AmericasDarlings (10 page)

“See? I told you you were funny.”

My fingers crawled back down her thigh. “That’s nothing. You want to hear something really funny? I just coupled with Dmitri and Alexi half an hour ago. And now I want to do it again. With you.”

Soraya laughed. “You really
are
a darling, you know that? But I’m too tired right now. You’ll have to content yourself with a good snuggle. Now let me sleep.
Please.
”

I lay there in her arms, awake, for a long time. I felt her muscles relax into sleep, her breathing become long and slow, relishing each breath as it ruffled the fine hairs on the back of my neck. Moving ever so slowly, I rested my hand on my mound. I found my clit.

Then I helped a tortured artist to comfort herself.

There was a fist-sized bruise in the middle of my back. And it wasn’t the only one.

Disaster.

Clucking, worried, more than a little irritated—and I didn’t blame her—Coach Debbie applied a skin-toned blemish concealer, dabbing it on with her index finger. “I’m trying to blend it in at the edges, but it’s not quite your color. You can see it if you know it’s there. The judges will see it for sure.” She stepped back, frowning. “And you and Benson might rub some of it off during the performance.”

It was the next morning, before breakfast, and I was wrong about last night. I
had
slept, cuddled in bed with Soraya, for a full hour and twenty-two minutes—a miracle—after which I’d eased my way out of her sleepy embrace and knitted furiously until she woke up. Now I stood naked in Coach Debbie’s room, twisting my back into a pretzel, trying to see myself in the mirror. I couldn’t see a thing. Soraya, horrified, had told me about the bruises half an hour before when we’d showered together. Otherwise I’d have shown up at the day’s event with a grotesque purple-and-yellow bruise smack-dab in the middle of my back.

Inconceivable.

I bit my lip. “I didn’t think it would leave a mark. I didn’t think he’d hit me hard enough.”

She sighed. “Why were you doing anything that involved hitting?”

“We weren’t. He was being an angry gorilla…” I realized how silly it sounded and stopped. “Anyway it didn’t hurt. Much.”

She turned me around. “Hickeys. Good Lord, Leah. Were you coupling with teenagers?”

“No!”

“Your toe. It’s bruised too. Look.”

Ah. Yes. I’d almost forgotten my altercation with the chair. “I did that one to myself.”

Coach Debbie clucked. “There’s a smaller one on your hip. Leah, Leah, Leah.”

“That was right after I hurt my toe. I ran into a table…”

She frowned. “And what happened to your nipple? It’s red. Are those
bite marks
?”

Dismayed, I examined it. “Russians. They like it kind of rough.”

“Apparently so.” She dabbed concealer on three hickeys on my neck and a smaller one on my breast, and dabbed concealer from a second bottle—a darker color—on the red bite marks on my nipple. “There. I hope it’ll stay on. Have me—or someone—put more on right before you compete.”

She sat down on her bed. “Turn around.”

I spun in a circle.

“Scratches. On your leg. Oh, honey.”

I bent, took a look. “They’re not too bad.”

She applied concealer to the scratches. “Turn around again.”

I turned around again.

“Stand in front of me and touch your toes.”

I did.

“Raise your arms in the air.”

I followed her direction.

“Turn your back to me and lean to one side then the other.”

I did.

“Okay. Now face me. Spread your legs and lift your tits.”

Then I grinned. “You’re just looking at me, aren’t you? Pervert.”

She tilted her head. “Aside from your bruises, you look ravishing, my dear. Radiant. You don’t
look
sleep-deprived. I want to couple with you right now.” She leaned back, regarding me. “You’re in perfect shape. You’re beautiful. You’re brilliant. You and Benson have magic together. You had this thing on lockdown. What were you thinking?”

I flopped onto the bed next to her. “I don’t know.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We have to move on.” She kissed the American flag emblem on my arm, kissed me full on the lips then flicked my nipple—the good one—and stood up. “Get dressed. We need to eat. Then you need to talk to your mother.”

“What?”

“You heard me. She’s waiting.”

Waiting. My mother was
always
waiting for me. Since I was old enough to remember, almost. Waiting for me after practice. Waiting for me to earn spots with the best coaches. Waiting for me to give her my ribbons and trophies so she could add them to her display. Waiting for me to get onto the Olympic team. Waiting for me to get a gold medal.

“Fine,” I said, “she can wait a little longer.”

