After Hours Bundle (13 page)

“It's true,” said Troy, winking at her. He pushed off from the side of the pool and floated on his back, arms under his head.

“Your big head is getting swollen,” she told him, “but your other one doesn't look anywhere near so impressive now…oh, yikes!”

He jumped out of the pool and came after her. Peggy ran, but her legs were no match for his longer ones and he caught her within seconds. She tried to twist away, but he caught her around the waist and threw her over his shoulder, caveman style.

“Hey! Put me down!”

He ignored her and walked over to his jeans, which lay in the grass. He toed them up, fished out his keys and smacked her sharply on the bottom when she pounded a fist into his kidneys.

“Ow!”

“You hit me first. Behave.” He unlocked the back door and made his way inside with her, locking it behind him. He deposited her on the kitchen table after sweeping off a couple of stray Cheerios with his arm. “Don't think we're done yet, darlin'.”

“We're not? I don't think I can take any more!”

“Then you'd better not make comments about things not being impressive.”

She looked between his legs.
Oh, my.
“What, do you have a helium pump or something? Where the hell did that come from?” His cock jutted at her, ready for business. “I guess you, uh, never used steroids.”

“I wouldn't touch that stuff.”

She shrugged.

“Not with a ten-foot pole.”

She looked at his pole and smirked. “You men are such exaggerators. That's not ten feet and you know it.”

“You've got a real mouth on you, Peggy-Sue,” he said, shaking his head. But he laughed. “Now, why'd you ask me about steroids? Was that another charming habit of your fiancé's?”

She nodded.

“So he gave you a CZ
and
you didn't get much action? What did you do, go to www.Losers.com and order one up special?”

Peggy choked. “Something like that.”

“Well, I hope they didn't charge you too much. Now, you just lie back and let Uncle Troy and his assistant give you a little massage. It's your turn today.”

Uncle Troy's assistant turned out to be a plastic squeeze bottle of honey, shaped like a bear. He liked to sit in the microwave for short periods of time, during which he got all warm and gooey.

Then he liked to be squeezed so that honey ran all over her breasts, at which point Troy had to step in and clean up the mess. With his tongue and a lot of suction. Peggy went ahead and let Uncle Troy and his assistant have their way.

But she also insisted on returning the favor, taking his erection into her mouthful of warm honey and doing a little torturing of her own. It wasn't her favorite thing in the world, but she loved the power she had over him as her lips slid up and down, and his eyes closed and his fists clenched on his knees. He groaned and murmured her name and opened his fists to bury his hands in her hair and stroke the back of her neck.

Finally he pulled her up so that she straddled him and sank down onto him. Her breasts rubbed against the rough hair of his chest, and he took them into his hands, squeezing gently, playing her nipples with his thumbs. The rhythm he set this time was slow, languorous and sweet. He kissed and caressed her, stroking gently with hands, tongue and cock until orgasm rolled over her unexpectedly and she relaxed into bliss.

He gave one last thrust, pulling her bottom down hard, trying to wrest every last iota of pleasure from their lovemaking, while she collapsed onto his shoulder and breathed in his scent. She could get far too used to this.

Peggy sat up at the alarming thought, twisting her hair into a wet knot on the top of her head. Troy's eyes were closed and he was still embedded in her, his hands still warm on her skin.

What exactly did she think she was doing? What had happened to her year alone? And impulse control? And finding a mind-body-spirit balance? Just when she'd decided to devote herself to things like inner peace and aromatherapy and even a little meditation, along came a hot man and she forgot about herself and her personal goals to focus on him. Were women genetically programmed to do this? Screw up their lives in the hopes of a little…pollination?

I am not screwing up my life. Just because I've had a few sexual encounters with this man doesn't mean I've signed over my life to him! And he's an ex-football player, for God's sake. Unmarried for a reason—he likes to play the field.

“What's the matter, Peggy-Sue?” Troy asked the question lazily.

“It's just Peggy.” Her tone was sharper than she'd intended for it to be.

“O-kay. What's wrong then, Just Peggy? You starting to obsess again about the powder-puff team being eliminated?”

Actually, she was horrified that it had flitted out of her mind so completely. “Yes. We can't let them do this!”

Troy sighed.

“Don't just sit there, Barrington, like it's a done deal. If enough of us go and raise a ruckus, we can change their minds.” She slid off his lap and paced across the kitchen.

