Love Letter for a Sinner (The Sinners sports romances)

by Lynn Shurr

  “You know how that turned out, but we produced one beautiful daughter. As for the gay-dar, it never quit working, part of the problem.”

  “So, what do you think about Rex Worthy?”

  “While I am sure gay men hang posters of him on their walls, no, definitely not. He’s too Jesus-freaky.”

  “But a guy that age who admits to being a virgin. Something’s got to be wrong with him.”

  “Nothing wrong with loving the Lord or being a virgin, Joe.” Howdy McCoy spoke up. He’d been raised as a strict Baptist, but was a little more relaxed now having married a Catholic, the birth mother of one of Joe’s adopted kids. “Rex is okay. He’s just not much fun.”

  “Someone should loosen him up. He needs to put some sin into being a Sinner. It might improve his game.” A second later, Joe wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

  Players stopped their drills at the far end of the field and stared. One of Rex’s better passes bounced off the chest of a wide receiver looking toward the sidelines. Practice stopped altogether as Layla Devlin minced her way over the turf on four-inch heels. Her personal assistant wearing running shoes walked a few paces behind holding a battery-operated fan trained on Layla’s bare back. The actress wore one of those tops that tied around the neck. Her unfettered breasts jiggled with each step, but her violet eyes hid behind oversized sunglasses. She’d gone back to light blonde since wrapping Savaged! Joe noted, and wore her hair in a high ponytail. At one time, she would have been exactly his type.

  “Speak of the devil, and here she comes,” he muttered.

  Howdy, always a gentleman, said, “Now, Joe. You shouldn’t speak that way about a lady.”

  “She’s no lady. I found her naked in my bed while I was making that movie. I can testify those knockers are real.”

  “Spill!” Brian declared. “What happened next?”

  “Nothing. Nell scared her off, but I didn’t like her enough to screw her anyhow.”

  “Was a time liking the woman didn’t matter to you, I’ve heard.” Brian sucked on his Gatorade snow cone. “I’d like to see those famous eyes up close.”

  “I think you will get your chance. She’s coming after me again.”

  Layla made it as far as the fifty-yard line before Coach Buck barked, “Who the hell are you? Get off my field. This is a closed practice.”

  “Layla Devlin, so charmed to meet you.” She held out her hand as if she expected Coach to smack a kiss on it.

  The three men on the bench sat close enough to hear. Her southern accent had come back though Joe knew Layla had grown up in Iowa, the dull state, she’d told him. He waited for Marty Buck to throw her wagging behind out of the stadium. While Coach did not take the extended hand, he did appear to be drooling a little. Usually, he only frothed at the mouth when really angry. “Good to meet you, too, but I have a practice to run.”

  “Oh, don’t mind me. I’ll sit here on the bench beside Joe. We are old friends. I stopped by the Superdome to book a skybox for the entire season, and they told me where the team held its camp. Metairie isn’t that far away so we simply drove on over here to watch, not to interrupt.”

  “The guards let you in?” Coach questioned.

  “I am Layla Devlin. They recognized me. Continue coaching. Don’t mind little ole me.” Leaving Marty Buck with his mouth hanging open and no words coming out, Layla swayed toward the bench with Patsy, her assistant, in tow.

  Since Howdy and Brian both stood up as she approached, Layla slipped easily into a spot next to Joe. Her assistant clambered over the bench in order to keep the fan cooling the star’s back.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends, Joe?”

  “Howdy McCoy, the kicker, he’s married. Brian Lightfoot, the punter.”

  “Enchante, mademoiselle.” Brian executed a small bow over her hand with the same panache he showed when executing the perfect punt.

  Layla took in his dark good looks and long, muscular legs. “Gay?” she asked.

  “Alas, but not without appreciation for the fair sex. Might I ask to see your famous eyes?”

  Flattered, Layla pushed her sunglasses to nest in her thick blonde hair and gave Brian a seductive wink. His large, luminous eyes drank in the sight. He put his hand over his heart. “Wait until I tell the rest of the boys! I know a transvestite who does you in his act. Lee will be so jealous.”

  Howdy shifted his feet. “It’s mighty hot out here. Could I make a snow cone for you?”

