One Wish (7 page)

“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.

“You okay?” he asked in a whisper.

“Okay,” she whispered back.

“This has to go,” he said, pulling her thong down. She kicked it away as he turned to the bedside table and retrieved a condom, quickly rolling it on. If he didn’t suit up, she was going to climb all over him. She was straining toward him, making beautiful little noises. He turned her on her back, spread her legs with a knee and placed himself in the zone. Leaning down to her lips once more, he whispered against them. “Ready to see how this works?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered back, her eyes closed.

“Look at me, Gracie.” She opened her eyes. “I want you to go limp...relax everything. It’s not going to hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He pressed himself against her. “Nice and easy,” he said. “It’s okay. It’s good.” And he pressed into her very, very slowly. He kissed her deeply as he went all the way. She moaned. “Okay?” he asked.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “Okay.”

But damned if he was! This was the best place he’d been in a very long time. And she hugged him like a velvet vise. A quivering, soft, slick vise. He was dying. He started to move, slowly, looking for that sweet spot, pressing deeply into her, listening to the sounds she made, trying to judge them for the right spot, the right friction, the perfect stimulation for her. As for himself, if he unclenched his molars for one second, he was gone.

“Oh.” She sighed. “Oh! Oh!
Oh!
”

“Oh, yeah,” he said.

“Please,” she said, gripping his shoulders. “More. Please!”

He moved a little harder, hanging on for dear life. He took her mouth again, kissing her deeply as he moved inside. “You’re beautiful, baby,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

“I think maybe you’re perfect,” she said.

“Only with you,” he said. “With you I feel perfect.” And he followed that with a kiss. And a thrust.

She came apart. She clenched him inside her body, drawing on him, leaving him to wonder if it was his expert moves or the words. Then thinking stopped. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back and her pelvis forward, upward, bit her lip and if he could see, he’d bet she curled her toes. So he did what came naturally, thrusting a couple more times and having the best orgasm of his life, right then, right there, with her. His eyes teared; his brain clouded over and he wondered if he lost consciousness for a second. He pulsed until there was nothing left in him. Even his brain was empty; her body was still holding him for so long he was amazed. She rode through it with him, the whole way.

He pressed his lips softly to hers, kissing her gently. She didn’t move. He gave her another kiss. She still held him in a beautiful, delicious, unimaginable grip. “Gracie,” he whispered. “Breathe.”

She let out her breath in a slow
whoosh
. “Holy shit!” she said.

He smiled. “Nice?”

“Mmm,” she said, her lips curving into a smile.

He chuckled. “Just when I was wondering what to get you for Valentine’s Day...”

“Oh. My. God. Do it again.”

He laughed. “Maybe in a little bit,” he said, but there was really no maybe about it. “No regrets?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I might not have figured it out,” he admitted. “Except I also might not have tried so hard to go slowly and patiently. Because, really, Gracie, you had me in a real vulnerable spot there for a while.”

“I did?”

“You did. We came together like old pros.”

“If I hadn’t told you, what would you have done?”

“I think I’d have just gone for it. I think first, to be sure you had everything you deserved, I’d have licked your whole body. Then I would have just gone for it.”

“Okay. We’ll do that next time!”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her, she was so damn cute. “You like sex, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“I like sex,” she admitted, smiling. “Oh, God, is that a slutty thing to say?”

“No, Gracie.” He brushed her rich brown hair back from her brow. “It’s the perfect thing to say.”

* * *

They made love again and again. Troy knew he was screwed, and not in the usual way. He had himself a beautiful young woman who thought he was pure magic, who would do anything he wanted to do, bring him greater satisfaction than he could remember having and...and he didn’t know anything about her. Added to that, he wasn’t sure what had caused it, but being the first man to ever get inside her like that really did something to his head. A kind of possessiveness consumed him; he couldn’t even think about letting her go. But who was this young beauty who hadn’t been properly loved until now? Who asked questions about whether it was difficult being a young male teacher surrounded by teenage girls with crushes? Who was this young woman who’d never been in a traditional classroom yet who seemed to be smarter and more worldly than other women her age? And did mothers and daughters really part ways over the choice to own a flower shop?

He was lying on his belly in her bed, thinking about how he was going to get the answers to these questions when he felt her small hand, slightly calloused from hard work, slide over his buttocks.

“You have the nicest guy booty I’ve ever seen.”

“Roll me over and see what else I’ve got that’s nice,” he said.

“I’m afraid to,” she said with a laugh. “I think you’ve had enough. And I’ve definitely had enough!”

“Feeling a little tender?”

