranky.”
Chuckling, Mike scratched Norman’s ears, eliciting a loud purr of approval. He stopped scratching to reach for his lemonade. “This looks great. Homemade brownies?”
Catherine shrugged. “Just the box-mix kind. I was having a snack attack earlier.”
Judging by her slender frame, she didn’t give in to “snack attacks” that often. But since he didn’t feel quite right about checking out her figure when she was offering to help him study, he pulled his gaze away from her and snagged a brownie from the platter.
Catherine motioned toward the textbook and notebook he had tossed on the table. “You said you’re studying for a test on glycolysis?”
He nodded and turned his thoughts to business. “Yeah. I brought my study sheets and the practice test the professor gave us. I tried to take the practice test yesterday, but I didn’t get very far with it.”
“Let me look at the test and your notes and I’ll see if I can help you understand it better.” She gave a self-deprecating little smile that almost took him back to noticing-how-attractive-she-was territory. “Of course, it’s been a few years since I’ve been tested on this stuff, so I might have to refresh myself a bit.”
Norman leaped onto Mike’s knees and head-butted his chin. Mike patted him absently.
“Just set him down if he’s bugging you,” Catherine advised. “He takes a hint fairly well—for a short time, anyway.”
“He’s fine.” Mike opened his notebook. “Here’s the sample test….”
“Okay, see if you can answer this one.” Catherine said almost an hour later. “Regulation of glycolysis takes place by the a, allosteric inhibition of phosphofructokinase by excess ATP, or b, conversion of dihydroxyacetone phosphate to glyceraldehyde phosphate?”
Mike blinked a couple of times, then frowned in concentration. “That would be…the first one, I think. A.”
She smiled at him. “Yes. You’re right.”
He made a production of wiping his brow, his self-satisfied smile so endearing that she had to swallow before asking the next question. “Complete this sentence. When yeast cells metabolize glucose anaerobically, the end product is—?”
“Pyruvic acid.” He must have seen from her expression that he’d given the wrong answer. He corrected it immediately. “Ethyl alcohol.”
She smiled again. “Correct. You’re doing very well, Mike. You should have no problem passing this test. Would you like to practice the essay questions? I can busy myself with something else while you work on them and then give my opinion of your answers when you’ve finished. Of course, you know that essay questions are often graded subjectively, so your professor might judge your responses differently than I would.”
“Hey, I’d really appreciate that, if you’ve got the time. The essay questions really worry me. It’s been almost ten years since I’ve had to write essays, and to be honest, I wasn’t very good at it back then.”
“No problem. I have a couple of journal articles I need to read. I can do that while you write. I’ll let you know when your allotted time is up.”
He nodded and drained the last of his second glass of lemonade, then bent industriously over his notebook.
Catherine studied him for a moment, then stood and moved to the sofa. She picked up one of the journals sitting on the coffee table. Norman padded across the floor to jump into her lap, kneading her thigh while she turned to the article she had marked earlier.
Rubbing the spot between his shoulder blades that always made him arch in bliss, she tried to keep her eyes on the page. It wasn’t easy. Mike just looked so darned good sitting at her table, his blond-streaked hair all tousled, a frown of concentration on his pretty face. She sighed.
He glanced around. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” she assured him a bit too heartily. “Norman’s just being a little too enthusiastic with the claws.”
He smiled, then looked back down at his notebook. She turned her own attention firmly to the page in front of her.
She knew she would never be able to concentrate on the complex article with Mike sitting so close by, so she entertained herself by imagining how her cousin Lori, the biggest flirt she knew, would behave with a handsome man in her apartment. Lori would certainly not be sitting on the far side of the room pretending to read a scientific journal, that was for certain!
Because she didn’t know how to be any other way, Catherine was completely honest with her appraisal of Mike’s essay answers. She figured she would be wasting both their time if she didn’t make a genuine effort to help him. She tempered her criticism with praise for the things he had done well, but she made no effort to pander to his ego when she pointed out the areas that would very likely lose him points with his professor.
“This is worded too vaguely,” she said, underlining one weak paragraph. “And here you’ve gotten off topic, which would get points marked off by most professors, since they don’t like wasting grading time. And this statement is simply incorrect. In eukaryotes, the enzymes involved in the Krebs cycle and electron transport are located in the mitochondria, not the cell membranes as you’ve written here. This is a very basic biology class, but that’s something you should be expected to know already.”
