Sinners Football 01- Goals for a Sinner (8 page)

Champagne for a beverage was a given. This might as well be a night to remember.

Connor parked in the drive and charged up the three wide flagstone steps fronting his house, no sign of a limp in his gait now. Stevie stood just inside the door. He lifted her by the waist, swung her around once, then carefully set her down again.

He held up a thermos. “Brought you something.” Stevie uncapped the jug. “What is it?”

“Snow from Lambeau Field!” Connor upended the contents into his big hand. He squeezed the frozen mass into a small ball and shoved it between Stevie’s breasts showing some cleavage above her little knit top.

“Brute!” She poured the rest of the slush on his head and took off running.

Connor tossed the thermos to a wide-eyed Eula Mae and trotted off after Stevie giving her enough time to reach the bedroom, but not enough to get the door locked. There followed a great deal of laughing and the sound of bed springs being punished.

By the time the couple exited the bedroom, Eula Mae, twice the size of her tiny Mama Essie and a great deal darker, had mopped up the slush.

“Sorry,” Stevie apologized sheepishly to the maid who waited to serve dinner.

“Ain’t as if I never seen anything like that before, but the past year been mighty quiet, Miss Stevie. That man is ripe for the picking. Well, looks like those lobsters Mama has on ice have lost their last reprieve. I’ll go tell her you ready to eat now.” Stevie nodded. Of course that’s all she was, a handy form of relief for Connor after a long dry spell.

Good thing she intended to leave in the morning.

****

Connor sent Eula Mae and her mama home long before they got to the dessert. What remained of the beautiful presentation of chocolate mousse piped with whipped cream and served in a crystal bowl sat between them on the bed. Connor fed her dollops of the pudding scraped from the sides of the bowl and served on his fingertips. The rest of the rich dessert smeared the sheets.

Connor had started the food fantasy just as he had the snowball fight. First, he suggested they take dessert into the bedroom, then that they eat it in the nude—and then, that they eat it off each other. He coated her fair skin, the bruises all gone by now, with the chocolate from breast to bottom. She slathered him from chest to groin. They licked the chocolate pudding off until they could not stand their growing sensitivity and had to move on to the main course—each other.

The pudding made for an interesting lubricant and a sticky aftermath. Ever mindful of her injured ribs, Connor placed Stevie over him. He dangled the remaining stemmed cherry in front of her mouth.

She inhaled it, leaving the stem between her lips as she rolled the fruit on her tongue. Connor’s prick gave an appreciative flip.

“He should be exhausted.” Stevie ran a finger down Connor’s centerline through hair matted with chocolate. She got another flip. The mousse streaked her hair and his, the sheets soggy with all manner of fluids. Clearly, having a well-paid maid was worth the money. If Stevie had been at her place, she would have worried all night about getting the stains out of the linens and cleaning up the mess, shades of her mother interfering with her pleasure.

She sighed. She was going to miss this, and Connor, lovely Connor, most of all.

“If nothing else proves it, this does. I am well and I cannot keep sponging off of you this way.”

“Sponging off. Good idea. Let’s hit the shower, then move to your bedroom,” Connor answered not really following her drift. He twined her hair around his fingers and sucked the chocolate from the tips.

“I mean I should return to my own place. I need to get back to work before I have no work to go back to. Are you listening?” She raised his heavy head between her hands.

Connor took that as an invitation for a long, deep kiss. Despite his bumps, bruises and taped ankle, his body said ready to go again. Careful not to put his full weight on her, he went on top this time.

He moved over her, nudging her legs apart with his knees, and thrust. Keeping himself suspended above her, he pumped. He worked his thighs and hips and bore his weight with his biceps.

“This could become a very popular training exercise. Hell, Billodeaux probably already uses it to strengthen his arms,” he joked, making her laugh.

Stevie gave in and closed her eyes. She ran her hands over his straining biceps and enjoyed his strength. When her climax began to build, she dug her fingernails into his upper arms and hung on until the spasms passed. They could talk tomorrow.