She nodded and blushed.

He laughed. “After the gymnastics of last night, how can you blush?” he asked her.

“It’s daylight,” she said.

“Better yet,” he said, rolling over to show off his rather impressive morning erection.

“Oh, my,” she said. “Keep that thing away from me!”

He ignored her and pulled her into his arms. “Let’s talk about how to have fun when we’re feeling a little...delicate.” And he began kissing his way down her body, over her belly, between her thighs. Just a few minutes later he had to say again, “Gracie. Breathe.”

“Oh, God,” she said weakly.

His pleasure couldn’t have been greater.

“Is it my turn now?” she asked.

“Not this time, honey,” he said, hoisting himself out of the bed. “Much as I’d like to lie around in bed all day, I have things to do. I have to get ready for classes tomorrow and I’m working at Cooper’s all afternoon and evening. You should nap, rest up. If you want me to drop by later to make sure you’re okay, just say the word.”

“The word,” she said with a smile.

“Would you like me to take you to breakfast at the diner before I start my chores?” he asked.

“Would you?”

“I definitely would. You make a man hungry, but I have to go home first and, you know...freshen up.”

She laughed softly. “I guess it wouldn’t do to go out to breakfast in last night’s clothes. Not to mention...”

“Don’t mention it,” he suggested, knowing where that was going. The scent of sex was all over them. Even without that, anyone who saw her this morning was sure to know. She was wearing a very fetching whisker burn on her pink cheeks, her lips were bright and rosy from a night of kissing and that sleepy twinkle in her eye said everything. Here was a very happy, satisfied lady. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

Six

A
n hour and a half later, breakfast done, Troy was back in his apartment, where he was not planning to do any school preparation. Instead, he got on the internet. He had a couple of hours before he had to be out at the beach bar. He didn’t expect to find anything, unless perhaps there had been some kind of molestation and charges were filed, but if Grace had been a minor, her name wouldn’t have been included. He typed her name into the search bar and the italicized question popped back:

Do you mean Isabella “Izzy” Grace Dillon Banks?

Just for grins, he clicked on the name, expecting to see the picture of a sixty-year-old opera singer.

“Are you shitting me?” he asked the empty room.

Figure Skating Gold Medalist walks out of the Vancouver arena and doesn’t look back.

It was
her
in the picture.
Izzy Banks?
Gold medalist? Retired at the age of twenty-three?
It just didn’t compute. Was that something you didn’t think to mention? Although Izzy apparently issued a statement, she refused all interviews. He read her statement.

“The figure skating community and competition has been very good to me and I’m tremendously grateful to my family, my mother, the intrepid Winnie Dillon Banks, my coach Mikhail Petrov, U.S. Figure Skating, and every friend and competitor I’ve known over the past twenty years, but this is my time to exit. There are so many wonderful athletes prepared to have their chance and, believe me, I won’t be missed for long. I crave a quieter life.”

Troy was stunned. He almost couldn’t inhale. How was this possible?

There were a number of articles and much conjecture, comparing Izzy to other athletes who, exhausted and overloaded, perhaps depressed, crashed after a big win and retreated. She wasn’t the only story, for sure.

There were a few differences that stood out to him, maybe because of their conversation just the night before. A grievance was filed against her with U.S. Figure Skating by figure skating coach Hal Nordstrom, a world-famous coach whose students had won many medals. He alleged slander and defamation of character. The direct quote seemed to be well-known but wasn’t in the article. Apparently when a fifteen-year-old student of Nordstrom committed suicide Izzy Banks, then eighteen, commented that he mishandled his students and drove them to tragic ends with his sexual misconduct. No charges were filed against the coach, no corroborative complaints emerged, no other students stepped forward and there was no evidence against the man. The grievance was dismissed; Izzy had uttered an opinion in the presence of other skaters in training, their coaches and parents—it didn’t say how many. There were comments from Nordstrom’s other students that had nothing to do with sexual misconduct. They claimed he’d taken his student, Shannon Fields, out of his number-one slot and put another skater in it and some believed she was despondent with disappointment and jealousy after so many years of hard work. No one seemed sure why she took her own life.

But Troy knew. He knew Grace. If she said a younger skater had been molested, she thought she knew something. It didn’t mean she was wrong just because she had no evidence.

Nordstrom sued Izzy and her mother in a civil court. There was an undisclosed settlement.