  “How cowboy charming. I feel as if I’m still on the set of Savaged! That would be lovely.”

  “Would the other lady like one, too?”

  “Oh, Patsy is fine back there.”

  “Tricia,” the assistant murmured, her voice barely heard over the whirr of the fan. Her brunette bangs stuck to her forehead with sweat and the rest of her long, straight dark hair straggled out of a large clip on the top of her head. Desperate blue eyes the color of the hot, cloudless summer sky squinted into the sun while a drop of perspiration formed on her pointed chin.

  “I’ll get two.” Lanky Howdy picked up the cups and loped to the ice heap.

  Coach Buck broke up the little confab. “Billodeaux, get your ass out here. Work with Worthy. He can’t hit a target standing still let alone a running wide receiver.

  Relieved, Joe tossed the ball cap aside and picked up his helmet. Layla’s pouty lips, slick with a glistening lavender gloss, dropped open. “Did your mean little wife make you shave off your hair to do penance for wanting me? You truly are much less attractive bald. I didn’t notice those big ears before at all.”

  “I didn’t want you.” Joe rarely lied, but would never confess how his cock and balls had betrayed him momentarily. “We thought Nell’s cancer had returned. I shaved my head for her to show my support.” He strapped on his helmet immediately.

  “That explains the poor fashion choice!” Brian Lightfoot marveled. “Nell is okay, though?”

  “Yes, she’s fine, pregnant with twins the natural way, but fine.”

  Howdy arrived bearing the snow cones. “Here, Miss Devlin. And one for you, Miss Patsy. I think you need some fluids, too. Did I hear you say Nell is pregnant again?” Howdy shook his head causing his auburn hair to fall across his face. His sprinkling of freckles was obscured by the redness of his fair face in the sun. “You still got it, Joe. Brave, too. Cassie and I decided to quit after having the two kids—and Tommy of course. Congratulations.”

  Mention of Tommy didn’t make Joe feel any younger. His adopted, redheaded son was nearly the same age as Cassie when she’d given birth to him. “Thanks,” he muttered.

  “No joke, then, about your never using condoms. Good thing I haven’t come for you, Joe. Patsy, higher up on my neck!” The assistant adjusted the fan to allow the breeze to part Layla’s hair and cool the slender column of her throat. Patsy sipped the snow cone gratefully.

  “You gonna jaw with the fans all day or come out here and show the kid how to throw a perfect spiral, Billodeaux?” Coach shouted. He added a blast of his whistle for good measure.

  Joe started moving, but before he got very far, Brian cupped his sensuous lips and shouted, “Nell is expecting twins.”

  That broke up the practice as word spread up and down the field. The players crowded their quarterback with back slaps and congratulations. Coach Buck took off his hat and stomped it into the grass. “Are we going to practice, or what? First preseason game next week, and don’t tell me they don’t count. Back to your drills!” As the men retreated to their posts, Coach said, “You never cease to amaze me, Joe.”

  “I plan to give you an amazing year.” Joe paused for a second. If Layla hadn’t come to seduce Joe, who did she want? Howdy had moved down the bench a few feet as if he might be her target.

  The star’s voice trilled, “Which one of you lovely men will point out Rex Worthy to me?”

  Brian waggled a graceful finger at the backup quarterback who had congratulated Joe and gone right back to work drillin
g footballs into the ground yards from where they were supposed to go. Good on the short hard pass, great on running the ball, but hopeless on the long throws where Joe excelled. Joe picked up a football, showed his handhold, cocked his arm without releasing, and gestured to Rex to do the same. He called out a route to the wide receivers and waited for them to get down the field. Both threw their balls at the same time. Joe’s landed in outstretched arms as softly as a baby being rescued from a high fall. Worthy’s pass bounced off the helmet of his target.

  “Getting better,” Joe said. And better. Layla Devlin had come for Rex Worthy.

