Sinners Football 01- Goals for a Sinner (16 page)

“Soon, very soon.”

And Stevie Dowd, sports photographer, left him hanging again. Connor stared at the phone in his hand. Not that he really was worried about Dex or Marcello or Greeks named Nick. Stevie did love him and no one else, even if she hadn’t said so right out loud. Why did she hesitate to come home? So far, he’d proved he was still the same man in bed and out. The pre-season games were a piece of cake, as always. Coach played him lightly and drove the rookies to see what they had to offer. Now resting his knee, he wouldn’t get on the field again until the real playing started.

Then, he could prove he was good as ever to Stevie, to Coach and maybe to himself. Deep down the great Connor Riley had his doubts, and he had to keep them there hidden in the dark away from his teammates and the woman he wanted for his wife.

****

Stevie was relieved to see her reception committee composed of the three very big men who had once clustered around her hospital bed and one slim lady doctor, not a disgruntled Kevin and a nursing Merrilee. As she passed through the security gates, Joe Dean picked her up, swung her around and gave her a big kiss on the lips while Connor looked on grinning.

“There, brother, I did you a favor by taking care of the greeting. Don’t want you to put any strain on that knee now. If you need me to sub for you tonight, you call on ole Joe to come over to your place,” the quarterback offered magnanimously.

“I think Stevie and I have enough imagination to handle the situation. Thanks just the same.” Connor offered a welcome kiss as warm, strong and long as all the rest of him. The tenderness and intimacy of it had Mintay sighing and the Rev and Joe Dean entering the discomfort zone.

A camera flashed and Connor and Stevie broke apart. The group began to attract attention. A fan wearing a Sinners cap approached followed by two teen-aged boys. He held out a pen and an address book open to a blank page. “Could my sons and I have your autograph, Mr. Riley?”

“Do we have to pay you for it?” the younger of the boys, also dressed in Sinners gear, inquired.

Connor had already signed and passed the book on to Joe Dean. “Not a cent. I’m in an especially giving mood today.” More people converged on the players.

“Look, why don’t Stevie and I go down to the baggage area and get her things while you guys take care of your fans,” Mintay suggested.

She and Stevie slipped through the crowd and took the escalator downstairs. On her left ring finger, Mintay wore a gorgeous estate diamond of five carats with so many facets it glittered even in the dimness of the baggage claim area.

“Love the ring,” Stevie commented as they waited for the carrels to begin turning.

“Can you believe Rev wanted me to pick something larger? I told him this was gaudy enough.

With washing up after patients, I won’t be able to wear it all the time anyhow. To be honest, I think it’s beautiful. We’ve set the date for March during the off-season and he’s talked me into using his daddy’s church for the ceremony. I do expect you and Connor to make the trip to Chapelle for the wedding, you hear,” Mintay ordered.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Whether Connor will be with me I don’t know. I can’t seem to get past my fear of his playing again, and that’s so unfair to him. Football is his life, I know that, but I can’t bear for him to be injured again. How long do you think this knee problem will last?’

“Not long. He should be good to go for the first regular season game, Rev says. Believe me, I worry all the time, too, but their careers are short. Just hang in there.”

By the time the women had hauled the bags off the beltway, the men arrived to make light work of hefting them to the Rev’s Escalade. Arminta climbed into the shotgun seat and Stevie took a slot between Joe Dean and Connor. Connor put a possessive arm around her shoulder and let one big hand dangle over her breast. Even without a touch, her nipples puckered. She rejoiced that everyone else seemed to have plans for the evening. She would be alone with Connor after a two month separation.

Five minutes after waving good-bye to their friends, they stood completely naked in the bedroom.

Connor fell back on the bed, arms wide, genitals flopping. Stevie, hands on her hips, posed at the foot in the V made by Connor’s legs and said, “You call that ready? You call that happy to see me?” He beckoned her with a little finger. “Gotta watch the knee so let’s see what you can do on top.” Stevie looked away from the bindings around the injured knee. She straddled his hips and moved her hands to his hair. “It’s nearly grown out to its old length. I missed this,” she said running her fingers through the strands.

“Yeah. I think this is a good luck sign for my first game of the season. That feels good. So, no long-haired Greeks or curly-headed Italians these past two months?”

“They use too much gel. Still, I’m betting you’re glad I took my birth control pills anyhow so I am right up to date tonight.”

“Ummm, glad, yes.”

Stevie leaned forward and rubbed her breasts delicately against the golden hair on his chest, then arced over him and offered her aroused pink nipples.

He ran his hands down the long slope of her side, his fingers tickling as they brushed the edges of her breasts. He took a nipple in his mouth, suckled gently, then harder as Stevie rocked on his hips.

“Bingo,” she whispered almost to herself as she rose up and came down taking all of his erection inside of her body. She moved slowly until he bucked beneath her and forced her hips to go faster. He thrust upward.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You said it was my turn to be on top.” Stevie continued her leisurely motions, finally taking pity and picking up the pace until they both convulsed together. After resting on his sweat-soaked chest for a few minutes, she rolled off and pulled his arm around her for warmth.

“You get to be on top as much as you want—

injury or no injury. That’s a promise,” Connor vowed.

They fell silent for awhile, neither falling asleep.

Unanswered questions hung in the air.

“Did Arminta tell you she and the Rev have set the date?”

“Of course. March. All the azaleas will be in bloom in Chapelle. Nice. Beautiful ring, too.”

“It’s going to be some bash. Mintay has seven bridesmaids picked out, two sisters of hers, two of his, and three cousins. He asked me to be best man.”

“The only whitey in the bunch?”