“Peggy, stop for a minute. Please understand that I am not trying—not for a second—to minimize the importance of girls playing sports. Softball, soccer, volleyball, basketball—those are great for girls. But football? You and I both know that it's different, even if you don't want to admit that.”

Her heart stopped. “What do you mean, Troy?” she asked carefully.

He passed a hand over his face. “Look, I know you're going to get pissed at me for saying this, but football is a contact sport. And maybe girls are bigger and more agile than boys at this age, ten to twelve, but within two or three years that's no longer true. What's the future for a female player then? Getting mowed down by a guy twice her body weight? I'm sorry, but no amount of skill or determination is going to change that.”

Peggy tried to control her instant rage, but it didn't do much good. “I just slept with Cro-Magnon man! I don't believe this!”

“Why does speaking the truth make me primitive? Why?”

“Because your truth is slanted and ridiculous and shortsighted! First of all, a quarterback or a kicker or a cornerback doesn't have to have the same body weight as an offensive lineman, and you know it.”

Troy snorted. “Kicker is one thing. But the day you have a female quarterback on a mixed team is the day they ice-skate in hell.”

“Oh, really? Would that be why there are female fighter pilots, female boxers, a female secretary of state?”

“When was the last time you saw a secretary of state running for her life from someone that outweighs her by 150 pounds, bench-presses three times her weight and runs a 4.7 forty? And now, your pro quarterbacks—and hell, even division one quarterbacks—are at least six-two and weigh minimum 215 pounds. They have to—in order to withstand the beatings they take at the hands of these gigantic linemen and linebackers!

“For Christ's sake, Peggy, I'm not arguing that women aren't competent or lack commitment. I'm arguing that physically most women just don't have the stature to take the step to the next level. And even if that wasn't true, the male culture of football, as a sport, would never accept a female quarterback.”

“And that male culture is exactly what needs to change, damn it!” Peggy whirled and kicked one of his kitchen cabinets.

“Hey!”

“
Rat-bastard
male culture! No, it won't ever change, will it? I should know.” She kicked the cabinet door again, succeeding in splintering it down the middle panel.

“Hey!”
Troy was up and gripping her arm now. “Get ahold of yourself. I don't care about the cabinets—I'll be replacing them, anyway—but you're out of control.”

“Let
go
of me.”

He took a step back and raised his hands, palm out.

She dropped her hands to her thighs and leaned on them, trying not to hyperventilate.

“Where is all this rage coming from, Peg? What did you mean, when you said that you should know?”

She didn't answer. She didn't want to bare her soul to him, and she didn't want to be physically naked in front of him any longer, either. She stalked to the kitchen door and wrenched it open, emerging into the hot sun to get her clothes.

“Peggy? Answer me.” He'd followed.

“I don't have to answer to you.”

“No, you don't. But you're upset and I'm concerned about you and I wish you would talk to me.”

She pulled her skirt on, then her panties, bra and top—all with her back to him. She hunted for her shoes.

“Peggy, why did you leave your college team? It had nothing to do with your official statement, did it?” For some reason, dread grew inside him. This girl wasn't a quitter. Whatever her reasons had been for leaving the team, they had to have been big.

S
HE SPUN AROUND
to face Troy again. “How the hell do you know what my official statement was?”

“I own a computer. I know how to log on to the Internet. It's pretty rare for a woman to be a starter on a college football team.”

“You went snooping.”

“I was interested in you. If you call pulling up a newspaper article snooping, then so be it. I pulled up your biography and stats on the Bryce University Web site and then clicked on a link to an article. So sue me.”

She jammed one foot into a shoe, then the other.

“The article said you left the team to focus on your studies. That's not true, is it? Peggy…your anger today…” He hesitated. “Were you raped?”

All her blood seemed to rush to her head and pound at her temples. She wrapped her arms around her body as tightly as she could. She shook her head. Then she said slowly, “They tried.”

“Jesus,” he said. He took a step forward.

“Want to know the gory details?” Peg asked, her voice brittle. “Sure, why not? Three of them got me after practice one day, in a special locker room the university had had to construct just for me. You know, just another pain-in-the-ass aspect of having a girl on the team.”

Troy didn't say anything, his gaze boring into hers.