  Chapter Five

  Since Joe made no offer, Layla Devlin arrived at the post-practice party on Brian Lightfoot’s arm. As had become the custom, the team took over Mariah’s Place, the nightclub in the French Quarter that Howdy McCoy purchased for his long-lost mother several years ago once he got over the shock of discovering she earned her living as a fading torch singer and part-time waitress in Vegas. Despite her own dubious morals, Mariah Coy watched out for “her boys” making sure none of them went home too drunk to drive or took up with the wrong kind of woman—at least not in her club. Having given up her house in the Musicians’ Village, she now lived over the night spot, closing down the place evenings and sleeping most of the day.

  “Good evening, Billy,” Brian said to an elderly fixture in the club.

  Mariah’s shaking white-haired personal bodyguard returned the salutation. He co-habited with the singer, but how much hanky-panky he had left in him was debatable. Still, Billy hand-selected the other guards to take care of Mariah’s Place and never went upstairs without Mariah on his arm.

  “Who is this beauty, Brian? You thinking about taking a second wife?”

  “May I present Layla Devlin, star of stage, screen, and television? I merely escort her for the evening.”

  Billy squinted his watery blue eyes. “A looker, but she can’t hold a candle to my Mariah. Better take a seat. The music is about to start.”

  As Layla intended, Brian paraded her to the front of the room with Patsy trailing. One of the lesser Sinners gave up his seat for her while the punter lounged against a wall and the assistant faded into the shadows. By attending with Brian, Layla signaled her interests rested elsewhere. He rarely stayed long before departing for the kind of bars he preferred.

  With a hat a la Frank Sinatra pulled down low on his forehead, Joe made no move to get closer. He leaned against the bar next to Howdy McCoy. Rex Worthy sat on his other side nursing the single beer he’d had in his hand since they arrived after Joe insisted he needed to learn how to be part of the team on and off the field. He and Howdy planned to depart after a couple of drinks and Mariah’s opening song, leaving Rex to deal with Layla. Best to let the team blow off steam without their leader, Joe thought, not admitting to himself how exhausted he became after the two-a-day practices. As for Howdy, nothing suited him more than going home to his family.

  The lights dimmed. Dry ice swirled in the spotlights illuminating the stage. Clad in gold sequins, Mariah Coy burst through the red velvet curtains. Her slinky dress barely covered her large, enhanced breasts. As usual, she wore one of her outrageous red wigs and high heels that jacked up her height considerably. In a voice roughened by years of smoking, she introduced herself, the band, and segued into her signature song, Fever. She bent way over during certain parts of the song, giving a treat to the men in the first row—and Layla Devlin to whom she gave a green-eyed stare. Mariah didn’t care to be upstaged by anyone in her place.

  “I wish she’d give up the cancer sticks,” Howdy muttered. “Her lungs aren’t getting any better. I told her she can’t smoke around the grandchildren and that helps some.”

  “Mariah can’t change any more than my mother will stop butting into my life. She’s going to be some mad when she discovers the team found out about the twins before we told the family.” Joe finished his drink decisively and waved away a refill.

  “Nadine won’t hear it from me.” Howdy set aside his beer as the song came to a conclusion. “Let me say goodnight to Mom before we leave.” He made his way to the side of the stage to be buried in Mariah’s big bosom as she kissed him on the cheek and dragged him into the spotlight.

  “This is my son, Howard McCoy, kicker for the Sinners. Here’s to a Sinners’ Super Bowl. One round of drinks on the house!”

  Another beer appeared at Rex Worthy’s elbow. “That’s really Howdy’s mother? I mean I knew Mariah Coy was his mom, but she’s so different from him.”

  “Not like yours, huh?” Joe tossed back the free drink. Howdy was driving.

  “My parents were missionaries.”

  And only ever did it in one position strictly to produce Rex Worthy, Joe thought, but did not say. “Well, we can’t all be as lucky as Howdy with a celebrity for a mother. I’m leaving.”

  “Me, too, I guess.”

  “You stay a while and mingle with the other guys on the team. Try not to be such a stiff, okay? The more they like you, the more they want to protect you on the field.”

  Not that the boy couldn’t take a hit. Though six-three like Joe, Rex was built like a bull through the chest and shoulders. He could ram his way out of the pocket and down the field. Maybe his bulky muscles impeded long throws. That’s what Joe figured. Rex affected one of those three-day stubbles that made his broad face appear tougher and some ladies adored, but not Nell. She didn’t much like beard burn. Since Rex wasn’t into the ladies, he probably just didn’t like to shave. Brown hair, hazel eyes, nice enough looking guy to attract women, but as a Sinner that wouldn’t be a problem even if he was ugly as a dog’s butt.

