The rest of March fell into a wonderful and productive pattern. I continued to see Grace every Thursday evening. One week we worked straight through getting organized for an English essay and a Law and Government test. The next week, we checked in on all her classes and found she was up to date. Grinning like kids getting away with something, we went upstairs to her bedroom and ended up in a deeply satisfying sixty-nine that lasted the rest of our hour together and left us both wrung out and happy. The last Thursday was all business again, including some SAT prep and time management. Fortunately, the lacrosse politics seemed to have wound down as the season progressed. I did my best to keep her moving academically and nudged her to prioritize some down time, some fun time, and some work time.
I kept seeing her mom, but tried to keep the two worlds separate. Lindsey expressed her appreciation for how well Grace seemed to be doing, but we didn't talk much about anything else that happened. The jokes about molesting her daughter died down as we settled into a comfortable and balanced pattern of stolen pleasures. Her husband popped in and out of the picture occasionally, but seemed to spend a lot of time in South America that spring, which was fine with both of us. Although we had to keep things pretty quiet around town, I even managed to chat publicly with Lindsey when I ran into her at a lacrosse game. Teachers are not really supposed to be dating parents--especially married ones. We played it cool and no one noticed a thing, but there was a double gleam in our eyes because we had a secret AND we both knew I was there to see Grace because of what we had going on. All in all, it was a satisfying few weeks.
As April break approached, though, things got busier. All of my classes were pushing to get things done so there would be no work over the vacation. I was up late grading and Grace was super-busy academically. The afternoons I spent with her were focused solely on getting things done. She still wasn't a great student, after all, and the increased pace was giving her trouble. Fortunately, some extra time was possible when school was out--Grace wasn't going anywhere because she had practice and a travel tournament to play in. That meant we might be able to connect and get some work done. Naturally, my mind wandered back to the weekend days I had spent with her already and my heart beat a little faster. There was THAT possibility as well!
Lindsey, on the other hand, was going to be away for the week. She didn't seem thrilled, but a trip to Curacao and Cartagena can't be all bad. We had a nice weekend together the week before she left and I got Grace through her last Thursday afternoon session that lasted almost two hours. Lindsey kindly gave me another check before she left so I was feeling flush and thinking about a spring trip myself.
Saturday morning, though, I got a text that changed my calendar in a good way. It was Grace, of course, and she asked if I had any time during the week to work together. She had practice from 9-12 each day, but was free every afternoon. I agreed to Monday afternoon and said we could see what progress she made after that. I shifted my travel and hiking plans to the last weekend of break in anticipation.
After the crazy week, I was happy to relax on Saturday and Sunday and get some stuff done around the house. Monday morning I went to the gym and then went home to shower. Hoping the day would lead to more than work, I shaved extra close and groomed myself from head to toe. Traffic was non-existent, and even with a stop at a Venezuelan restaurant for lunch, I was at Grace's house at 12:30. I knocked and let myself in since Grace's car was in the driveway and found her sitting at the kitchen counter working her way through a container of pasta salad.
"Shorry!" she mumbled around a mouthful.
I laughed and told her it was no problem. As I walked around her to set my stuff on the table, I darted glances at her outfit. She was wearing ankle-high white cleats, short white socks, a skirt that bared her toned and tanned thighs, and a white practice jersey with blue trim that clung to her back but gaped open as she leaned forward. Her hair was caught back in a ponytail and was still dark with sweat from practice. She looked young and athletic and beautiful and I was caught off-guard by the wholesomeness she exuded as she sat there. My subtle glances weren't so subtle, though, because she caught me looking and grinned as she finished off her water.
"Are you checking me out?" she asked laughingly.
"Yeah...I kind of am!" I said, crossing my arms smugly. "Are you cool with that?"
"Do you have a thing for sweaty lacrosse girls?"
"Sometimes. But I don't discriminate. I like sweaty soccer girls, too."
She snorted and her lips twisted into a wry smile.
"I'm going to tell my soccer friends to watch out!"
"I think they're pretty safe," I said candidly. "What we have going on is kind of one-in-a-million."
"I don't know, Mr. Robertson...I mean, I'm going to graduate and go away to school. Who will you be...tutoring next year?"
The way she said "tutoring" was hugely suggestive, but I just shrugged and smiled back.
"Who knows?" I answered at last. "You might need help with those freshman classes!"
"Maybe..." she answered speculatively, smiling to herself. "Or maybe I could recommend a few of my friends that could work with you after I'm gone!"
I chuckled and rolled my eyes at the prospect of Grace pimping me out to her friends, but I knew that was strictly fantasy territory. Images of her hallway friends flashed across my mind, though, and I wondered who she had in mind.
"Let's focus on THIS year and getting YOU graduated!" I replied, trying to get things back on course professionally. "If you're finished, we should take a look at what you have to do."
"Okay, fine!" she answered with exaggerated sighs. "You get set up and I'll put my dishes in the sink."
That sounded productive, so I went and sat at the table and pulled out my laptop to check grades and assignments. Grace clattered around for a minute and then I heard her cleats click away across the kitchen floor. There was a rustle of fabric and a pause and then I heard them clunk to the mat in the entryway, after which her soft footsteps came close again until she stood behind me. Instead of sitting down, though, she rested her hands on my shoulders and bent down to look at the screen with her head next to mine.
