The Lessons (16 page)

I don’t quite remember what happened next. I do remember hanging up on Brad, and then the next thing I knew, I was on the steps of Ryan’s giant-fucking-mansion, banging on his door.

Loudly.

There might have been some yelling.

And some expletives.

Definitely some expletives.

But I was fuming. Like, stark-raving crazy-eyes veins-bugging-out mad. You know that term ‘out-of-body-experience’? I had the distinct thought at one point that I wasn’t thinking straight, but I chose to ignore it.

Yeah.

My throat was raw, but there was a motorcycle in the driveway and lights were on inside. He was definitely home. Why the hell wasn’t he answering me? Did he actually think he’d get away with this? That he could just hide and I’d forget?

After what seemed like an eternity, the door flew open, and standing in front me was Ryan Andrews, wet and naked, a towel wrapped low around his hips. And for a split-second, I lost my train of thought. No man should be allowed to look that good naked without an attached warning label.

“Natalie? Whoa, whoa, Natalie, what’s wrong?” He looked alarmed.

I was stunned from the pheromones and visual in front of me for a few moments, but then quickly remembered why I was standing on his steps.

“You
told
him?” I screamed, gesticulating wildly.

Ryan furrowed his brow and pulled me inside. “Natalie, get in here, I could hear you from my bathroom and I don’t even have my hearing aid in. The neighbors are going to complain if you don’t keep it down.”

“Good. Let them hear. Then you will have experienced exactly one-millionth of the embarrassment I am about to incur.” I hissed as I was forced over the threshold.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, peering out to the front yard before closing the front door behind me.

“You told Brad! You told him I’m one of your patients! In case you haven’t figured it out yet, we work together. Or did.” I covered my face with my hands and cringed. “Oh God, this day could not get any worse.”

“Natalie, wait.” He reached out and tried to put his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t touch me! I am
so
mad at you. You have
no
idea what you’ve done.” I glared at him.

“Natalie,” he was cool and calm as can be, which only served to agitate me. “Can I put some clothes on? I feel like this conversation might require more… coverage.” He glanced down at his towel.

Dammit, his common sense and good-lookingness were so frustrating. Why’d he have to be so golden and delicious? Like a fucking Nilla wafer.

My own personal Nilla wafer.

“Ugh. Fine. Hurry,” I said, my body now a mixed mass of raging hormones and raging… well, rage.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Promise me you won’t bolt?”

I took a deep breath. “I was the one pounding down
your
door, remember?” Then I looked down at the ground. “Fucking PhD my ass,” I muttered.

“What was that?” he asked, cupping his ear.

“Nothing. Go get dressed.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but decided against it. “I’ll be right back. Go have a seat.” He motioned down the hall to the living room.

I stomped down the hall and took a seat on the couch, slipping off my heels. Pulling my knees up to my chin, I started to rock, attempting to calm myself down. While I was waiting on him, I used the opportunity to check out his place. This was the first time I’d gotten a good look at Ryan’s house. His living room really wasn’t how I’d pictured him living at all. I guess I’d assumed his house would be more like a bachelor pad, but this, this was more like a family home from
Better Homes and Gardens
. There were bookshelves and tasteful throw pillows, even a painting above the mantel. It was an abstract work, all deep blues. It reminded me of Ryan’s eyes. And then I got mad again.

Because those
stupidfuckingeyes
were attached to his
stupidfuckingface
which were attached to his
stupidfuckingmouth
which had now
ruined my life
.

Ryan reemerged a few moments later, in dark jeans, a tight white t-shirt and bare feet, and somehow that
stupid fucking man
managed to take my breath away. Damn. That man could wear the hell out of a t-shirt.

“Okay, much better. Now, where were we?” he paused as he put in his hearing aid, pretending he couldn’t remember the bomb I’d just dropped on him. “Oh, right, you were yelling at me. Would you like to continue? I can hear it in stereo now.”

I hugged my knees with my arms, trying not to explode into a ball of rage.

“Ruining my life is no joking matter, Andrews.”
Dramatic? Me?
Nah.

He squinted at me. “I still don’t understand, Natalie.”

“You told Brad about us. Now he knows, and soon enough, everyone at work will know. I do marketing for a fucking
lingerie
company, Ryan. They can’t take seduction advice from a virgin! This is going to ruin me!”

He held up his hands as he took a seat next to me on the couch. “Whoa, whoa, whoa Natalie. You have it all wrong. Calm down.”

