Sinners Football 01- Goals for a Sinner (15 page)

“The problem is me, then.”

“I think so. Get on with life, Stevie Dowd.” The men returned, making enough noise clomping across the wooden deck to give the women fair warning.

“Mighty fine pictures, Stevie,” the Rev complimented.

“Oh, please!”

“Why don’t you put on that bikini and we can all go for a swim before dinner?” he suggested. “I think Mintay wore her suit under her clothes and I brought some trunks. Connor has those little running boy hips so I knew none of his would fit me.”

“Good idea,” Connor said.

They had to settle for seeing Stevie in her sagging tank suit, but Dr. Green surprised the group by peeling down to a leopard print two-piece that made her small breasts and narrow hips look very tempting. The Rev picked up his fiancée without effort and tossed her off the dock. With a shout, he ran down the planking and cannon balled into the water. The splash swamped over the sides of Connor’s boats.

Connor bent to pick up Stevie who started to say, “Don’t hurt your—” but she was into the lake before she could finish her sentence. Then, Connor took off down the dock. Stevie, treading water next to Arminta, sucked in her breath.

“It’s okay. Let the man play,” Dr. Green advised.

“Pitiful, white boy. You call that a cannonball?” the Rev mocked.

“No, I call that a dive befitting the grace and speed of an exceptional wide receiver,” Connor answered when he resurfaced. “I won’t have to bail out the boats after doing one either.” The four splashed while the chicken halves cooked over low heat in the closed grill. By the time the Rev got a little too playful and untied Mintay’s top, the meal was nearly ready. The doctor deprived him of any eye candy by swimming under water and scaling his wide back to retrieve the bikini top dangling from his thick fingers.

Connor got a quick glance of dark nipples against light brown skin, but pretended not to notice as he tamped down that envy again. He imagined how good Stevie’s wet, naked breasts would feel sliding down his back and then had to stay in the water a few extra minutes worrying about the chicken being overcooked. He watched Stevie help Mintay retie her top and heaved himself out of the water to go dowse the poultry with a last minute coating of his own special barbecue sauce.

When he turned a back to the lake, Stevie called for Mintay to put a beach towel on the edge of the dock for her. “She’s afraid to come out of the water,” called Connor to the Rev.

“She’s afraid somebody will see,” warbled the Rev like a canary singing bass. The men serenaded Stevie with an interesting version of
 
Yellow Polka
 
Dot Bikini
, Connor off-key, the Rev belting it out.

“I am turning blue while you two sing. Mintay, the towel please,” Stevie pleaded. The men each took an arm and hauled Stevie up onto the dock where she snatched up the towel and swathed herself in terry.

“That’s one good thing about being a person of color. The blue doesn’t show,” Arminta laughed.

“It’s not really the blue I’m worried about showing. This suit sticks to every nook and cranny.”

“I love your nooks and crannies. Let’s eat before my sauce burns,” Connor suggested.

He’d made a barbecue sauce rich and tangy with a nip of hot pepper. His company unanimously decided he could give the Paul Newman products some competition. After dinner, the couples drank more of the white wine, dunked freshly washed strawberries into a chocolate sauce and watched the sun set redly behind a silhouette of black thunderheads across the lake. A breeze picked up taking the heat out of the day.

“Connor could do a lot of things besides sell barbecue sauce. He has a degree in mass communications his mother insisted he get and with his looks and good personality he’d be a natural sports commentator. He has the patience to coach, too,” Stevie hinted.

“All great ideas for when I’m done playing football,” Connor answered. “Say, why don’t you guys spend the night and go into the city tomorrow?” He deftly changed the subject.

“Great sug—” the Rev began.

Dr. Arminta Green pressed firmly on his foot with her beautifully beaded sandal.

“Great Scott! It’s late. I promised Mintay we’d go to my favorite jazz club in the city tonight and ring shop in the morning. Music should be heating up about now. Been a fine afternoon, Con, but we need to get moving.”

