by Lynn Shurr
Rex cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. It’s so smoky in here. I can’t abide smokers.” He eyed Howdy’s mother holding out a cigarette for Billy to light.
“Good that I don’t smoke, then. I only snort.” Layla cocked her head at Rex and smiled. Registering the horror on his face, she backpedaled. “That’s a Hollywood joke, darling. I believe in keeping myself pure inside and out. I go for regularly scheduled detoxifying sessions.”
Behind Layla’s back, Tricia coughed once. “Sorry, the smoke.” She waved a hand before her face when Rex Worthy smiled her way. He had a good, honest smile, strong unstained teeth with nothing feral about them despite the beard stubble surrounding his lips, the kind of grin her brothers back on the farm sported when they teased their only sister. She found herself answering it with one of her own, quickly wiped away when her boss turned around suddenly.
“Patsy, I need the little girl’s room. Rex, please save this seat right next to you and order a cosmopolitan straight up for me like the gentleman I know you are.” Layla sashayed in the direction of the restrooms. Tricia followed.
As soon as the door shut behind them. Layla positioned herself before the mirror over the sinks. She fluffed her hair, smoothed on more lipstick taken from the tiny purple velvet bag swinging from her wrist. “This isn’t working, Patsy, but why?”
“He might be shy. You are coming on awfully strong. Or maybe he is the kind of man who likes to take the lead.”
“Every man wants Layla Devlin—except that jackass, Joe Dean Billodeaux and the so very gay Brandon Deal. I believe I could seduce Brian Lightfoot without any trouble however.”
“Maybe.”
“I need to be more relaxed. My pills, Patsy.” Layla held out her palm.
Tricia found the bottle of prescription meds held securely within a loop in her large bag. “Take one and don’t drink afterwards.”
Layla shook out three and swallowed them dry one at a time. “Now I do need that cosmo. I don’t have to pee.” She stalked out of the restroom without using the facilities.
“But I do,” Tricia said to the closing door. She hurried knowing what a train wreck Layla Devlin could be if unsupervised. In the few minutes it took to wipe and wash, Layla had plotted a collision course before Tricia returned to the bar. The cosmopolitan glass sat on the counter drained to its last dark pink drop, and the bartender worked on preparing another.
Rex Worthy, his broad brow creased, said, “Shouldn’t you slow down a little, Miss Layla?”
Layla, her smile already a little lopsided along with her posture, answered, “You’d take good care of me if I got sick. I know that. I can trust you.”
“Well, sure. I’d help any lady in distress, but…”
The second cosmopolitan arrived and joined the first in Layla’s stomach. “Another!”
Tricia shook her head at the bartender. “We need to get her back to the hotel. She took some pills that aren’t to be mixed with alcohol. If you’d help me get her into a cab?”
Rex immediately offered an arm. Layla wrapped it tight around her waist. “My hero.”
They struggled to the exit with Layla boneless in his grasp. The bored paparazzi, lurking outside Mariah’s Place as usual when the Sinners were in town, perked up as the door opened. So far the evening had been a bust with Joe Dean going home early in the company of Howdy McCoy who hadn’t given them any fodder since his famous sophomore kicking slump years ago. A large presence hard to ignore, Rex hailed a cab and got an instant response. He hauled Layla between the tightly packed parked cars along the street, put her inside, and held the door for Tricia.
“Thanks, Mr. Worthy. You can go back inside now. I’ll take it from here.”
“Noooo! I want Rex to take me home,” Layla wailed. Her armed snaked out of the cab and grabbed the quarterback by the oversized belt buckle he wore with his jeans. She jerked him forward making him bang his head against the top of the doorframe. Cameras flashed.
“Shove her over and get in quick,” Tricia directed. “Driver, the Windsor Court…fast!”
“The Windsor, guys,” the closest paparazzo shouted. His comrades raced for their cars.
Inside the taxi, Layla attempted to open that great big belt buckle. Tricia leaned over and shoved her hands away. “Do not molest him, Layla.”
“Maybe he wants to be molested. Could be he wants to get laid for the very first time—like a vir-er-gin.”
As they drew up before the Windsor Court Hotel not all that far away, Tricia piled out with a red-faced Rex following. He dragged Layla from the seat and draped her over her assistant while he paid the cabbie, then both hauled her to the entry of the luxury hotel.
