Chapter 8

They had no proper clothes, including Francine. And it was already past midnight. Bob's suite had two bedrooms, and he'd already ordered two daybeds to be brought up. He had assumed that, since girls sleep together at slumber parties, they could do so in one of the bedrooms. He hadn't thought about Francine at all, but then, he had a lot on his mind when these preparations had been made.

"Tomorrow I'll buy you something to wear," he said. "For now, you can just wear those jerseys as pajamas."

"Daddy," said Judith, patiently. She came to him and hugged him, reaching up on tiptoes. Brady watched her naked ass appear from under the jersey and averted his eyes. "Take a good whiff, Daddy," said Judith.

"Oh," he said. "I forgot about that."

"We'll manage," said Janice.

Had Francine been less distracted by Brady, who had moved to stand very close to her when the coach's daughter had flashed her ass, she might have perked up at the tone Janice used. But she was distracted. She was thinking about her own situation, and the long, thick, cotton nightgown back in her suitcase in the van, that she wore to bed these days. She'd been so upset to find the girls gone, that she had completely forgotten about luggage.

"Can we take a shower?" asked Kendi, who had been sweaty, wet and scared all in one day.

"Sure," said Bob. "Your part of the suite has its own bathroom."

"Where do we sleep?" asked Tiffany.

Which is how they all ended up in the part of the room Bob had set aside for their use. It was equipped with a queen bed. Two roll away beds were sitting against one wall. They were singles.

Girls started calling dibs on beds. When they were finished, Francine said "What about me?"

They all looked around. The queen would hold three. Each day bed would hold only one. Cramming another in the queen bed would mean they'd have to be the very best of friends. Had it been just the girls, that wouldn't actually have been a problem. By now they'd all figured out that Janice's solution to the pajama problem was to just sleep nude. Lots of girls did that back at school, though nobody would admit it to the nuns. And of course they hid the fact that sometimes girls slept together in the same bed.

"I've got a queen bed in my room," said Brady, softly.

It was suddenly quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

"Actually, I could probably bunk in with somebody else," he said, hurriedly. "That's what I meant."

"I should stay with the girls." Francine's voice shook slightly.

Bob was fascinated by the unspoken interplay between this strange woman and his assistant coach for special teams. He knew they had a past. And even if he didn't have the details, it was pretty plain that past involved some kind of relationship. Brady wasn't Catholic, and Bob could think of no circumstance in which Brady Hopkins could have met a nun ... or novice. He could feel the tension.

But he was tired. It had been a long day, a day he would never forget on many levels. He glanced at his daughter, wearing Clarence Zimmerman's jersey, and suddenly his mind's eye saw her up on that table again, her arms waving and her hips gyrating. He remembered her cherry-tipped nipples and the distinct, unmistakable absence of pubic hair. He was shocked to feel the reaction to that mental image in his groin.

"I'll be here with the girls," he said. "There's no sense in anybody being cramped up. Brady, pick anybody to stay with. If they give you any flack, have them call me. Tomorrow morning you and Miss..."

He looked at Francine, who said "Fox ... Sister Francine, actually."

"Tomorrow morning Brady and Sister Francine will take my credit card and go get you ladies some clothing. I'll look into your missing van and make arrangements for it to be delivered here. We can get room service for breakfast, but hopefully you'll all have something to wear by lunch. Sound like a plan?"

There was a murmur of agreement.

"Is there any chance we can order a snack now?" asked Monica. Her stomach rumbled at that moment and there was general laughter.

"I think we can do that," said Bob.

"We'd better get going," said Brady. "If I'm going to find somebody to stay with, I need to do that before everybody crashes."

"I hate to put you out of your room," moaned Francine.

"No big deal," said Brady. "You have no idea how delighted I am to see you again. That's worth all sorts of trouble to me."

Bob watched as the color rose and suffused Sister Fox's cheeks. Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. When he finally got to hear it, their story was going to be very interesting.

He was sure of that.

Ten minutes later, Brady stood in his hotel room. There was, in fact, one queen bed. It was a very standard room, not at all fancy like Bob's. But he hadn't expected anything fancy.

He stood, looking at Francine, as she looked around the room. The "dress" she was still wearing inflamed him. He tried to resist those feelings.

"Are you okay?" he asked, after she stood there silently for what seemed like forever.

She turned to face him.

"No," she said, softly.

"Can I help?"

"Yes. No." She lifted one hand and wiped at an eye. "Oh Brady," she mewled.

"What's wrong?"

"I missed you so much," she whimpered. "That's what's so wrong."

"I'm here now."

"I know," she sighed.

"You want me to leave now?"

She took a step forward. She stood, feet together, and hands held in front of her, covering her loins.

"No," she whispered.

Bob stood in his part of the suite. He'd stripped down to his boxers. He looked at the TV and thought about seeing what the media was saying about the win. He heard a girlish shriek from the other side of the apartment, and imagined the girls there, getting in and out of the shower, moving here and there, covered only by towels, wrapped around naked bodies.