Mike winced. Something about his expression made her suspect that he wasn’t accustomed to being corrected so bluntly, and she wondered for a moment if she should have made an effort to be more tactful. But then she reminded herself that he surely wanted her to be honest, or he wouldn’t have wasted a beautiful Saturday afternoon studying in her apartment. He certainly hadn’t come just to spend time with her and Norman.
“Thanks,” he said without much enthusiasm. “I’ll work on those things.”
“I’m sure you’ll do very well on the test,” she said, in case he was becoming discouraged.
“I hope you’re right. It’s been harder going back to school than I expected,” he admitted. “To be honest, I flunked out the first time I tried college almost ten years ago, but I told myself it was because I partied too much and studied too little while I was there. I thought maybe if I actually put a little effort into it this time, I’d be more successful with it.”
“I’m sure you will. It must be difficult learning how to study again after such a long absence.”
“Again?” he repeated with a short laugh. “I never learned how to study. Didn’t have to in school. My mother and sisters gave me so much ‘help’ with my homework that I managed to graduate with a minimally adequate grade point average. I got a baseball scholarship to college, but I lost that when the grades fell. It wasn’t as if I was ever going to make it to the pros, anyway. I was a decent player, but not exactly star quality.”
Catherine wasn’t sure what to say in response to his candidness. “What made you decide to go back now?” she asked, then wondered if that had been too personal a question.
His shrug was more sheepish than offended. “I attended my ten-year high school reunion this summer,” he muttered, as if that were explanation enough.
Apparently he had compared himself to some of his classmates and hadn’t been pleased with what he had seen. She gave him a wry smile. “Perhaps you should have done what I did. I skipped my ten-year reunion altogether.”
“Oh? When was that?” he asked with a casualness that was probably intended to disguise the fact that he was basically asking her age.
“Two years ago. I just turned thirty last Saturday.”
“Then I’ll wish you a belated happy birthday.”
“Thank you.”
He leaned back in his chair, slinging one arm over the back. “So why didn’t you go to your reunion? I would think you’d be proud to let everyone know you’d turned out so well.”
Uncomfortable with the new direction the conversation had taken, and suspecting Mike had deliberately directed it away from himself, she shrugged a little before saying, “I don’t have that many fond memories of high school. I wasn’t eager to relive my time there.”
She suppressed a wince as she finished speaking. Had she sounded bitter? No one enjoyed spending time with a complainer. “I’m sure I would have had a good time if I’d gone,” she amended quickly, “but I was at a science convention in London that weekend, anyway.”
“Yeah, well, I thought I’d have a great time at my reunion,” Mike murmured, looking down at the pencil he was twisting slowly in his left hand. “I mean, I had a fantastic time in high school. Played sports, had a lot of friends. Parties every weekend, hanging out by the lake all summer.”
She could almost picture the boy he had been. The jock. One of the popular crowd. Strutting through the halls of his high school with the kind of confidence that most adolescents could only watch and secretly envy. She didn’t want to believe that he had been one of the cruel kids. The ones who mocked and belittled anyone who didn’t fit into their narrow definition of what was acceptable. What was cool.
No, Mike had probably been carelessly nice to everyone. Perhaps a bit oblivious to the ones on the outskirts of the in-crowd. He wouldn’t have been the type to be deliberately cruel to them; he simply hadn’t noticed them very often, she thought with a sigh.
“Catherine?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said, realizing she’d been quiet for too long. “Flashback to my own school years, I guess. So, your reunion wasn’t as much fun as you expected?”
He shrugged. “Not quite. Most of my classmates have moved on, left those years behind. The ones who haven’t—who sat around all day drinking and replaying old memories and talking about how high school was the high point of their lives—well, they just seemed sort of pathetic, you know?”
He must have experienced quite an epiphany at that reunion. She was a little surprised that he was being so frank about it now, to her, a virtual stranger.
Perhaps he had also revealed more than he had intended. With a quick, rather irritated shake of his head, he began to gather his books and papers. “So you think I’ll ace this test now, huh?”
“I’m not sure you’ll ace it, exactly, but I’m sure you’ll do very—oh. You were teasing.” And she had responded with a careful earnestness that he must have found equally naive and clueless. She had been accused on more than one occasion of being a bit challenged when it came to a sense of humor.