“I love watching you,” he said. “There’s one small problem—I can’t wait to get you alone.”
“Are you dancing much?” she asked.
“Very judiciously and as little as possible. Giggly high school girls are just not my thing. Besides, I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on things, make sure the kids aren’t getting into trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Oh, you know, sneaking out to the parking lot to be too alone or to get a bottle or smoke a joint or get in a fight over something, like a girl. You know.”
That was the point, she didn’t know. “Really?”
“Been a while since you’ve been rockin’ the high school dance?”
“You could say that,” she said. “I thought this would be boring. I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun.”
“Just remember, don’t fall in love with anyone because you leave the dance with me.” He grinned at her.
She noticed that Troy danced with Iris. Not a slow dance, but not so fast, either. He twirled her around and they laughed. She had no worries that Iris would invade her territory, none at all. But did Troy still wish that romance had worked? She forced herself to look away. When she looked back, Iris was talking to her husband. Troy was nowhere in sight.
He was right behind her, claiming a dance. It was an old tune with a good beat—“Knock On Wood”—and Troy improvised, moving her two beats left, two beats right, a little twirl. She’d been very impressed by his dancing tonight. And it was sexy! Then the tune segued into a bebop beat and she noticed a few kids getting together for another line dance, but Troy pulled her back from the crowd, gave her hands a little shove and made a jitterbug move. “Huh?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
She laughed at him. “As long as you don’t slide me between your legs or toss me onto your hips and over your shoulder.”
“Aw,” he said, then led her into a really good jitterbug, so good that kids stopped what they were doing to watch. This guy knows what he’s doing, she thought.
When the song ended, there were a few claps from the crowd. Grace heard a teenage girl say, “Oh, God, why can’t he just marry me!”
Five
Four hours flew by and at almost midnight they were on their way to Grace’s place in Troy’s car. She was completely amazed by the variety of music, from oldies to current rock to hip-hop and even country. And now that she thought about it, Troy was up to speed on all of those dances, even picking up the line dance steps quickly. “Care to explain that dancing, Fred Astaire?” she asked.
He laughed. “Short story. I dated a dance instructor. Not like Arthur Murray—she taught little kids. Her sister was getting married and she wanted someone who could dance to go to the wedding with her, so she taught me a bunch of moves, including the tango. It was fun, to tell the truth. She broke up with me the day after the wedding.”
“Aw, was your heart broken?”
“A little bit,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d ever have fun dancing again.”
“Well, you wowed ’em tonight. I even heard a marriage proposal.”
He laughed.
“Does that ever become...you know...difficult?”
“What?”
“The girls,” she said. “They crush on you! And some of them are beautiful! And look older than me, by the way! Does that ever worry you?”
“Worry me in what way?” he asked, his brow crinkling.
“What if one of them got the wrong signals? Thought you were romantically interested or something?”
He chuckled. “They do all the time, but not because of anything I do—because of their imaginative, nubile young minds mixed with the irresponsibility of raging hormones. Grace, teachers have to play it real safe or find themselves in a bad place.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “There are very specific guidelines. We don’t touch the students, except maybe a hand on an arm or shoulder to say, ‘Wait up a second.’ We can never have private conversations with students with doors closed. We don’t give them a lift home even in a nice little town like this. We don’t make gestures that could be interpreted as seductive, and we don’t respond to such gestures—the list is long. And it’s not just for young male teachers but for all teachers—young women, old women, crusty old codgers, guys like me. Counselors like Iris. If she closes her office door, the door to the main hallway is closed to the passersby, but all the offices are internal cubicles that share a common hall between them so that a conversation can be private but if someone yelled or called out, it could be heard. Counselors, principals, nurses—they have to be afforded a degree of privacy to do their work. Students need to feel safe. I, however, am always seen in a crowd. During my private conversations with students, the door to the classroom is open. And we’re on opposite sides of the desk.”
“But has it happened, Troy? That some girl takes her crush too far?”
“You understand that I like women, but women my own age, right? I’m not tempted by children. High school students are minors. And our school system forbids fraternization with students even of legal age, like eighteen-year-olds. There is absolutely no compromise there.”
“Of course,” she said. “But...”
“To a certain degree, there are some normal feelings in the mix for the kids. Little girls sit on their daddy’s laps and promise to marry them and the fact is, they probably will marry a man just like their father. Crushing on teachers is not unusual, but they’re children and it’s the adult teacher’s job to keep that from escalating. You get to be good at recognizing the signs and creating appropriate distance and barriers before...” He stopped. He pulled up behind her building and parked. He turned to her. “Gracie, why are you asking me this?”
“I just thought it must sometimes be challenging.”
He rubbed a knuckle along her cheek. “Honey, were you molested? Assaulted? By an older man or teacher? Someone in a position of authority?”
“Me?” she asked, genuinely shocked. “No! No, of course not.”