He closed his eyes and imagined Judith again ... all grown up ... a woman now. And that little chippie who was her roommate. He had a fragmentary memory of her lying on her back on that table, feet up in the air and legs spread. There had been three of his players all moving toward those open legs when he saw the table tip and they all went down together. That was when he'd roared, because all he could think about was the fat prick of an Ocelot plunging into his baby girl's defenseless, virgin pussy.

His eyes popped open. She hadn't been acting like a virgin. It suddenly felt like he had a bowling ball in his gut. Had some fat prick already slid deep into her belly?

He found himself standing in the open doorway of the other side of the suite. As his daughter's name leapt from his throat, he realized there were four naked girls cavorting around in the room. One of them had a towel wrapped around her head, but otherwise they were all buck naked.

"Judith!" his voice came stridently.

All four girls whirled and froze, so still they were like statues. He had no idea how long they would have stayed that way except just then Judith came from the bathroom, also naked, rubbing her hair with a towel held in both hands as she moved.

"Judith!" he said again.

This time she also stopped, frozen, as the other girls suddenly dove to grasp at sheets and blankets they were preparing to sleep on or under. There were squeals that sounded like they might be part terror, and part hysteria, but there was a disturbing tenor of excitement in those noises too, as if the girls weren't nearly as upset as it sounded like they were.

"Daddy!" scolded his daughter, letting the towel drop to hide her front. "You can't just walk in here!"

"I know," he said, holding up his hands. "I had to ... I need to ... could I please have a word with you ... in private?"

"Of course," she said. She walked toward him, wrapping the towel around herself.

He took her to the common room and stood, knowing he might be making the biggest mistake of his fatherhood.

But he had to know.

"Judith," he said, almost formally. "Are you still a virgin?"

She froze again, and his heart sank, because she looked so startled that he was sure that look was caused by being caught. Then she blinked several times.

"I can't believe you asked me that," she said, softly.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he really was sorry. "But I have to know. What I saw in that locker room..." He didn't finish.

He expected her to get mad and walk out, but she did exactly the opposite. She walked forward until she could put her hands on his shoulders.

"Daddy," she said softly. "We screwed up today. I know that. But that's the first time something like that has ever happened to me. To any of us. We don't act like that, Daddy. You don't have to worry. I'm a good girl. And my friends are good girls too." She frowned. "Well, most of them, anyway. Most of the time, anyway. Please don't think we act like that all the time."

"I don't," he said, simply. "But I have to know, Baby. I know I shouldn't ask you that. You're almost grown. But I can't help it. I have to know."

She went up on tiptoes and kissed her father on his cheek.

"Yes, Daddy. I'm still a virgin."

He sagged, and let out a long sigh. She giggled.

"Are you happy now?"

"You have no idea," he said.

"Awww. I love you, Daddy," she said, kissing him again.

"I love you too, pumpkin," he said. "I'm going to bed. I think I can sleep now."

She giggled again. Then she turned and sashayed back to their bedroom.

He sighed again as he watched her swaying hips.

And the fact that that towel only covered half her butt.

There's a saying: "I just can't catch a break!" That phrase is usually uttered by someone who's having a very long, very bad day.

In Bob Tanner's case, the day had contained stress he expected. There had been a dozen plays that had gone badly; dropped balls ... two turnovers ... and the other team's gains. In the end he'd been wrung out, as his team entered overtime. Then the euphoria of ultimate success, followed by stress he hadn't been expecting, as he saw his daughter in a situation he wasn't prepared for. Nor was he prepared to feel the level of lust that had shocked him to the core.

It had worked out, though, except for the fact that, as he returned to his room, he couldn't get out of his mind the images of the nubile, naked nymphs frolicking in that other room. And seeing his daughter again, her perky breasts upthrust as she dried her hair. And that final view of her half naked ass undulating as she walked away from him.

He knew he'd never get to sleep without some assistance. He wanted to masturbate, but guilt flooded him as he knew that, during that process, he'd imagine her again.

He turned to the mini bar.

Six little bottles later, he thought maybe he might be able to sleep after all.

Another person who was thinking along the lines of being unable to catch a break was Francine Fox.

In her case, it wasn't so much a crisis of faith as it was a recognition that she'd been running from something and, in the process, trying to be someone other than who she really was.

She loved Brady Hopkins. It seemed like she'd always loved him. And now, here in this room with him, she almost giggled hysterically as she compared herself with Fraulein Maria in The Sound of Music. She'd never done that before, but now the comparison seemed inescapable. All the reasons she'd fled to St. Clementine's were exposed as being flawed. Especially now that Brady was no longer married.

"Francine," said Brady, softly.

"Don't speak," she said, pushing a finger against his lips.

The dress was easy to shrug out of. It whispered to the floor as she reached for his jacket and pushed it back, off his shoulders.

"You don't have to find somewhere else to sleep," she whispered.

Two hours later, the aftershocks of the earthquake they'd all experienced continued.

In one room, Francine thrust her hips upwards as her lover's loins pounded hers. It was the third time they'd coupled, and she couldn't get enough. He had been tender the first time, violent the second time, and now he played a game of seeing how many times he could make her cum before he released himself in her again.