Love and Learn (Voretti Family Book 2)

by Ava Blackstone

  “Mr. Belvins our twelfth grade chemistry teacher?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Even if she tells the whole world we’re dating, all you have to do is say it’s not true. Who’s everyone going to believe—you or Liv?”

  Annabelle tilted her head, and he could practically see the gears turning inside her brain, trying to come up with a statistical equation to calculate the odds.

  “But, hypothetically, if this were a date,” he said, before she could bust out a paper and pencil, “why would your sister think you need liquid courage?”

  “She likes to give me a hard time. You know how sisters are.” Though Annabelle had wiped her hands after she finished her burger, she grabbed a clean napkin and started over.

  There was only one explanation he could come up with, and it made him feel strangely guilty. “So it’s been a while for you?”

  “No.” She scrubbed harder with the napkin. “Christian and I only broke up a few weeks ago.”

  “Then what is it?” He laid his hand over hers before she could do any more damage.

  “Nothing.”

  Her pulse throbbed against his thumb and his heart beat faster, syncing with hers. “You’re a liar, sweetheart.”

  She sucked in a breath, but she didn’t try to pull away. “How do you know? Or did they teach you mind reading as soon as they were done with fast roping?”

  “Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll make it better.”

  The sound she made was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

  “Let’s make a bet. I solve your problem, you have dinner with me again.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  “Anything you want.” He leaned toward her, still holding her wrist because he couldn’t make himself break contact. “Now out with it.”

  “It’s nothing, really.” She downed half of her beer.

  “Then it shouldn’t take you long to explain it.”

  “It’s that Human Sexuality class. I’m a little uncomfortable with the material. The other day I made the mistake of asking Liv for advice, and she seemed to think I should…that I needed to…you know. Date.”

  He’d only talked to Liv for a few minutes, but he was pretty sure she wouldn’t have used the D word. “She said you needed to get laid. Didn’t she?”

  “She said it like it’s so easy! Like all I have to do is walk into a bar and pick up some guy. But I can’t.”

  “‘Course not. You don’t want to hook up with some stranger. He could be an axe-murdering psycho crawling with STDs.”

  “No, it’s not… You don’t understand.”

  “Explain it to me.”

  “You don’t want to know.” Her flat, even tone made his chest go tight. She wasn’t flirting or joking around. She was absolutely serious, and the logical part of his brain picked up on the warning loud and clear. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

  Too bad the animal part of his brain had taken over his muscles. “Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

  “Fine.” Annabelle pounded the rest of the beer she’d claimed not to want. She thumped the empty glass onto the table. “I’m a frigid, genetic freak. I can’t enjoy sex. I’m terrible at it. So how am I supposed to explain how normal human sexual behavior evolved?”

  Her words hit him like a flashbang grenade—loud and bright and sudden. His ears rang and he couldn’t make sense of anything, least of all what she’d said. How could the responsive, sensual woman he remembered possibly think she was frigid? “Who told you that? Your asshat ex?”

  “No one.” She turned, trying to pull out of his grasp.

  He tightened his hold on her wrist. “Well, it’s bullshit.”

  The guys at the pool table turned to see what was going on, and he realized he’d gone loud.

  Damn. Why was he so worked up?

  He dialed his volume down. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “I’m twenty-five years old and I’ve never had a relationship that lasted longer than a few weeks. As soon as things get physical, the guy decides he’s not ready to commit or he gets back together with his ex or he remembers that brunettes aren’t his type. Most of the time, they don’t even last past the first date.” Annabelle met his gaze, chin jutting defiantly. “That’s not normal.”

  Ty’s heart pounded in his ears. His vision tunneled, getting rid of every bit of nonessential information. Everything but Annabelle.

  What kind of incompetent asshats had she been dating that she’d gotten such a screwed up view of her own sexuality? He was going to kick every last one of their asses, starting with Christian.

  No. He was gonna relax. Just like his injury, he had to trust this had happened for a reason.

