Karen Kendall - After Hours

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.

SHE 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.