****

Connor left before Stevie managed to get out of bed and give her hair another washing. His attempt to clean her up last night had only led to shower sex.

He’d never make a good shampoo guy. The ones she knew were all gay. Glancing into his room as she straggled towards the kitchen, she noticed fresh sheets on his bed and a clean new spread turned back and inviting. Did he have a closet full of them for these occasions? The crystal bowl had long joined others dishes in the washer. Miss Essie greeted Stevie at the breakfast table as if nothing odd had occurred. Maybe mousse-encrusted beds were the norm in Connor Riley’s household. She must remember that and pack her bags.

By the time Connor returned full of good humor, she had actually started to get her things together.

He loomed in the door of the guestroom, eyeing her suitcase open on the bed.

“Great, you can travel with my family to the Super Bowl, but you don’t have to pack right now.

We have some training this week, then fly out to Seattle the week before the game. Got to get used to the FieldTurf at Seahawk Stadium. My folks rented one of those floating houses they have out there. It has four bedrooms and I don’t think Merrilee is taking the two younger kids. Let me give Mom a call.

I know she’ll squeeze you in.”

“I could not possibly stay with your mother and Kevin’s family. I really need to get back to work before I can’t make my rent.”

“So, you can cover the Super Bowl and won’t have to pay for a hotel room. I’ll see you get a press pass. Don’t miss out on a great deal.” He strode across the room, shoved the suitcase and its contents to the floor and pulled Stevie into his arms.

“Oh, Connor, what am I going to do with you?” Stevie rested her head on his broad chest.

“If you are out of ideas, I have some suggestions,” he answered.

Chapter Nine

Because of crowded flights into Seattle, Stevie took the red-eye leaving at 5:00 a.m. the day before the Super Bowl. She couldn’t get on the same flight as Ma and Pa Riley, traveling with Brother Kevin, Merrilee and an eight-year-old nephew and six-year-old niece. If she were honest, she hadn’t tried very hard to do so. This whole arrangement would be awkward enough.

When the cab pulled up near the designated address, Stevie reluctantly gathered her gear and started down the boardwalk. The house number matched the one on a cheerful yellow two-story floating home at the very end of the pier. She rang the bell on the green door set between two planters of yellow and purple pansies blooming abundantly in the chill air. The door swung open and she stepped into the two welcoming arms belonging to Connor’s mother and the chaos beyond her.

“Stephanie Dowd, we meet at last,” the tall blonde woman said in greeting. Her voice had a slight accent hinting of Sweden, but Connor claimed was really northern Wisconsin in origin. “I’m Kristen Riley, Connor’s mom.”

Kristen Riley had aged like a loftier version of Grace Kelly. Once a Golden Girl for the old Saints team, she had put on flesh in her middle years but still had beauty and style. Her eyes were Connor’s eyes, the beautiful cerulean blue of a northern sky on a sunny winter’s day. Her lips were Connor’s, full and beautifully formed. Her nose, like his, set straight and slim. By now, she should have touches of gray in her hair, but she kept it tinted a tasteful champagne blonde. She wore its soft waves pulled back into a knot at the base of her neck. Her long legs remained shapely though her waist had thickened and her rather impressive breasts overflowed in grandmotherly abundance. She hugged Stevie to that pillowy chest.

Pulling slightly away, Stevie smiled at her welcome. “I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Riley. Connor is so fond of you,” she said over the background noise of a television and crying children.

“Sure, a man should love his mother and his wife. Connor has plenty of love to go around. You should see him with his nieces and nephews. Connor will make a great father someday, the sooner the better. Sorry we haven’t met before, but I try to give my son his privacy. He is a young man and, well…young men need privacy. I wouldn’t want to walk in on anything, you know. We talk on the phone nearly every day, and lately all the talk is of the wonderful Stephanie Dowd. Come in, come in.” Stevie stood as if glued to the doorstep. Mrs.

Riley gave her arm a tug and ushered her into the living room where the rest of the family gathered: big, burly Keith Riley, Connor’s dad, and petite, brunette Merrilee, the woman Kevin Riley married after dumping Stevie. Children swarmed around them. Stevie counted four on the floor, and looking at Merrilee from the bottom up, number five was due in about four months.