“Calm down?!” I started to get agitated again at the order.

“Hold on. Give me a minute. I can explain everything.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and as he met me with his deep blues, a shiver ripped through me. It really was not fair, this effect he had on me.

“Natalie, I did
not
tell him you were seeing me as a surrogate. I told him you were seeing me just as one of my regular patients. Remember? I’m logging hours for my license.”

Regular patient? The words echoed through my head as I tried to make sense of what he was saying. Regular patient… like a therapy client? “Isn’t that against all sorts of confidentiality rules?”

“Natalie—I, I just…” He ran a hand over his forehead and trailed off.

“Well, this is just great. So you told him I’m just Looney Toons, but not a Looney Toons virgin?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Plenty of people see therapists, Natalie.”

I pursed my lips and debated his words. Okay, maybe that story
was
better. He was right. I knew tons of people back in New York who were in therapy. So it was believable. Still not exactly the kind of rumor I wanted flying around the office, but believable. However, couple that with the photo and well, I was going to look incredibly unstable. I took a deep breath.

“Why’d you even have to tell him anything at all?” I muttered into my knees.

Ryan leaned against the back of the sofa and ran his fingers through his hair and then shifted, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, fingers laced. “Natalie, I—”

He went silent, staring at a blank spot on the rug. So I continued.

“We were almost done anyway. That was the point right, to do the deed so I could move on and have a normal sex life? Well, mission accomplished. Except now I don’t have anyone to do it
with
.”

Ryan and I were both silent for another moment.

“You know they used to call him the Barracuda,” he muttered, still staring at the rug.

I cocked my head to the side. “What? Who?”

“Brad. We used to call him Brad the Barracuda in college. He’s not the right man for you Natalie; you shouldn’t be banging someone named after a predatory fish.”

“Well, Andrews, I hate to say it, but it’s not up to you. I can
bang
whoever I want.”

He closed his eyes and stiffened.

“Are you angry? Seriously, you fuck up my life and now you have the nerve to be the one who’s mad?” I got up from the couch and shoved my heels back on. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand to be there anymore. Just the presence of him was infuriating and sexy and, frankly, it was very confusing. “I’m going. I would tell you to fix this, but I don’t think you can. I think we should reschedule our next appointment. I need some time to cool off.”

“Natalie, wait, you’re upset. You shouldn’t go.”

I turned on my heel so I was facing him again. “Don’t you tell me what to do, Mr. Andrews. You are my surrogate, that’s it. Not my therapist, not my dad, not my
boyfriend
. So
you
don’t have a say in how
I
run my life.”

He didn’t say anything as I got up and left, so I slammed the door behind me just so he knew I meant business.

Ugh,
I thought as I walked down the steps
.
That man was infuriating.

I called Paulina. It was almost six o’clock, and I needed to blow off some steam.

“Hey, it’s me. I need tequila. Can you meet me at Bar 415 in twenty?” I was not going near Rusty’s. No way. I couldn’t stomach running into other folks from work.

“Hell yeah! I don’t blame you. Should I invite Brad?”

“No, I need a girls night, stat.” For once, I was glad to actually have a girl
friend
for this purpose.

Bar 415 ended up only being the
start
of our night. We stayed there for three hours, doing shots of tequila with the regulars, until Paulina decided it would be an awesome idea to hit up this new club she’d heard about.

Say what you want about Paulina, her taste in dance clubs was good. Real good. TruEnglish was an 80’s dance club located in a warehouse in the Castro, and in addition to loads of hot men who really knew how to dance, the music was great. It was an added bonus that I didn’t have to worry about anyone hitting on me— or not hitting on me. I lost myself in the music, dancing up a storm as the lights around us shifted from blue to pink and back again.

And we had more tequila.

It’s not like I had to work tomorrow.

At one point, I spotted Paulina dancing on a table with a ring of men cheering her on. Damn, get some tequila in her, and she was one crazy gal. I sighed and went back to dancing by myself. I was happy doing just that when a man came up behind me, and pressed himself against me, pulling my hips into his.

“Uh, hey,” I said, turning around. He was tall with bleached blond hair and a leather choker.

“Hey,” he said, trying to speak above the music.

“Uh, I really prefer to dance by myself.”

“What?” he asked again, cupping his hand around his ear.

I made an ‘x’ with my hands. “No dance!”

He finally got the point and shrugged off without saying another word, dancing into the crowd in search of another bump and grind mate.