“Anyway, I came out of the shower in a towel just as the door opened and there they were, all three of them. I almost choked on my own spit, I was so scared. I backed into the shower again and grabbed my razor—my Daisy shaver—like I was going to be able to do anything with that.” She laughed humorlessly, and Troy winced.

“They crowded into the shower with me and one of them pinned my wrist, razor and all, against the wall. The look on his face…I tried to kick another one in the nuts, but he just grabbed my ankle and wrenched it to the side while he tore off my towel.”

“Look, I don't know if I want to hear this—”

“You asked to hear it.”
Her voice to her own ears was low and deadly.

He shut up, his face half anguished and half furious.

“The one holding my wrist grabbed my breast in his other hand, and the one with my ankle grabbed my crotch. The one in the middle unzipped and pulled out his dick….” Her voice broke.

When she could speak again she continued. “Lucky for me, Coach banged on the door—there was a request for an interview. The three of them froze, and before they could do or say anything I screamed.” Peggy swallowed before continuing.

“One of the worst things about it was the delay before Coach opened the door. Like he'd rather have walked away. Didn't want to see what was behind it….”

Troy cursed and tried to take her in his arms but she backed away from him.

“Coach came in and there I was on the shower floor sobbing, and the one guy was stuffing his dick back into his pants. And all he said to them was, ‘Get out.' He turned his back and told me to get dressed and that he would wait for me outside and then we needed to talk.

“We walked to his office and he shut the door and asked me if I was okay. I nodded, and he started to explain how a girl on a football team, no matter how good, was like a woman on a ship—just plain bad luck.

“He said he felt about me like he felt about his own daughters, but he was advising me to leave the team and not to say anything. That I would create a huge scandal, jeopardize not only the team but my own reputation—since they'd say I was a whore who invited them to pull a train on me—and that I'd also endanger his job.

“And he pointed out that I wouldn't be doing anything to advance women in athletics, either. He emphasized the fact that I
hadn't
actually been raped, no matter what their intent. He patted my knee and told me I was a good kid.” Peggy took a breath.

“I was so grateful for his kindness to me that I didn't think about being furious at his selfishness. I didn't think about the fact that those creeps had probably done this before or might do it again.

“The only thing in my mind at the time—besides relief and fury—was so dumb. Embarrassment that they had seen me naked. Coach had seen me naked, and how could I ever look him in the face again? There was no way I could play again after that.”

“Jesus,” Troy said, voice hoarse. He stood there without saying anything for a long time. “So…you never told anyone?”

She shook her head. “Not even my mother. I just wanted to put it out of my mind, bury it, pretend it didn't happen. I figured that if I didn't talk about it, then it would just go away.”

“You didn't talk to a counselor or something?”

“No. What good would that have done?”

“It might have helped you deal with what happened!”

She looked at him levelly. “Would you have gone?”

He blew out a breath. “It never would have happened to me.”

“But if it had, would you have gone?”

Slowly he shook his head.

“Well, there you go. Neither did I.”

“Peggy—” he scrubbed his hands over his face “—I don't know what to say except that I'm so sorry. What you went through was awful. Now I understand why you got so mad in there….” Troy pulled on his own jeans and shoved his hands into his pockets.

She looked at him miserably. “What I don't get is why I inspired so much hatred and contempt, when all I wanted to do was play. It wasn't just those three who were bad—every other player at Bryce University hated my guts.
Why?

“Not because I had no talent. Not because I was a horrible person with a bad attitude. Just because I had tits. I cost a
serious
player a spot. A guy. I made the players a laughingstock on the college ball circuit, because they were obviously such ‘pussies' that a girl could make the team.”

Troy closed his eyes. “The male ego is a complicated thing. Men do incredibly stupid things because of pride.”

“Oh, it was
pride
that made them goose me any chance they got? Harass me, come on to me, expose themselves to me? I have another word for it.”

“Not every guy could have treated you that way.”

“Nah. There were some who just ignored me.”

“And maybe on a different campus, in a different group of guys, things would have been different. Not all football players are like that.”

“Yeah,” she said bitterly. “Whatever.”

“You got a lot of press as the only woman starting for the team. Were they jealous of that?”

She shrugged. “Could have been.”

He nodded. “I think it must have irritated them.”