He read other articles. Grace had been trailed by not one but three stalkers. She was hardly the only internationally known athlete with this burden, but she was one of only a few who had actually been kidnapped. It wasn’t for more than a few hours, but he couldn’t imagine how terrifying it must have been. That particular stalker was captured, arrested, prosecuted and hospitalized. His name was Bruno Feldman and he was schizophrenic and delusional, which made him ill but no less frightening or dangerous because of his illness.

He typed her name into the search box again. There were over five thousand hits. As far as he knew, no one in Thunder Point had any idea who she really was. His little flower girl had accomplished things most people never dared dream of and, apparently, the price had been high. He had an overwhelming urge to run to her, take her into his arms and tell her she was safe now. Instead, he took his laptop with him to work at Cooper’s, where he planned to read more on the sly when he wasn’t too busy.

He was at the bar by noon. There were ten people, all inside. Cooper and his young brother-in-law, Landon, were behind the bar. Troy was barely in the door when two patrons left. He hung up his coat and put his backpack under the bar.

“If the weatherman is right, it shouldn’t be too busy today. Just the occasional Sunday driver,” Cooper said.

Sunny Sundays were typically pretty busy. “What’s the weatherman saying?”

“Guess? Wind and rain. The baby’s trying to get a tooth so we’re going to look at a couple of cars for Landon,” Cooper said.

“Trucks,” Landon corrected.

“
Maybe
trucks,” Cooper clarified.

“I thought you had a truck,” Troy said.

“It pretty much bit the dust and has been retired,” Cooper said. “Landon needs some reliable wheels so I don’t have to drive to Eugene every time he feels like a weekend at home.”

“And this has what to do with a tooth?”

Both guys winced. “You have no idea how hard it is to get a tooth,” Cooper said. “Apparently she has to work on it twenty-four hours a day and it makes her very pissy.”

“She’s not happy about anything right now,” Landon said. “We’re getting out of there.”

Troy laughed. “Poor Sarah.”

“I did my shift last night,” Cooper said. “If it’s stormy and empty, close early. Six or so?”

“I’ll stay as long as you want me,” Troy said, but he knew if the weather was bad, the bar hardly ever saw business after sunset and sunset came early in February. In football season, there’d be people inside watching the game, but that was past.

“You decide,” Cooper said. “Let’s go, Landon. Have a good day. And thanks.”

By midafternoon there was just one couple in the bar, drinking Bloody Marys and eating sandwiches at a table by the fire. Troy checked the kitchen and dishwasher, but as usual Cooper had left the place spotless and organized. In winter this was a one-man operation, but in summer it took a full crew—there were lots of people on the beach, renting paddleboards and kayaks, eating and drinking, enjoying the bay and lighting fires on the beach at night, a constant flow of customers, sometimes until after ten.

He brought a stool behind the bar and opened his laptop. There was enough information about Grace to fill a book. She even had her own Wikipedia page, as did her wealthy mother, Winnie Dillon Banks, a champion figure skater before her. There was a half brother, twenty years her senior, a child of her father’s by a previous marriage. One article explained the many ways people managed the expensive training without being wealthy, but such sponsors were difficult to come by before the athlete had at least come very close to winning major competitions. And to his surprise, the number of moneyed US and world medalists was quite small. Most of them, in fact the best known among them, had hardworking parents who got up at four in the morning to drive them long distances to rinks where the best coach could be found. Some moved to accommodate their young champions.

By late afternoon the rain hit the deck outside and the last couple left, and he could get back to his research. Grace and her parents moved a few times; her father was sought after and drew a handsome coaching salary. He did not train Grace’s competitors, however. His income and notoriety, in addition to Winnie’s old family wealth, was a huge advantage for her. She didn’t make the cut for the 2006 Winter Games and there was some talk of moving her to another country. Obviously they hadn’t moved.

Lord, who was this girl?

He looked up Winnie Dillon Banks. There were dozens of pictures and all Troy could surmise from them was that she looked rich and cold. Many pictures of her watching her daughter skate in competition had her with a frozen face, wearing furs and diamonds.

That’s when he knew they hadn’t exactly fallen out over a flower shop. His best guess was that Winnie disapproved of her daughter leaving competition while she was still young enough to train and win.

He looked up figure skating training. It was typical to be on skates by four years old. Six hours on the ice every day, endurance and weight training, ballet and gymnastics, school or, in Grace’s case, tutors. Add in travel to every competition that would take her—first Nationals and then World Championships. He looked up international ice-skating championships. Jesus, she’d been to almost every country on the globe.

He watched a couple of YouTube videos of her skating, a long program and a short program, one when she was only sixteen and competing in Seoul. It was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. She looked just the same. Did no one ever remark on her likeness to a women’s figure skating champion? Her skill and beauty on the ice was nothing short of breathtaking.