  He took a deep breath, letting the testosterone dissipate enough that he could squeeze Annabelle’s wrist reassuringly and shoot her his don’t-worry-about-a-thing smile. He’d wanted a way to make up for being a shit friend. Well, here was his chance right in front of him, a gift from the universe. “Sounds like the only thing you need is a little one-on-one tutoring. We’ll start tomorrow night.”

  CHAPTER 5

  ANNABELLE WOKE UP with a headache. In between lab work, she mainlined Gatorade and dosed herself with extra-strength aspirin, but her head was still pounding at six PM when she left lab for the day. The problem was, she didn’t have a hangover. It was a physical manifestation of nerves over her big mistake last night.

  What had she been thinking, baring her soul to Ty, of all people? No way was she going to be able to face him in Human Sexuality lecture tomorrow, much less survive whatever “tutoring” he had in mind for tonight. She’d been trying to cancel all day, but he hadn’t responded to her emails. She didn’t have his cell number, and neither did the phone directory, the Internet, or her three remaining high-school friends.

  By the time she made it back to her apartment, the gang inside her head was bludgeoning her frontal lobe. She stumbled down the narrow hall into her bedroom. She’d woken up so late, she hadn’t had time to make her bed, but even with crumpled sheets and bunched up pillows, it was calling her.

  She forced herself past it, to her desk. Inside the file drawer, she flipped through tax returns and medical records until she got to the unlabeled folder in the back. The one that wouldn’t be there if she were a stronger person.

  The bulging folder held every letter Ty had sent her while in the Navy. She’d reread many of them, but never the one at the bottom. She’d filed that one away long ago and tried to pretend it wasn’t there.

  Today, she needed to look at it.

  She grabbed the folded square of lined notebook paper. It was no longer crisp. The neat block letters that spelled out her name had faded, but she still remembered the moment she’d taken it out of the mailbox seven years ago. The sun had been a warm blanket on her shoulders, the air crisp and fresh, like anything was possible. She’d hugged the paper to her heart, savoring the moment before she opened her first love letter.

  She’d been so naive.

  This time, she knew exactly what was inside. She unfolded the paper just as slowly as she had before, but it was a different kind of careful. Not the focus a historian would use to examine a precious artifact, but the caution a police officer might use to disarm a bomb.

  I can’t meet up tonight. Sorry to bail at the last minute, but it’s better this way. I’m not ready for a relationship right now.

  Her heart thundered in her chest. Her head throbbed.

  She sucked in a breath. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

  This time, she wasn’t going to let herself get sucked in by Ty’s sexy muscles, soft-voiced drawl, and you’re-the-only-one-I-want-babe smile. He would only break her heart again.

  She jammed the note back inside the folder, shoved the folder into the drawer, and slammed it shut. Then she grabbed a blank page from her printer tray and scrawled a note of her own.

  I can�
�t make it tonight. Sorry to cancel at the last minute, but it’s better this way. The two of us don’t make sense together.

  She folded the paper in half, wrote Ty’s name on the outside, and taped it to her front door. Then she ran to her car and drove to her best friend Calli’s house like an entire regiment of SEALs was chasing her.

  It was finally over. Maybe, in a fairy tale, Prince Charming would chase after Cinderella, but Ty had never been a prince. He’d realize she was too much work and he’d cut his losses, because he didn’t want her that badly.

  He didn’t want anything that badly.

  Tears pushed at her eyes, but she blinked them back. She wasn’t losing Ty.

  She’d never had him in the first place.

  *

  “Oh my God. What happened?”

  Annabelle waited until Calli twisted the deadbolt, securing them inside the tiny studio. The band around her lungs loosened, and she pulled in a breath.

  She’d made it. Eventually she’d have to face Ty, but not tonight. “I’m sorry. I should have called first, but…”

  Her voice went all high and funny, and she had to swallow the tears that wanted to come out instead of words.