“Great Scott? When did you ever say Great Scott?” asked Connor, puzzled.

“I’m cleaning up my act since I am an engaged man. Mintay hates me using Holy Shit. So does my mama. Thanks for the offer, but we need to go. Up, up,” he motioned to Arminta. She gave him a great smile.

Connor and Stevie walked them to the same black SUV that had brought Stevie to this place from her own stay in the hospital a half-year ago. It shook her to realize she had stayed with Connor longer than the Rev and Arminta had known each other. She watched the Rev hoist Mintay up, giving her a kiss on the way up to her seat. How could they be so sure so soon?

Connor’s arm came around her shoulders. He waved his guests off, opening the gates with the remote for them as they approached the road. As the gates closed, he caged Stevie in his arms, tilted her head back and began a kiss as long as one of Joe Dean Billodeaux’s passes.

****

Connor arched over Stevie. A drop of his sweat fell between her naked breasts as he pumped, barely aware of Stevie’s nails biting into his thighs. The telephone rang, too late for casual calls or telemarketers. The long, looming storm broke over the house adding an electric energy to the night. He did not want to stop, but the bell kept pealing right next to Stevie’s ear. She fumbled a hand to the receiver and raised it toward him while mouthing the words, “Don’t stop.”

He slowed the pace from breakneck to long and deep. “Yeah!” he gasped as Stevie shuddered under him. “Kev? Can’t hear you over the rain. Sure I can bring my SUV over. It’s a nasty night to cross the causeway. Give me a little while. Babies don’t just drop out, do they? No problem, I was working out a little. Couldn’t sleep because of the storm. Okay, you have a dirty mind, but you’d be right. Be there soon.” Stevie groaned and bucked. Connor pitched forward and finished in a flash. He kissed Stevie as her eyes fluttered open. “You need more, my love?”

“I think I came twice while you were talking.

Maybe three times. This gives a whole new meaning to telephone sex.”

Connor collapsed beside her. “Merrilee is in labor. Kevin wants to borrow the SUV to take her over to Ochsner. Only the best for Merrilee. Wants me to pick up Mom on the way to his place to stay with the rest of the kids, so I guess I have to get dressed and go. Sorry.”

“No apologies necessary. Here I was worrying about your hurting yourself, but I’d say you are better than ever.”

“Damn right,” he boasted.

She gave him a shove off the bed. “Merrilee gets between me and my man again.”

“But this Riley isn’t giving you up. Remember that while I’m out in the storm.”

Chapter Fifteen

Merrilee’s new daughter, Courtney, turned ten weeks old by the time Connor left for summer training camp leaving Stevie behind engulfed in worries. She was grateful to have a contract with
Sports Illustrated
 
covering the European Games
 
.

The assignment would take her mind off of Connor toiling to prove he could still play pro football. The man exuded confidence. Their sex life remained superb but her fears for him would not diminish. She secretly hoped the great Connor Riley would be cut during training or the pre-season games before anything more could happen to him. How could she be so disloyal to the dreams of the man she loved?

Stevie was not really in the mood for conversation as Kevin drove her to the airport to catch her flight to Greece. Leaving her mother-in-law behind with the older children, Merrilee insisted on coming along for the ride—and to keep an eye on her husband of course. She nursed Courtney as Kevin steered through traffic four lanes across.

“It’s so nice to get out of the house. Nursing does tie you down, but I wouldn’t do it any other way,” Merrilee chattered on as if Stevie truly cared.

“Athens, I’d love to go to Athens someday. What do you think, Kevin?”

“By the time all our kids are grown up, we’ll be too old to walk up to the Parthenon,” her husband answered.

“Oh, they probably have handicap transport, don’t you think, Stevie?”

“Probably. I’ll check it out for you.” She longed to be on the transatlantic overnight flight and away from her Louisiana problems.

“Connor called last night and said camp is going really well for him. He says it’s great to be back in shape and getting ready to play,” commented Kevin as he sped down the long drive to the terminal.