Next on his list to research was sexual misconduct by coaches. He felt his heart race. It was everywhere. There were some horrifically wrong allegations. One female coach had her life nearly ruined by an accusation that never even went to court as her alibi was actually on film, placing her far from the alleged victim at the time; yet, years later she was still banned from certain gyms, even after the child finally recanted. It sent shudders through him. He thought a person had to be crazy to leave their child in the hands of a stranger even if he or she was a renowned coach.

To get a reality check, he searched the same subject with teachers and it was just as shocking, some cases getting national attention and being made into television movies.

I just thought it must sometimes be challenging...

He closed the laptop and turned on lights around the bar, though if anyone was out in this storm, he’d be amazed. He had a lot to process. It was almost five and the sun might just be on its downward path, but with the clouds it was already dark. He got himself a beer.

He’d known Grace for a year, maybe a little more. He only knew her superficially—he had gone into her shop to buy flowers for Iris twice and once to pick out an arrangement to be sent to his mother for Mother’s Day. He’d seen her at Cooper’s with Iris. He didn’t even really think of her as a friend but rather as one of Iris’s friends. He’d liked her but never thought about her—not before Christmas. He’d been looking right through her. He had no idea there was so much to Grace. She was amazing and complicated, part heroic, part tragic. And after last night, more woman than he ever imagined. Little virgin flower girl, a little shy, a little curious and cautious and, oh, God, so willing, trusting and sensual. So loving and innocent. She asked him to take her there, to sex and passion, then put herself in his hands. And man, what a ride.

“She’s an athlete, you dope,” he said to no one in the bar.

“Who’s an athlete?” Sarah Cooper asked, just coming in the door. She shook off her slicker.

“Jesus, you scared me to death!” he said. “Where’s the baby?”

“Finally sleeping. Ham’s babysitting.”

“Sarah, Ham’s a dog.”

“Best babysitter there is, trust me. He’s barely left her side since the day she was born. Don’t worry—she’s in the crib and the bedroom door is closed, but I trust Ham more than most humans. And I only came over for a second. You should close the bar. You’re wasting your time out here. This deluge isn’t exactly welcoming customers. Is there anything you need before you go? Besides to finish your beer?”

“I’ll just make a quick phone call, maybe take a couple of little pizzas from the cooler—I have a date tonight, I hope. Thanks, I think you’re right. No one has come in since two.”

She grinned at him, looking at the laptop. “Get your homework done?”

“I sure did,” he said. “And it was a load, too.”

“Thanks for helping out, Troy. Stay dry.” She pulled the hood of her slicker over her head and went out the back door.

He picked up his phone. “Gracie,” he said. “Thanks to the weather, I’m closing up early. Would you like me to bring you dinner?”

“I cooked! I cooked, hoping you would come here for dinner!”

“Your kitchen is the size of my closet. What did you cook?”

“Crock-Pot chili. A brick of cheddar and crackers. If I had a fireplace up here, it would be perfect.”

It’s already perfect
, he thought. “I’ll be there in a little while. It sounds great.”

He wasn’t going to tell her what he knew. He decided right then, he was going to wait for her. When she was comfortable, when she trusted him to know that part of her life, when she finally confided in him, he might tell her he’d known for a while.
Might.

* * *

A week later, when Troy was just packing up his papers to take home, he caught a flash of color out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Iris leaning in his classroom doorway. She was wearing a sly grin. “I saw you and Grace at the basketball game last night,” she said.

“We said hello,” Troy said, frowning slightly, not understanding.

“I was too busy in the concession stand to chat, but not too busy to notice.”

“Notice what?” he asked.

“You are officially completely over me.”

He smiled and put his papers in his backpack. “I’m over you,” he said. “I hope you’re not offended. You are married, after all.”

She walked toward him. “I saw the way you looked at Grace. I was glad you and Grace were hanging out, but it’s a lot more than that. Troy, this makes me happy. Grace is wonderful and I love her. And you’re one of my best friends.” Then she laughed. “There’s the final proof! You didn’t wince when I called you a best friend!”

“There’s a lot more to Grace than meets the eye,” he said, zipping the backpack.

“I think you’re falling in love, Troy.”

“Easy, Iris. That’s a powerful diagnosis. And I don’t think you can make it.” He picked up the backpack. “My complexion has cleared up, that’s all.”

She laughed at him. “I hear the hearts of dozens of sixteen-year-old girls breaking.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he said, suddenly very serious. “That could be a world of trouble a teacher doesn’t need.”