  “If it will help my game, sure, I’ll stay.”

  “All right then. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t have done at your age.”

  “That gives me quite a bit of leeway,” Rex answered with some discomfort.

  “Damn right. Come on, Howdy, take me safely home,” Joe said as his kicker approached wiping Mariah’s lipstick from the side of his face. As they moved to the exit, Layla made her move toward the bar and Rex Worthy. Heaven help the kid. He wouldn’t know what to do with her.

  Rex remained unaware of the actress closing in on him, but Mariah Coy’s green eyes followed her the whole way. He tried to start a conversation with one of the linemen on his other side by asking what church he attended, but the guy simply grunted and moved to join some of his buddies at a table. Mariah introduced the guest singer for the evening. As the music started again, couples hit the dance floor, making Layla and her entourage for the evening weave among them.

  Finally, she slithered into place next to Rex and crossed her lengthy legs. Now, he couldn’t help but notice her. A wonder she could sit in those tight, white skinny jeans. The high wedge sandals on her feet showed off toenails painted the same glistening lavender as her long fingernails. She wore a deep purple tank top covered by a transparent shirt dotted with small violets, a symbol of shyness that didn’t suit her at all. Rex wondered what marvel of engineering held her breasts up, reprimanded himself for impure thoughts, and took a long draw on his second beer.

  Standing behind the actress, Brian Lightfoot issued an introduction. “Rex, this is Layla Devlin, the actress. She wanted to meet you.”

  Layla tossed her loose blonde hair over her shoulders and waited for his adulation.

  “Sure.” Rex supposed he should say he liked her movies, but he’d never seen one. They had a reputation for being steamy and inflaming.

  When he forgot to offer his hand, the actress put hers on his shoulder. “My, you are so tense after that workout today. Her other hand landed on the opposite shoulder. The lavender nails dug into his muscles. She slid off the barstool to get closer and more or less forced herself between his legs. Her breasts rubbed lightly against his chest, and her nipples hardened against the tank top. All the while, Layla pinioned him with her unusual eyes.

  “It appears my escort service is no longer needed. You still back there, Patsy? I
doubt Miss Devlin will want you for the rest of the night either. Can I drop you somewhere?” Brian offered.

  “Yes. No. I mean I’m still on duty. Sometimes Miss Devlin needs my assistance to get back to her room. Please call me Tricia, short for Patricia,” the assistant said.

  “As you wish, Trish.” Brian removed one of his cards from a small metal case with an art deco design on the top. “Have a pen?”

  “Always. For autographs and such.”

  Tricia delved into a huge black handbag filled with organizer pockets, and offered one blue and one black. Brian selected the blue and neatly wrote his cell phone number on the back of the card. He pressed it into Tricia’s hand. “In case you need any assistance. New Orleans isn’t the safest of cities. Might as well take this seat since Miss Devlin isn’t using it.”

  “Thank you.” The PA perched on the edge of the barstool with her feet clad in sensible black pumps tucked on the rail. She centered her bag on the lap of her classic little black dress. When the fat, bald bartender offered her the free drink, she shook her head, barely moving the chignon of dark hair pinned at her nape. “No, I’m working.”

  “Want flat Coca-Cola then?” the barkeep asked. “The johns don’t know the difference.”

  Her face flushed. “Not that kind of work. I am Miss Devlin’s PA.”

  “That’s what they all say,” he joked. “Hold up a hand if you change your mind.”

  Rex leaned back to escape the relentless pressure of nipples pushed against his chest. He reached an arm out, grasped the beer bottle, and took a big swig. The suds went down the wrong way, and he began to cough. Brian Lightfoot slapped him on the back a few times, causing Rex to lean in toward Layla again, not sure which one made him more uneasy. At least, his spasm removed her hands from his shoulders.

  “If you are settled, I must be on my way, much as I’d like to stay and see how this plays out. Good night and good luck to you all.” With a final impish pat to Rex’s back, Lightfoot departed their company.