They stood in silence for a long moment. Then he touched her arm. “C'mon, it's hot out here. Let's go inside. You want something to drink?”

She was parched. “Yeah. But then I need to go. And I
am
going to lodge a protest with the school about their decision. It's just bs.”

She followed him inside and let him get a glass of ice water for her, which she gulped down without a lot of grace.

Troy watched her. “Can I ask you something? And don't get mad. It's just a question, because I really don't understand.”

She nodded.

“If that was your experience, then why do you want to keep training girls like my nieces, keep encouraging them to think that maybe one day they can be on a high school or college ball team? Why would you want anyone else to go through what you did?”

Peggy set her cup down with a snap. “Because it's the only way that the system will be challenged and the only hope that someday it will change!”

He folded his arms. “Look, you don't have coed basketball, or coed soccer or anything else. Why should there be coed football? Nobody wants it. The best you could hope for is a women's team.”

“Then give us women's teams. But we're not going to get them if we're wiped out at the first scheduling problem or budget cut! I'm asking you to stand with me on this, Troy. Not because you owe me anything, but because you owe your nieces.”

He gave her a long, hard stare. Then he looked at the floor. Finally he said, “All right.”

Even though she'd demanded it, he could tell she didn't expect his cooperation. Somehow, even though she'd told him her story, she'd lumped him in with the rest of the players who'd hurt her: big, male and unfair.

So Peggy stared at him, a smile of warmth and fond disbelief and gratitude slowly dawning across her freckled face. “Yeah…?”

Something inside him cracked at the sight. He cupped her face in his hands and leaned forward to kiss her lips. “Yeah.”

 

T
ROY WATCHED HER DRIVE AWAY
in her ridiculously cute munchkin-mobile. She herself was ridiculously cute. She didn't look like the kind of woman who had scars or worries; she looked like the all-American girl. Freckles, adorable little upturned nose, big blue eyes.

He thought about three thugs—her fellow ball players—attacking her in a shower stall and wanted to be sick. Team spirit took on a whole new sinister dimension. They'd gone as a posse to rape the little upstart, show her who was boss.

Troy threw the contents of his glass into the kitchen sink and stared down the black hole of the disposal. He whirled and splintered the same cabinet door that Peggy had kicked. It didn't matter, since he'd be gutting the whole damn kitchen within weeks, anyway.

Fury at three unknown men pulsed through him; he knew a desire to pound their faces into pulp, hear the sickening sounds of their bones cracking. The potential for extreme violence shooting through his body and psyche scared him.

He'd managed to stay calm when removing Sam's derelict husband from her house, and that had been tough—but last night's situation came nowhere near the sheer rage that consumed him right now.

The creep punched holes in walls and created scary scenes. But as far as Troy knew, he'd never tried to gang rape a defenseless girl.

Troy began to systematically destroy every cabinet door in his entire kitchen with his bare feet and fists.

The cheap wood and laminate splintered, screws popping loose and veneers peeling back. The old hinges didn't stand a chance of holding up under his assault, nor did the thin panels in the middle of the frames.

When he was done both the room and he were a mess. He got a hold of himself and stared around the shambles, feeling no better than Sam's ex, who'd only kicked in the bottom of one door.

Troy rinsed off his bloody knuckles under the tap and grabbed for the roll of paper towels. At least the cabinet doors hid only dated pots and pans, not a frightened woman and her crying children.

Troy headed for the bathroom off the master bedroom, sat on the edge of the bathtub and poured hydrogen peroxide over his feet. “You are one stupid sonuvabitch,” he said aloud, looking at the scrapes, bruises and abrasions. They were evidence of something even stupider: he'd gone and developed feelings for Peggy Underwood, and they were more than guilt feelings for sneaking around trying to break her business's lease.

He told the feelings—whatever the hell they were—to get lost, but he knew it was a losing battle. He thought about the times he'd been a little rough with her sexually, and was deeply ashamed. He weighed twice what she did. How could he have not been gentler?

And where the hell did he go with her from here? No wonder she'd once told him that she wouldn't date him.
I don't date football players. Not ever.
He recalled her saying that.

A wave of protectiveness washed over him, and as he sat in the tub and watched the cuts on his feet bleed, he resolved that no matter what happened between him and Peggy in the end, he was going to change her viewpoint on football players. He could help heal some of the wounds of her past.