I met up with the team at breakfast, a little late but not terribly so. Everyone already had their plates piled high and they were seated at two large, round tables near the back. I joined the buffet line and Benson waved at me across the crowded dining hall.
What’s up? Are you in trouble?
he questioned silently, gesturing, every bit as concerned as I’d known he would be.
Are you okay?

I’m fine
,I answered in the same way.
It’s no big deal. I’ll tell you about it in a minute!

He nodded slowly, not convinced, then went back to his breakfast.

Our designated dining hall was one of several littered around the village. The place was much more crowded than it had been the day before, and loud. It smelled of eggs and orange juice. Long lines of athletes formed in front of the buffet tables—athletes who had already competed, athletes who were in the middle of competition, athletes who already had medals. Traditional gymnasts. Divers. Volleyball players.

“Leah! Leah!”

I turned. My friends from the rowing team were ahead of me in line, about ten people up. They waved me forward and I joined them.

The tallest guy drew me into a hug. “I’m Gary,” he said. The others crowded near, patting me on the back and shoulders, telling me their names, all talking at once.

I laughed, delighted, forgetting the bruise on my back, the marks on my nipple.

“We loved your performance yesterday!”

“You were amazing! Simply
amazing
!”

“I cheered so hard my throat hurt. I’m not kidding!”

I gave the sandy-haired, freckle-faced man—Lenny—a chaste kiss on the cheek. “There. Is that better?”

He put a hand over his cheek as if to protect the kiss. He nodded.

I regarded them. “So. Did any of you have a VO?”

Gary blushed, which made him even more handsome than he already was. “Idid.”

“Me too,” said freckle-face.

“And me,” said another guy, holding his hand up as if he were in grade school. “A very nice one!”

We neared the buffet.

“Well, then, I’m doing my job. When do you guys compete?” I asked.

Gary picked up a tray and put a plate and two glasses of orange juice on it. “This afternoon. At four. And you?”

“This morning. At eleven forty-five. And if we make it through to the finals…tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll make it through! You and Benson are the best. My money’s on you.”

He slung a huge serving of scrambled eggs onto his plate, looked at it then gave himself another spoonful. Then he piled on six pieces of bacon and three fried eggs. I wondered how many mountains of eggs the village would go through in these two weeks.

“We don’t have tickets for today,” Gary said. “You’ll have to do it without us cheering you on.”

I smiled. “Then I’ll dedicate today’s performance to you. I’ll dedicate it to all of you.”

He grinned.

He was cute. Perhaps later, after this was all over, I would find him and ask if he was interested in coupling with me.

I
certainly was.

With him, I mean.

After I went through the line—my plate, although not perilously heaped like Gary’s, was definitely overloaded—I sat down across the table from Benson, in the seat Soraya had saved for me.

“Where’s Jim?” I asked, picking up a piece of bacon and snapping it in half.

“He’s here. He went to find the bathroom.”

“Oh.”

“He’s all right, Leah. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you sure?”

“We practiced last night when you were gone. He was fine.”

“But he keeps going to the bathroom…”

“So what? Stop it, Leah. Just stop it.”

I stopped it. I bent over my plate and shoveled in scrambled eggs. “Sorry,” I said, chewing. “I’m just worried about him. And you.”

“I think you ought to worry about yourself. Here comes Coach Bob.”

“
What did you do, Leah Collins?
”

The noise level in the dining hall dropped to a shocked silence.

I shrank in my seat. I wanted to be anywhere else but here—Coach Bob had a appallingly loud voice, which might come in handy in competition but not in a dining hall when everyone was watching.

“Come with me,” Coach Bob demanded, coming up behind me, his fingers closing viselike around my arm. “Now.”

I shot a frightened look at Benson.
Crap. He’s really mad!

Benson, alarmed, half rose from his seat.

“You,” said Coach Bob, glaring at him, “stay there.”

“No,” Benson said levelly, his eyes never leaving mine. “She’ll need me. You know that. I’m coming too.”

“Fine. You’re probably right,” said Coach Bob after a too long pause. He’d just remembered that I’d need “managing” when he got through with me. “What are you staring at?” he bellowed to the dining hall at large. “My Leah isn’t a sideshow! Get back to your meals!
Now!
”

How ironic to die of embarrassment in the dining hall when in a few hours the whole world would watch me have sex and I felt no embarrassment about that at all.

But this wasn’t the same. I hadn’t chosen this.