“Nursing helps you get in shape after giving birth, Stevie, just a friendly tip in case you and Connor ever have children,” Merrilee chimed in.

“We haven’t discussed it. I’m glad Connor feels so confident. Drop me at the curbside check-in. You don’t have to go to the trouble of parking.” Kevin pulled over and helped Stevie get her gear from the trunk. Her final sight of the Riley family before leaving the country was of Kevin looking on with disgust as the baby released Merrilee’s large red nipple with a pop that drew a glance from the sky cap.

“To think, I might have married that man,” Stevie murmured as she gave a large tip to the attendant to insure her bags would arrive in Athens with her.

The trip passed uneventfully. She slept away the long transatlantic flight, got her only exercise changing planes at Heathrow and arrived in sunny, smoggy Athens with a hoard of summer tourists.

Her photography went well capturing the grace of gymnastics and its tragic spills, the power of track and field and its career ending injuries. Each mishap reminded her sharply of Connor. The blue Foto vests imprinted with a number large enough to be worn by a convict were hot and ugly and necessary for security. Guarding one’s credentials in an almost paranoid manner came easily because no one entered a venue without them. Still, she delighted in being back in the game, her game, one she understood and loved despite the heat, the crazy scheduling and the demanding photo editors.

Once she dropped off her memory cards at the warehouse serving as a press center after the final event each evening, Stevie spent the rest of her night with other photographers of many nationalities in the noisy
 
tavernas
 
of Athens.

Inevitably, Connor called when things were at their rowdiest. He filled her in on his training triumphs.

“You know, I dropped some weight with the surgery and all. I’m faster than ever. It’s going to be a great season,” and then because she seemed to freeze whenever he mentioned playing again, he added some jokes, some small talk. “You learn any Greek yet?”

“I’ve learned Greeks like tall blondes and how to tell them to get lost in three languages,” Stevie replied, her answer nearly drowned out by the sound of breaking glass and laughter.

“You okay?”

“Sure. Just some idiot trying to dance with a bottle on his head. Oh, it’s Dex. Figures.”

“Is he hitting on you?”

“Hardly. I haven’t spoken to him since those swimsuit pictures came out.”

“Good. Don’t drink too much ouzo or you might wake up next to some hairy guy named Nick. Love you, Stevie.”

Stevie looked around at her mostly male companions. “Right back at you, Connor.” Stevie felt his disappointment when she told him during the next call she had decided to re-visit Italy for a few weeks after the Games ended. “But I thought you might want to come to some of the pre-season games.”

“Count me out for this year. Who knows when I’ll get to Europe again,” she answered breezily.

His next call caught her at a cafe off San Marco Square. When he confessed he had twisted a knee in a pre-season game and would be sitting out the next few, Stevie exhaled as if she had been holding her breath for a month. Maybe she had. Her tone brightened and she shared some amusing gossip with him, laughing over the phone. “Guess who I ran into? Amber and Marcello. She hasn’t been back to the States for months. Turns out they have joined forces to form the Amberello Modeling Agency, New York—Rome—New Orleans. They gave me their card. Poor Joe. It looks like Marcello has taken his woman.”

“As long as he doesn’t take mine. Forget pitying Joe Dean. He’s getting all the sex he can before the regular season starts. He made this crazy vow to St.

Jude that he would go celibate for the season if I played again. He keeps asking me how the knee feels and if I think he can have sex while I’m on the injured list. I keep telling him he can have all the sex he wants, it’s got nothing to do with me, but he’s one superstitious Cajun boy.” Stevie’s laughter rang out again. “I remember his worrying over the cover curse and your celibacy, too.” “Mine wasn’t a vow, just a way to keep my power for the game. But, I still am celibate, since you’ve been gone.”

The connection went silent for a moment.

“I believe you, Connor. There’s no one else for me, either.”

“So when are you coming home?”