  “You need a drink.” Calli hustled her over to the couch, fluffed the pillows, and settled her against them.

  Annabelle didn’t have the energy to fight. She sank into the familiar squashed cushions while Calli rummaged in the cabinet above the refrigerator—the one with the alcohol. “I’m fine. Really.”

  Calli raised one delicate blonde brow as she poured her prized Anderan vodka and tonic water into two plastic tumblers. “You don’t look fine. You look like you’re about to cry. Or maybe kick someone’s ass.”

  She handed over Annabelle’s drink. “I’m hoping it’s Christian’s. He totally deserves it.”

  Christian was so far off Annabelle’s radar that it took her a second to figure out who Calli was talking about. “It’s…no. It’s not him.”

  “So it’s a different guy?”

  Annabelle took a big sip, then coughed. Calli hadn’t gone light on the vodka. “Did you run out of tonic water?”

  Calli sank onto the cushion next to her, and took a healthy gulp of her own drink. “You’re not the only one who needed a drink. Tony took off.”

  Annabelle took a good look at her friend, registering the telltale reddish tint to Calli’s eyes that she’d been too self-centered to notice before. “Oh, honey.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m better off without him. Now, where can I find this guy who did you wrong? Because I’m going to kick his ass myself.”

  It was so like Calli to brush off the end of her year-long relationship like it was nothing, focusing on Annabelle instead. Calli took great care of everyone but herself. “What happened with Tony? I thought things were going well?”

  “So did I. He’d gotten that job at Harrison and Foster, and he seemed so happy. I thought we were finally ready to take the next step in our relationship. Only, it turned out that he actually wanted to take that next step with Maureen from accounting.”

  “I’m going to kill him! No—killing is too good for him. I’ll get a Tony Baldini voodoo doll and stick it full of pins. Right in the crotch.”

  That coaxed a laugh out of Calli, but it didn’t last long. “He’s not worth the effort. Really. I’m fine.”

  She turned away, taking a surreptitious swipe at her cheek.

  Forget the voodoo doll—Annabelle was going to jab the pins directly into the real Tony’s man parts.

  “What is wrong with all the guys out there?” She’d spoken louder than she intended to, and voice echoed off the walls of Calli’s tiny studio.

  Good. Why should she keep quiet while her world fell apart around her? “We’re fabulous! We should have guys begging to date us.”

  Not with all your sexual hangups, whispered a voice inside her head, but the vodka was throwing a house party inside her parietal lobe, making it easy to ignore. Thank you, vodka.

  “You’re right!” Calli knocked back half her drink. “We’re intelligent.”

  “And employed.”

  “Yes!” Calli clinked glasses with her, sloshing some vodka onto the floor. “And, unlike some guys, whose names I’m not ever mentioning again, we can have conversations about things besides the 1965 GTO we’re restoring.”

  “Or how our next paper is going to be published in Nature.”

  “And we know how to feed ourselves and do our own laundry. Did you know I had to teach Tony how to scramble an egg? Shoot. I said his name.”

  “You should’ve let him starve to death.”

  “The man definitely did not appreciate me. But just because Tony, Christian, and your mystery man were too stupid to see how good they had it doesn’t mean we have to be alone. The second we get back out there, we’re going to have more guys than we can choose from. Hot guys. Who don’t need to borrow money from us to put gas into their piece-of-crap Ford Fusions.”

  “Exactly!”

  “Come on. I know exactly where we’re going to find our rebound men.” Calli set down her glass and tugged Annabelle to her feet.

  The sudden movement made the floor switch places with the ceiling. She held onto Calli for dear life. “Wait. Where are we going?”

  “Hurry, or all the good ones will be taken.”

  Good ones? She tried to ask for clarification, but the only word that would come out of her mouth was, “Huh?”

  “Rebound men.” Calli fumbled in her purse for her cell phone. She dropped it twice before finally capturing it. “I’ll call a taxi. We have to stop by your place, and I can’t drive right now.” She squinted at her phone. “Why isn’t this thing working?”