Beneath a pile of kids, Kevin Riley of the dark hair and Irish eyes gave horsey rides to two of his brood. The two-year old boy, who had his daddy’s dark hair and deep blue eyes, had just fallen off and wailed loudly.

A little girl with dark curls and darker eyes attempted to pull her four-year-old sister off Daddy’s back. “My turn, my turn!” she shrieked. An eight-year-old boy, also dark haired and dark-eyed, sat by his mother in a folded-arm pose. Obviously, he was too old for horsey rides, but a little jealous of the cuddling his baby brother got for falling.

Mrs. Riley clapped her hands for attention.

“This is Stephanie Dowd, Connor’s special friend. I want you to make her feel like part of the family.”

“Stevie. Please, call me Stevie, all of you. I see you decided to bring all of the grandchildren and won’t have room for me. Let me see if the cab is still there. I can go to a hotel.” Their guest backed towards the door, but she was not allowed to escape.

“The every hotel in the city is booked for the game.” Keith Riley waded through the children, his hand held out to shake hers. “The kids can share a room, the girls in the bed, the boys on the floor.

Merrilee decided to bring them all at the last minute. Let me tell you, it was a miserable trip. We had to take turns holding the youngest since the plane was full to capacity.” He frowned at his daughter-in-law while grasping Stevie’s hand and pumping it.

Merrilee rose, taking the two-year-old with her.

She settled the child straddle-legged across her rounded belly and patted his back. Behind her, Kevin of the sparkling, clever blue eyes sat up, the four-year-old girl with the bouncing curls nestled in his lap. Merrilee stood in front of her husband blocking the view.

“So pleased to meet you, Stevie. This is Colby,” she said, introducing the shy little boy hiding his face on her shoulder. “And Katherine, my oldest daughter.” She pulled the six-year-old forward. “On the couch is Collin, our first-born. That’s Cameron in her daddy’s lap. And my husband, Kevin, of course.” Merrilee freed one hand to pat her belly. “This one is going to be Courtney.” She smiled as if she had never heard of a Stephanie Dowd who dated her husband for three months prior to their marriage.

Kevin rose, letting his younger daughter slip down and cling to his leg. He towered over his wife.

Another six-foot plus like his brother, Kev had filled out in the last nine years. By middle-age he would have his father’s big build and probably his receding hairline, too. The great Irish blue eyes and sly, suggestive smile would never change. Once, Stevie had found that smile irresistible.

“Stephanie,” he greeted. “It’s great to see you again. I was always sorry about the way things went with us. I never really explained, that well…Collin was on the way, and I had to do my duty, as my father likes to say.”

Merrilee turned and glared at him. Stevie waved her hand in the air as if she could erase his statement.

She stumbled over her words trying to ease the situation. “Bygones. Water under bridge. And, ah, I can see you are really good at fathering, at fatherhood, I mean. So many children would overwhelm me, but I can see you and Merrilee have it all under control.”

The four-year-old left her father’s leg and made her way through the forest of adults. She stopped directly in front of Stevie, put her arms on her small hips, and blurted out, “Mommy doesn’t like you. Go away.” Stevie backed up.

“Cammie, you are being very rude to Uncle Connor’s friend. I know you like Uncle Connor and wouldn’t want him to be mad at you. Say sorry to Stevie,” Kristen Riley insisted.

“Sorry,” the child repeated insincerely.

“Good girl. Now Stevie, let me show you to your room. Connor is going to stop by when he can, but he’s staying with the team tonight. You must be very tired after getting up so early.” Stevie said she was. In fact, she thought she would take a long nap, a long, long nap until Connor arrived.

****

The sound of small feet racing up and down the hallway kept Stevie from sleeping. At some point in the endless afternoon, a light knock sounded on the bedroom door and Mrs. Riley’s voice asked if she was awake. Stevie laid still and silent until Connor’s mother left.