“Then you knew someone who was,” he said matter-of-factly.
Boy, did she! Years ago, and it all ended so tragically it marked one of the most traumatic experiences of her life. But that was not the direction Grace wanted this conversation to go. Not tonight. So she smiled gently.
“You must either be a very wonderful teacher or so intuitive it’s scary,” she said. “Once, I thought someone I knew was a victim, a younger girl, but even though I had suspicions, I never had proof. She wasn’t a good friend of mine, just a girl I knew. Seriously, I didn’t bring it up to discuss that—that was so long ago. I really was curious about how you manage the situation with the students. I’d have asked Iris all the same questions if it had ever come up. It was the dance that brought it to mind. Some of those girls are gorgeous. And you do kind of make them giggle.”
“The really scary part is I don’t have to do much to make them giggle. There’s a real dearth of young teachers in Thunder Point. Another one who gets their constant attention is Coach Lawson. But he doesn’t have female students.” He leaned toward her and put a small kiss on her lips. “You must be exhausted.”
She gave him a little smile. “Would you like to come up?”
“If you think you can stay awake awhile...”
“Come on up,” she said. She hummed under her breath all the way up the back stairs to her little loft, and right inside the door, she turned to him and, for once, she made the advance. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him like she really meant business.
“Whoa,” he said.
“Would you like a glass of wine? I think we should have a little talk.”
He paused for a moment. “Should I go down to the flower fridge for the wine?” he finally asked.
“No, tonight is this very special Shiraz. I hope you like it.” She picked up a bottle from the counter and handed it to him so he could look at it.
But Troy frowned, as if he was worried about what was coming. “Let me open it for you so we can get to the talking part.”
She turned to grab the corkscrew, then picked up the two glasses that she’d set out earlier.
“Where are we talking?” he asked as he shed his coat and tie.
“How about right in here?” she said, carrying the glasses to the little living room. She put the glasses on the coffee table, kicked off her shoes and got comfortable. “Why do you look worried?”
“Because this seems planned and I have no idea what’s coming. I hope it’s not bad news.”
“I hope so, too. Open that wine and let it breathe.” While he did that, she took a deep breath. “Troy, I’ve never been to a high school dance before tonight.”
He stopped twisting the corkscrew for a second, then looked at her. He pulled the cork. “A lot of kids don’t go to the dances, Gracie.”
“I bet you did,” she said.
“I did,” he admitted. “But by now you know me—I’m a flirt. I get along with everyone. I’m the fun coach. I almost always had a girlfriend or at least a date. I didn’t date just anyone, though—I’m no man whore. I’m not a screw around kind of guy.”
“Troy, I never went to a high school dance because I never went to a high school.”
He seemed to be momentarily confused. “Boarding school? Some private academy?”
She shook her head. “Homeschooled. With tutors.”
“And some classes here and there?”
“Some,” she said. “Small groups of tutored kids, now and then. Mostly independent study with guidance and lots of tests to track my progress.”
“Wow. You’ll have to share that study plan with me someday. It seems to have worked. You’re very accomplished for someone who never went to high school.”
“I didn’t say they were lazy tutors,” she said. “I learned things a lot of high school students wouldn’t even get to. But there’s a reason I’m telling you this, Troy. I’ve also never had a boyfriend.”
He chuckled. “That’s very hard to believe. You’re beautiful.”
“Oh, I had a couple of bad dates, but that’s about all. I just wasn’t in the mainstream of life like other young women. See, I said my parents were gone and that’s true, sort of. My father died when I was only fourteen and my mother and I fell out five years ago. We had an argument about what I wanted to do with my life. She comes from money—she’s very spoiled and demanding. She’s a diva, that’s the only way to describe her. The very thought of me in the back of a florist’s shop, filthy, lifting big pots, driving to residences to deliver flowers, being the help at weddings and funerals...” Grace shrugged. “She was mortified. We had a standoff. She wanted me to live at home with her, follow in her footsteps, plan charity events, travel with her, let her... Well, she probably had some guy lined up for me from somewhere. We never got that far in a discussion. I wasn’t interested. I wanted my own life and I wanted it simple. We haven’t spoken in years. It’s very sad. It’s for the best, I think.”
By his expression, he was stunned. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Grace...I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. Maybe someday it will sort itself out. What I really want you to know is...” She lifted her chin bravely. “Troy, I’m not like Iris. I’m not like other girls. I’m probably less experienced than some of your students. I’ve never had a guy I really liked before. I’m pretty lame at it.”
“You’re doing very well,” he said with a smile. He poured them each a glass of wine.
She took a sip. Then a breath. “Well, even though you’re probably going to figure it out anyway, I thought you should know—I don’t know much about men. Just what my boyfriends in my romances told me. That’s it.”
He raised one eyebrow. “And how am I going to figure that out?”
“When you realize I don’t have any idea what to do! You’re going to guess, if we do decide to do it, that I’ve never done it before. You will be my first unless you run for your life right now.” She grinned at him. “No pressure.”
