After Hours. Karen Kendall
“Give me the male point of view on this situation. I spent last night with a guy—”
“You slut,” he teased.
She ignored that. “The guy and I had a great time. This morning that arrangement of flowers came. But when I called to thank him, he said he didn’t send them. Then, to make it worse, he asked me out, but almost as if he didn’t want to, as if he was just being polite. What does it mean?”
Alejandro pursed his lips. “Is he married?”
Horrible thought. Had she spent all last night having wild monkey sex with somebody’s husband? No. Somehow she just knew he wasn’t married.
“I don’t think there’s a wife anywhere in the picture.”
“Then maybe you just caught him at a bad time.”
“No, I think it was more than that.”
“Maybe you sprained his Mr. Happy and he’s in pain.”
“Alejandro, be serious!”
“Okay, okay. Maybe he’s just shy.”
Peggy reminisced about some of the things Troy had done to her last night. “He’s definitely not shy.”
“Well then, I’d say he was just a jerk who got some of your aunt Thelma’s free milk and isn’t thirsty anymore, but he did ask you out again. So, what’s to worry about, except who did send the flowers?”
“Alejandro, listen to me. His tone of voice was weird. He was kind of cool toward me.”
“Peggy, you women overanalyze these things to death. This could be as simple as he doesn’t like taking personal calls at work. What does he do?”
It was a damn good question. Peggy couldn’t believe she didn’t know the answer to that. She’d have to ask him.
By the time she left Alejandro’s office, she felt better. But she still didn’t know who’d sent her the damn flowers.
“SO, WHAT DO YOU DO, Troy?” Peggy asked him as they sat at a table at Benito’s. The place was dark and simply furnished with long wooden picnic tables and benches; squat green candles set at two-foot intervals along them. You didn’t want to come to Benito’s in a tight skirt, since sitting down required a bit of climbing. Luckily, Peg had worn a loose-fitting jean skirt today. It was short, but she could maneuver in it.
Benito’s was slightly cheesy, but cheesy in a charming way. Plastic pizza-wedge lighting blinked on and off around a large open window to the kitchen, where Benny’s high-school-age son would occasionally amuse kids and himself by juggling meatballs or twirling pizza dough. If his mother, Claudia, caught him with the meatballs, she’d whack him in the butt with whatever came to hand: a cooking spoon, a rolling pin, a box of spaghetti.
Peggy rested her elbows on the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth, looking up surreptitiously every once in a while. Benito and Claudia had hung Chianti bottles over all the tables, intertwined with fake grape vines. She couldn’t get rid of the fear that one of the bottles would fall on her head and knock her unconscious. She might even pitch forward into the candle in the center of the table, catching her hair on fire.
Troy repeated her question. “What do I do?” He looked vaguely uncomfortable. “I, um…well, I’m retired from the Jaguars and I decided to quit coaching after I left Gainesville, which was only a month ago. So I’m kind of…taking a break to work on my house in the Gables. And I’m planning to open a sporting goods store.”
The awkwardness that had pervaded their phone conversation was still present. Peggy took a sip of the Cabernet she’d ordered.
“A sporting goods store! How cool. So will it be here in Miami? Have you found a location yet?”
His own glass at his lips, Troy had started to nod at the first question and then began to cough.
“You okay? Need me to pound on your back?”
He nodded, then shook his head, continuing to hack and wheeze. Finally he gasped, “Wine down the wrong pipe.”
She wrinkled her nose in sympathy. “Oooh, don’t you hate that?”
He nodded, still recovering.
“So when are you going to open this sporting goods store?”
“Oh, you know. I’m hoping by next year. There’s a lot of, uh, legwork to be done. And a lot of numbers to crunch.”
“Will you specialize in anything?” Peggy asked. “You could sponsor some of the kids’ teams around here—you know, donate the uniforms. It would be good PR for you, and I happen to know of a certain powder-puff team that could use some new stuff, especially helmets. I can’t wait to ask you to price pink helmets by the dozen, Barrington.” She grinned at him, but he didn’t grin back.
Finally he did muster a smile. “Yeah. Well, we’ll have to see how it goes. Of course, since I’m the coach of my nephew’s team, they’ll get first dibs.” He winked.
Peggy put her hands on her hips. “Oh, really? But you have two nieces on my team. I’d think that their equipment would be equally important to you.”
Troy raised his brows. “Pink helmets? Are those really necessary? Besides, what’s wrong with their existing ones? I can’t supply the equipment for every youth team in Miami, and let’s face it, the boys are a little more rough-and-tumble than the girls.”
Peggy’s temples started throbbing. “That is so untrue. My girls are every bit as aggressive—and talented, I might add—as your boys! I’d put the ladies on the field any day and they’d kick your butts.”
“Is that so.” His body language became cocky and competitive: shoulders back and chin up.
“Yeah, that is so.” Her chin came up, too.
“Uh-huh.” Troy smirked. “Well, I think your strength lies more in color coordination. That’s why Danni and Laura and the rest of the puff team painted their nails before their last game—because matching team polish really brings out the beast in them.”
Peggy narrowed her eyes on him. “That was a team spirit thing, and I can’t believe you’d be so snarky about your own nieces. You obviously don’t take them or their talent seriously.”
“Yes, I do,” Troy protested. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant that the guys are rougher. They’ll need the helmets more, especially as they get a little older and things get serious for them. Let’s face it, most of the girls won’t go on to play in high school.”
Peggy gritted her teeth. “Because nobody takes them seriously and nobody encourages them to play in high school. They’re pushed to try out for cheerleader instead.”
Troy put his hands up, palm out. “Hey, don’t get all mad at me. I know that you were different, okay, and I admire you for that. But the majority of girls have no interest in doing what you did.”
Peg took a deep breath and counted to three. “Let’s just change the subject. Because if we don’t, I might be tempted to shove those bread sticks where the sun don’t shine, buddy.”
“God, I love it when women threaten me with violence. It makes me all horny,” Troy teased her. “What bread sticks?”
She glared at him. “The ones Benito’s bringing to us right now. Hi, Benny!” She turned to the restaurateur with a sunny smile. “How are you?”
“Very well, grazie. You?” Benito placed a large napkin-covered basket in the center of their table. The aroma of hot bread wafted out, hot bread liberally spread with garlic butter. Peggy’s mouth watered, and Benito beamed at her. He gestured toward Troy.
“I see you have dinner with our so-handsome landlord! Should help with the rent, eh?” He winked and laughed. “Ciao, Mr. Barrington. You like-a