  “What’s at my place?”

  “You need a wardrobe change before we hit the bar. Something that accentu… Accentutates your natural hotness.”

  Annabelle started to laugh—Calli was wasted—but then the words penetrated.

  Crap, crap, crappity crap. “Maybe this isn’t the best night to go out. My head is…” The word escaped her. “You know. Doing that floaty thing. And I hate those meat-market bars.”

  Calli must have finally gotten her call to go through, because she held the phone to her ear. “You’ll like this one. It’s totally classy.” She wobbled toward the door, dragging Annabelle with her. “Don’t worry. Everything’s under control.”

  *

  Ty crumpled the note in his fist. This was not the way the night was supposed to go down. If Annabelle’s sexual issues hadn’t been a sign from the universe that he belonged back in her life, he didn’t know what was.

  Which was exactly the problem. He didn’t know.

  He hated this shit. The uncertainty. The second guessing.

  What the hell are you trying to tell me?

  He didn’t realize he’d asked the question out loud—make that screamed it out loud—until Annabelle’s next door neighbor scurried into her place like a serial murderer was on the loose.

  Christ, he was a mess.

  No wonder Annabelle wanted nothing to do with him. If he couldn’t deal with his own shit, how was he supposed to help her?

  Like you were in this to help her. You just wanted into her pants.

  No he hadn’t. He’d wanted to help her. To be a good friend.

  A good friend would take a hint and leave instead of lurking on her doorstep.

  Something sharp dug into his palm. The note. He still had it clenched in his fist.

  He opened his hand, and the crumpled remains fell to the ground. The paper cut was barely visible, but his entire hand throbbed. Damn it.

  “Is that supposed to be some kind of sign?” he demanded.

  The evening was still and silent. Gray clouds provided an impenetrable cover to the moon and stars. If some higher power had been trying to communicate with him, there was no sign of it now.

  There was nothing.

  *

  “Okay.” Calli stopped in front of Annabelle’
s closet. “Lessee what we have to work with.”

  “I told you. I don’t have anything that accentuates my natural hotness.” The words felt strange coming out of her mouth, like each one was slippery, and if she didn’t hang on tight it might escape.

  She hadn’t had anything to drink since Calli’s apartment, but after the ten minute taxi ride she was even more buzzed than before. What’s up with that, vodka?

  “You gotta have something.” Calli grabbed the handle. The closet door squeaked in protest, refusing to move. She jiggled it a couple of times with no success. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. You’re drunk.” Annabelle elbowed Calli out of the way, but when she tried to grab the handle, her hand slipped.

  Calli giggled. “Who’s drunk?”

  “I’m only buzzed.” Annabelle finally connected with the handle. “Ha! Gotcha!”

  “You’re talking to a door handle.”

  “You’re right.” Now they were both giggling. “I’m talking to a—” The door swung open, dumping Annabelle on her ass. “Ow!”

  “Finally.” Calli flicked through the meager options hanging from the single rod while Annabelle hauled herself back to her feet. “No. No. Definitely not.”

  “Told you I didn’t have anything.” Annabelle surveyed the jackets, shirts, pants, and dresses, all hanging in their own little sections, neat and orderly, like her life had been before Ty dropped in from out of nowhere.

  Neat and orderly and boring.

  “Excuse me?” she protested, before she realized she was talking to a voice inside her own head. Okay, vodka. That’s enough.

  “I said, what about this?” Calli shoved a hanger her direction.

  The deep blue fabric was soft and sheer. It danced over Annabelle’s skin like a world of possibilities, and she had the absurd thought that Calli had conjured it out of thin air, like some kind of vodka-powered fairy godmother. Then she recognized it as one of Liv’s designs. She’d pretended to love it because it was her older-sibling responsibility to be supportive, and fashion design had more earning potential than unemployment. But as soon as Liv had taken off, she’d buried the dress in the back of her closet. It was too short. Too sheer. Too much.