“Hell, no. Joe Dean is supposed to be groomsman to the youngest of the cousins. The Rev figured that would be safe because the kid is only sixteen and Joe doesn’t go for jail bait. Besides, if he gets to all the women who are waiting for him at the end of the season, he’ll be too tired to come on to anyone in the wedding party.” Stevie chuckled into his chest hairs. Connor plodded on toward his goal. “Is that the kind of wedding you would want, a big splash, lots of bridesmaids?”

Stevie considered for a moment. “No, my sister did that. I’m glad she did because Dad enjoyed the party, but he’s not around now to give me away. I think I’d want something simple, just family and good friends, outdoors maybe, in the spring when the weather is good or in October. October is always nice.” She yawned.

“How about April? Would you marry me in April?”

“Connor Riley! Is this a proposal? Here, naked in bed after sex! No romantic dinner, no kneeling by a park bench, no computerized message on the screen in the Super Dome?”

“I can do it again tomorrow. I can do it better.” Stevie noticed the red of embarrassment creeping up his neck. “I was kidding.” She kissed his cheek but did not answer his question.

“So?”

“Connor, would you give up football for me?”

“What? You can’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Shaking Stevie from the shelter of his arm, he bolted upright in the bed. “That’s not fair. What would you say if I asked you to quit photography and stay home and keep house?”

“I can’t get hurt, paralyzed or dead doing sports photography. Give me your answer first, then I can give you mine.”

“Untrue. If the Rev and I had hit you harder than we did, you might have ended up with severe internal injuries last year. Photographers are killed all the time in war zones.”

“I promise not to volunteer for any war photography. Answer me.”

“I can’t give up football. Not yet. I need to prove I’m as good as ever. Better. After that, who knows how many years I have left to play? Stevie, don’t do this to me. Don’t make me choose.” Stevie was up, out of the bed, and searching for her clothes. She talked as she stalked around the room gathering up flung garments. “I love you.

There, I’ve said it, and now I am going to tell you I can’t stand by and watch you get injured again, maybe fatally next time. You have a house big enough for ten people, a garage holding four cars and a motorcycle, three boats, people to clean your home, tend your yard, maintain your hot tub, decorate your place for Christmas, and probably a stock portfolio ten inches thick and a million other investments because you are no dumb jock. What more do you need?”

“You.” He paused for a moment. “And my self-respect. I must play. Can’t you understand that?”

“No. I’m gone. I’m out of here.” She yanked her shirt over her just-snapped bra, pulled her jeans up over panties inside out and stomped through the bedroom door.

Connor’s bellow followed her down the hallway.

“Stevie, you’re always saying men walk out on you.

Men disappoint you. What are you doing right now?

Answer me, damn it!”

She headed for the overstuffed garage sheltering her modest car among his glossy machines, pausing only to snap up her baggage still standing inside the front doorway. She heaved her suitcase into the trunk, nestled her camera bag and the awkward folding tripod gently and punched the button to open the wide doors.

Stevie tried not to look back, but her eyes searched for one last look at Connor Riley in the rear view mirror. He stood on his portico, a bath towel tied around his waist, his broad chest pale, his long blond hair lifting in the evening breeze from the lake. Connor raised his hand and hit the remote, opening the gates and letting Stevie Dowd go. She would be back once he proved himself on the field again. He
 
was
 
still the man she’d come to love. He would have his best season, set new records, dazzle with his speed. Then, she’d see she had nothing to fear. Stevie would not end up a widow or stuck with a cripple for the rest of her life. They had nothing to fear, nothing at all.

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning, Stevie tried to get her act together. And failed. She was amazed she had slept at all on her old sofa, now stained with a damp spot from the crying. She guessed she had jet lag to thank for the rest. So, here she sat in her own dusty and deserted place again. She had kept up the rent as a matter of pride and the studio as a matter of necessity. Connor would have built her a workroom, of course, and made it even harder to leave him.

Finally home and she only wanted to get away again—as far from the situation she had created as she could.

Her mother and sister would welcome a visit.

Stevie could not think of anything more depressing than being a witness to her sister’s wedded bliss and happy motherhood. She could almost hear her mother saying, “Stevie, don’t tell me another man walked out on you.”

“No, Mom,” she would answer. “I walked out on him.”

She idly thumbed the pages of her address book as she sat by the phone wondering who to call. A scrap of paper stuck out from among the pages. She picked it up and read the note with a weak smile.
 
If
 
you ever need a friend to protect you from all thosebig, bad men, call me. Jackie Haile.

The championship golfer had scrawled a cell phone number beneath the message she left behind after the hospital visit. Stevie decided to take it for what is was, an offer of friendship, not a come-on line. She picked up her phone and punched in the number. Jackie’s gruff voice answered. “Yeah?”

“Jackie, this is Stevie Dowd. I need some place to go. I need something to do.”

“Man troubles?”

“Right.”

“He stalking you?”

“No! Connor is the best man I’ve ever known.”

“Explain why you want to get away from the best man you’ve ever known when you get here. I’m playing in Kutztown. The tour can always use another photographer, right? Heck, some of the girls drag their kids along. Maybe they need baby pictures. Whatever, come to Jackie.”

“Thanks. And where is Kutztown exactly?”

“Pennsylvania. The apple butter and quilt capitol of the world, I think. It will take you three days to get here driving. You’ll be in time to see me take the Wachovia Classic, a $180,000 purse, but I can’t begin to tell you how to get here. Find a good map on the internet and meet me at the Berkleigh Country Club.”

Stevie’s phone beeped signaling an incoming call. She checked the caller ID. It flashed “Private.” Connor Riley was trying to reach her. She wanted to pick up the call so badly her fingertips tingled. No, no, no.

“Jackie, I’m on my way.”