Blinking back tears, I rose shakily to my feet, leaving my breakfast almost untouched. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t hungry anymore. Coach Bob kept hold of my arm, steering me around tables and more tables, maneuvering us toward the unisex bathroom at the back of the dining hall. I couldn’t see Benson, but I knew he was following. The rowing team turned their heads to watch our progress, whispering among themselves. I couldn’t bear to meet their questioning eyes.

We neared the bathroom. Coach Bob let me go and grabbed a chair. He hauled it into the bathroom and slammed it to the ground. He pointed.

I sat, not looking at him.

“Let me see the bruise.”

I turned my back. From somewhere behind me I heard the
plink-plink
of a dripping faucet.

Coach Bob lifted my shirt. “What’s this shit smeared all over your back?”

“Concealer,” said Coach Debbie. She’d come silently into the bathroom behind us.

My body trembled at the sound of her voice. I couldn’t help it. Oh to climb into her lap right now! To hide behind her! I wanted nothing more than to roll into a tight ball at her side and let her and Benson protect me from Coach Bob’s wrath.

“I gave it to her,” Coach Debbie said calmly, putting her hand on my shoulder. “I put it on her. It’s mine.”

“Rub it off! I need to see the bruise.”

Coach Debbie ran water onto a paper towel.

“Take off your shirt,” Coach Bob ordered.

I did.

“Debbie, give me the napkin.”

A cold wetness touched me. Coach Bob began scrubbing at my back, making me rock in my seat.

It hurt. It hadn’t bothered me before when Coach Debbie had put the concealer on me, but now it did. I bit my lip. How bad was the bruise anyway?

I heard a gasp. Benson.

“God
damn
,” Coach Bob said. He poked at me with a finger.

I flinched.

“Who did this to you? I’ll
kill
him.”

“Dmitri,” I whispered. “On the Russian team. But he didn’t hit me for real! We were playing.”

“Playing? That’s stupid!” Coach Bob sputtered with indignation. “Leah. Listen to me. You don’t hit someone while playing and leave a bruise like this. This was
intentional
.” “Do you understand?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to understand.

“Listen to me. Dmitri hurt you on purpose.” His tone was calmer, quieter. Intense. It made me shiver. He turned my chair around to face him. “Show me your nipple.”

Slowly I straightened my shoulders. My breasts were revealed in all their glory.

Coach Bob leaned toward me. He touched my left breast. Lifted it in his cold, damp fingers. Palpated it. Examined the nipple and areola. Squeezed the skin. Watched the nipple pucker.

My traitorous insides quivered. His touch sent an intense
zap
straight from my nipple to my clit, as always. Could he tell?

“The other one,” I whispered.

“I know. I just want to see if it’s swollen in comparison.” He took the napkin, dunked it in water again and gently dabbed at my nipple, the injured one. He revealed four angry tooth marks and a hickey. “
Shit
, Leah!”

I gazed down at my breast, barely breathing, trying not to squirm as he prodded and poked and manipulated me.

“Looks worse than it is,” he said finally, “your nipple is swollen but the skin isn’t broken. You’d be out of contention if it were.” He flicked it with his thumb. “You’re lucky.”

My loins moved with desire for him. I hated myself for it.

“You’re fucking my mother,” I said, staring at him.

“Who bit you? Dmitri?”

“You and my mother. Screwing.”

“Who cares? Tell me who bit you.”

I gazed levelly at him, my lips a thin line, refusing to answer.

“Leah. That’s not important! We’re supposed to be talking about
you
.”

“
You are fucking my mother!
You’re my coach! You’re supposed to be here for
me
!”

He sighed, giving in. “I
am
here for you, Leah! But yes. Your mother and I are coupling. Dammit, we weren’t careful enough! That woman saw us! You weren’t meant to know—we weren’t going to tell you until later. We knew you’d get too worked up about it.”

“I’m not too worked up!”

He stared at me, his fingers still gripping my breast, squeezing now. “Yes. You are.”

I looked away.

Where was Benson? Why couldn’t I see him? I needed Benson! Then I saw him, hunched over the sink, his shoulders shaking, splashing cold water onto his face. Poor thing. He’d seen my injuries. He was worried about me. I bit my lip.

Maybe I
was
too worked up?

Remembering my late-night talk with Soraya and how she’d told me the same thing, I sank low in the chair, hunched over, pulling Coach Bob’s hand on my breast down with me. In my lap, my hands picked dejectedly at my shirt then balled it up.

The bathroom door opened. Someone started in.

“Go away!” commanded Coach Bob. “This bathroom is closed.”