After Hours: Midnight Oil / Midnight Madness / Midnight Touch. Karen Kendall

Peggy turned back to him and nodded. “Yeah. I just arrange to take two hours off in the afternoons on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. We schedule around it and Margaret picks up those appointments.”

      “So is Margaret as cute as you?” Troy asked, deliberately baiting her.

      She turned to face him, and he saw his own smirk doubled in her mirrored sunglasses. “Now, how am I supposed to answer that?”

      His smile widened. “Truthfully.”

      Her attention went back to the field. “Okay, walk and stretch!” Then she said to him, “Margaret is a very capable and skilled massage therapist.”

      Troy chuckled. “Yeah? Good to know, but that’s not what I asked.”

      Peggy said stiffly, “She’s very, uh, cute. In a manly sort of way.”

      Alarm bells went off in Troy’s head. “What, does this woman have a beard? Hairy knuckles?”

      “No! And by the way, your question is not appropriate. We hire people based on their qualifications, not their looks.”

      “Well, here’s the thing,” Troy said. “I don’t think that this Margaret person could possibly be as qualified as you, Peggy. And as the customer, I demand top-notch service.”

      She lowered her sunglasses and aimed a level look at him. “What kind of game are you playing, Barrington?”

      “Game?”

      “Margaret actually has two years’ more experience than I do, and I think you’ll be very happy with her services. Now, I’m sorry, but will you excuse me?” She nodded politely at him and then jogged out onto the field, blowing an earsplitting whistle and gesturing to gather the girls around her.

      Troy folded his arms across his chest and admired her rear view as well as her cool. He really was starting to wonder what flavor her freckles were.

      

      THE SALON WAS LESS CROWDED this evening without the Fab Four, but just as wacky.

      “Carnations!” Nicky hissed into his cell phone. Not for the first time, Peg thought he looked like Princess Di in drag—with much louder taste. Today he wore formfitting black overalls with a teal muscle T and a wide black leather cuff on his wrist.

      “Yes, the tasteless little cheapskate sent me carnations…. Can you believe it? And I took him to a nice place, too!” Nicky stamped his foot, which was expensively shod in Italian leather.

      “Well, what other dating sites are out there for us? Wait, let me get a pen….”

      Peg tuned him out and went up to the front desk, where she was greeted with the unwelcome news that Margaret had gone home sick.

      “You can’t be serious!” Peggy stared at Shirlie and groaned. “Margaret is never sick. She can’t be, and especially not today of all days!”

      Shirlie shrugged. “She is. Left an hour ago. Food poisoning from that taco place she loves. Uh, used to love. Her skin was as close to green as I’ve ever seen on a human being, and Alejandro had to drive her while she hung on to a wastebasket.”

      Poor thing.

      “So you’ll have to take her appointment this evening, and it’s Troy Barrington.”

      Peggy closed her eyes. Troy Barrington, naturally. The guy who had slipped naked into her subconscious every night since she’d met him. The guy whom she really couldn’t go near again, especially nude under a sheet, or she didn’t think she could be held responsible for her actions. “Listen, Shirlie—I can’t do it.”

      The receptionist looked at the appointment book. “Yes, you can. You don’t have anyone coming until Pilar Morales at nine-fifteen.”

      “I, uh—”

      The door opened and in walked Troy, with windblown hair and a slight sunburn on his nose. He looked edible, and those weird butterflies swarmed into her stomach again. She couldn’t chalk them up to hunger this time. No matter how hard she fought against it, she was attracted to a football player, a species of man she’d sworn never to allow into her life.

      “Hi,” said Shirlie brightly, while Peg aimed a tight smile in his direction. “I’m afraid Margaret has gone home sick, so Peggy will be doing your hot stone treatment.”

      A devilish glint entered his eyes. “Is that so?”

      Peggy cleared her throat and shot a Death Stare at Shirl, promising to get her later. “Ah, yes. I had a last-minute cancellation. How are you, Mr. Barrington?”

      “Even better than when I saw you two hours ago on the practice field, Miss Underwood.” He managed to say her name as if it were code for something deliciously dirty.

      Underneath the pristine white lab coat, Peg’s body went nuts, thrilling to every ion of his presence. The vibrations of his voice even played at the base of her spine.

      He turned to Shirlie and gestured with his thumb at Peg. “She’s got great legs, doesn’t she?”

      “Absolutely!” While Peggy turned red, Shirlie picked up the ringing phone and smiled. “After Hours, may I help you?”

      You’ve been no help to me at all, thought Peggy darkly. And what happened to your nervous babbling? Of all the times to be perky and quick-thinking…

      “So,” said Troy, looking at his watch. “Massage, right?”

      “Right. Follow me to the treatment room,” said Peggy in wooden tones. Barrington thinks I have great legs? A shiver of pleasure went through her, even as she told herself not to be gullible.

      “I think I’d follow you pretty much anywhere,” Troy said, “because the view is so nice.”

      Should she ignore him or get in his face about the personal comments? She damn sure wasn’t going to giggle and say thank you. Peggy settled for snorting. “God, and here I thought I’d left the cheese in the refrigerator.”

      “I guess I should be happy you’re not calling me a dumb cracker.”

      She groaned. “He walks, he talks, he makes bad puns. Lord help me, what do I do with him?”

      “Personally, I think you should go out on a date with him,” Troy announced, whipping off his shirt. “If he asks you.”

      Peggy froze and then noticed what he’d done. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Can you please keep the clothes on until I leave?”

      “That’s no fun at all.”

      “And I don’t date clients.” I especially don’t date football players.

      “Ah. Good thing the client hasn’t asked you to date him yet.”

      Peggy choked. “Good thing.”

      “So, same drill, right? I shower, towel off, hang my robe on the hook, cover up Mr. Happy?”

      She nodded and backed out of the room, feeling utterly discombobulated. Barrington was a big flirt. Problem was, she really wanted to flirt back. And it was ever so bad an idea. Her own personal goals aside, there were a hundred reasons not to ride the Troy Barrington roller coaster.

      Peggy went to the kitchenette and got a glass of water for him and a glass of cold Arizona green tea for herself. She gulped some down and then pressed her chilled hands against her hot cheeks.

      Inner calm. Balance. Mind, body and spirit in harmony. She took a deep breath and then exhaled; she repeated this three times. Then she walked down the hallway toward the treatment room as if going to her doom.

      Troy was lying on his back, his arms folded under his head, his eyes open and amused. He flashed very white teeth as she entered the room again, his gaze following her every move.

      “Water?” she asked him, adjusting the volume on the stereo. She had put on another soft, new age