Love Lessons. Gina Wilkins
Julia had a well-known aversion to handsome, shallow men, having been hurt very badly by one in her younger, more trusting days.
“He seemed quite nice, actually. But—as always happens when I’m in the presence of a good-looking guy—I displayed the wit and personality of petrified wood.”
Julia rolled her eyes. “I doubt it was quite that bad.”
“Trust me,” she said with a groan. “I couldn’t even remember poor Norman’s name. All I could do was just sit there, staring at the guy. He probably thinks I’m the most boring tenant in the entire complex.”
“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,