I shook my head and headed off toward the main entrance. I needed a breather.

Outside, the sidewalk was crowded with men dressed in various degrees of club wear, waiting to get inside. I sat down on the curb. Genius I was, I’d worn heels, and my feet were throbbing. I pulled out my cell phone to check the time.

On the screen were three missed calls and four texts from Ryan.

I scrolled down to read the texts.

Natalie, please call me. We need to discuss this.

Why aren’t you answering your phone?

Please call me when you get this.

Hello?

I sighed. The tequila had served to both dull my anger at him and increase my openness for confrontation. He wanted to talk? Then we’d talk. I hit the call button as I took my feet out of my heels and rested them on top of my shoes.

“Natalie, thank God.” He answered, before I even had a chance to hear the phone ring. “Why weren’t you picking up? Are you okay?”

I snorted as an ambulance rushed by with its siren on. “Why do you care? What is it Andrews, what do you want?”

“You seemed really upset when you left. I just wanted to make sure you were— wait, Natalie, are you outside?”

“Why do you care where I am?” I scoffed, looking behind me at the crowd surrounding the entrance to the club.

“What are you doing out? It’s almost two in the morning. Where are you?”

“I’m at a club with a friend, if you
must
know. I do have a life outside you, Ryan. What did you think? That I’d be sitting home, waiting for you to call?” Man, I was being a real asshole, but he deserved it.

Ryan

I looked down at my watch again. “Natalie, the clubs are all closing in ten minutes. How are you getting home?”

“Taxi, genius,” she slurred.

Oh, boy, she was really fucking drunk. The thought of her out there inebriated and vulnerable made me— well, it made me sick.

“I’m going to come pick you up. Where are you?”

“You’re going to come pick me up on your motorcycle?” She sang.

“How’d you know I have a motorcycle?”

“I de—,” she hiccupped, “I deduced it.”

Really fucking drunk.

“Natalie, focus. Where are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she sang.

“Dammit, Natalie. Tell me where you are!” I growled into the phone as I grabbed my extra helmet and headed out the door.

Ten minutes later, I pulled up in front of TruEnglish. No sign of Natalie. I called her cell.

“I see you!” she answered playfully right before the line went dead. I scanned the hordes of club-goers who were now flanking the sidewalk. No Natalie. Just as I was about to redial, I felt a hot little body slide up behind me on my bike.

“Thanks for the ride, Andrews.”

It was Natalie.

I turned around and grabbed the extra helmet off the back of my bike. “Here, wear this.”

“It’s okay, I trust you. You’d never do anything to hurt me,” she said languidly, wrapping her hands around me. Oh boy, she was even more drunk than I thought.

I shook my head. “That’s probably true, but I don’t trust the other idiots on the road. You know what? I don’t think you are in good enough shape to ride tonight. Let’s take a cab.”

I parked the bike alongside the curb. “Come on, let’s walk over to the next block. Better chance of getting a ride.”

“Oh, but I’m so tired. My feet hurt. Can’t we just sit here for a second?” she started to crouch down on the street.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, get up. You can make it.” I pulled her back up and braced her with my arm. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

Thankfully, my taxi-theory was correct and we quickly nabbed a ride. “Cow Hollow,” I said to the driver as we settled into the back seat. I buckled my seatbelt and looked over to Natalie. She was fast asleep in the seat. I sighed as I reached over to buckle her seatbelt. “Natalie,” I said gently. “Natalie, what’s your address?” Nothing. I tried again, more forcefully. “Natalie, wake up.” She barely stirred.

I sighed. Fuck. In the back of a taxi with a chick who was passed out cold. I could only imagine how this looked to the driver. I made eye contact with him in the rearview mirror and offered a weak smile.

Wait! Driver’s license. Surely her driver’s license would have her address! I grabbed her clutch and opened it. Credit card, keys, condom. Condom?! I looked down at her. She was leaning against me now, the picture of restful serenity.
What were you about to get yourself into?
I thought as I stared down at the beautiful enigma lying against me. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t ready for casual sex. I mean, in my expert opinion.

I found the driver’s license at the bottom of her clutch, and commended myself on my stellar detective work as I pulled it out to look at the address.

New York State.

Goddammit.

I sat back, defeated. What was I supposed to do with her now? I checked her cell phone, but didn’t recognize any of the numbers, except for Brad and Josh, that dick she had been with on the street. I put her license and phone back in the purse.

“Sir? Change of plans. Russian Hill, please.”