He grinned right back. “I’m not worried, Gracie. Are you?”
She nodded. “Maybe a little,” she said.
“Want me to tell you how it’s going to be?”
Again she nodded.
“The first time it’s going to be very slow and safe. We’re going to kiss until we’re steamy. We’re going to touch and get so close we can feel each other’s heartbeat.” He leaned over and gently kissed her cheek and her throat and she let her head drop back and closed her eyes. “We’re going to lie down together and lose some clothes... We’ll discover each other. I’m going to touch you in all your special places and you’re going to touch me when you’re ready. We’ll ease into things slowly and carefully, but the most important thing is, you can say no or stop whenever you don’t want to go any further. Even if we’re naked and breathing hard, if you say stop, we stop.”
Her eyes were still closed and she whispered into his cheek. “I don’t use anything...”
“I do,” he said.
“When is this going to happen?” she asked.
“In a hurry, Grace?”
She shrugged. “Well, when I make a decision...”
“We’re going to enjoy a glass of wine. Then, if you’re ready, you’ll let me know.”
* * *
Troy hadn’t been prepared for this—a twenty-eight-year-old woman as beautiful and funny as Grace, a virgin. He would have expected her to have sexual history, like most women her age. Some had a lot of notches, some only a few, but he’d never encountered none before. Even his first girl, his first experience, wasn’t a virgin. She’d had a serious boyfriend before him. Of course, just because he was a flirt and liked to have girlfriends didn’t mean he’d been a sexual prodigy. He had sex for the first time at nearly the end of his first year of college. At eighteen, he was the last among his buddies, unless they were lying.
They were probably lying. Of course they were lying. At least mostly lying.
He took this very seriously, making love to Grace. It had to be a good experience for her and he was definitely eager to take on the challenge. He just hoped there wasn’t some virgin consciousness that would have her leaning toward true love and marriage because of sex. He wasn’t opposed to that in the long run, he just didn’t want it all to happen in one night. He was crazy about her, couldn’t wait to get inside her, didn’t see any red flags that would warn him to get out of this relationship—he just needed time to get more serious. This is how grown-ups court. They have dates, they discover common interests, they examine their rapport, they go to bed together, they ask, Does this have staying power?
They kissed and whispered their way through a glass of wine, then Troy took hers out of her hand and put it on the coffee table. He stood and pulled her to her feet and led her toward the bedroom, which was only about ten feet away. When they stood beside the bed, he took her gently into his arms and kissed her some more, drawing deep sighs from her. Then she turned in his arms and presented her back, pulling her hair away, and he saw the zipper for her dress.
He drew it down slowly, taking a taste of her neck in the process. He pushed the dress off her shoulders and she let it fall, leaving her in a silky black slip. She stepped out of the dress and bent to pick it up, but he took it from her and turned to drape it across the only chair in the room. He got rid of his belt and shirt and when he turned back to her, she had removed her hose and kicked them aside. She was a determined little thing; he wasn’t going to find going slowly an easy thing.
When she sat on the bed he withdrew a couple of condoms from his pocket.
“Do you ha
ve to put them out now?” she asked.
“Believe me, I do,” he said. He let the pants drop, kicked them off and they joined the clothes on the chair. He sat beside her, embraced her, pulled her down beside him and rolled a little, adjusting till their bodies were flush and tight. “There,” he said, feeling every curve of her against him. “Perfect.”
And he was ready.
“I can feel your heart,” he said. He ran his hands down her back and over her butt. She was so firm and solid. “The flower business must be good exercise,” he said, chuckling softly.
Her hands were on his chest, caressing every inch of him, kissing his chest, his neck, his mouth and all the time wiggling up against him. He still wore his boxers, but they were doing nothing to keep his secrets. He pushed himself between her legs without really meaning to—he was on automatic pilot.
“Let’s get rid of this,” he said, pulling a strap of the slip down over her shoulder.
She sat up and drew the silky garment over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her in nothing but a tiny thong. And that, he thought, wouldn’t get in his way for a second. But to level the playing field and give her a chance to get used to him, he shed his boxers. There they were. In all their basic glory. He pulled her hand, drawing it to him. She didn’t hesitate; she put both hands on him and hummed softly as she figured him out. “Easy does it,” he said.
There were so many things he wanted to do to her, but not the first time. He’d like to lick her whole body, make her come before she even knew what hit her. He’d like to lift her onto his lap and watch her ride; he’d like to take her against the shower wall. Not this time, he told himself. He had promised it would be slow and safe and he never broke a promise. He slid his hand under her thong. “Open for me, honey,” he said, giving her thighs a nudge. He slid one finger into her silkiness. Then two fingers. Wow, she wasn’t going to need much warming up. He massaged her for a few seconds and she was squirming against his hand, almost whimpering. He slid a finger inside.