“Do you need help getting her to her room?”
“Absolutely not! Tip the doorman for some help. I won’t have your image sullied by her.”
“My image doesn’t matter if you need me.” Rex tucked the tongue of his belt into the buckle.
“I can handle it. And here come the men of the yellow press. Get back in the cab quick and make a run for it. We will be fine.”
“I’ll call tomorrow and see how she is.”
“Don’t. Go, go, go!”
Accustomed to obeying that kind of command, he did. The doorman had a strapping bellhop ready and waiting. The best shot any of the photographers got was of Layla being carried onto an elevator that accessed a private floor by a paid employee of the hotel. Ah well, better than nothing.
In the safety of their suite where the bellhop deposited his load in the bathroom, Tricia got out the brown bottle of ipecac syrup from her black bag. She held it to Layla’s lips. “Drink.”
“Oh, come on, Patsy. I was only acting. I thought he’d come up to the room, but you queered that deal.” The actress laughed. “Queer deal like Brandon Deal. I am feeling a little woozy though.”
Tricia yanked the star’s head back by her long hair and held the bottle to her enhanced lips. “Drink or I will pour it down your throat.”
“All right already!” Layla chugged the contents of the bottle. It worked fast. She made no effort to vomit in the toilet but instead spewed her two cosmopolitans and heaven knew what else over the front of her assistant. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she said, “Let that teach you to get between me and what I want, Patsy.”
Chapter Six
Joe sat at the breakfast bar in his New Orleans condo. Nell, dressed in a nightie and robe that parted a little over her baby bump, bustled around the small kitchen putting a meal on the table. She’d absolutely forbidden him to go out for greasy beignets. Instead, she slapped down bowls, spoons, a carton of milk, and boxes of cereal, shoved the basket of fruit his way, and poured him a cup of dark roast coffee made the way he liked it. She wrinkled her nose at the smell. Another thing she didn’t tolerate well when pregnant: coffee, especially strong coffee. Her plate held two slices of dry whole wheat toast, her cup, an herbal tea. Dr. Stewart at Ochsner had confirmed both the pregnancy and the presence of twins in her womb yesterday. No surprise to Joe. Even years gone, Madame Leleux knew her stuff when it came to predicting births.
While Nell showered earlier, Joe put a Sinners cap on his bald head and sneaked downstairs to ask Greg, the doorman, for a selection of the latest tabloids. A few days had passed since the end of summer training. Coach magnanimously offered a short break to the team before they went on the road tomorrow for the first of the preseason games. Nell would head back to the ranch with the good news, but she wanted to wait until Joe returned before telling their family. For that reason, he held the scandal sheets low on his lap.
A smile crept past his guard. Not all the rags showed that great picture of Layla’s hand snaking out of the cab to jerk Rex Worthy by his belt buckle, and only one photographer caught him hitting his head on the roof of the taxi. The headline was particularly sweet. Virgin No More? He’d ridden up in the elevator with Brian Lightfoot returning from a light jog, but the punter couldn’t answer that question either. Unlike Howdy, R
ex was not his best friend and unlikely to pick a gay man to confide in at any time.
Secretly pleased by the headline below the fold as well, Joe took care to keep that one hidden. Joe Dean Scores Again!, it read. The tabloid had used a file photo portraying him with his sexiest grin. A few years old, he had less silver in his hair and not as many lines on his face. Reliable sources reported the quarterback’s wife to be pregnant with twins and asked another question—Super Bowl Babies?
“What’s so amusing?” Nell asked.
Before he could answer, the phone rang. Saved by the bell—or not. Caller ID indicated his mother. She started right in on him directly after he said hello.
“You know how I like to go to the grocery early while they got everything fresh. What do I see at the checkout? My own son grinning at me because his wife is expecting twins. What for you don’t tell your own mother first before the newspapers? I thought you was out of those eggs you paid Nell’s sister for long time ago.”
“We did it all by ourselves. Look on it as another miracle, Mama.”
“Since Madame Leleux said, I knew you had two more coming, but I figured they would be like Teddy and Stacy, kids you might adopt, though you never did adopt your niece.”
“Stacy didn’t want to be adopted. Loyalty to her parents, I guess. Being her guardians is good enough.”
Mawmaw Nadine never kept her voice low. Nell picked up words of the conversation here and there. She looked as cross as he imaged his mother to be. “What have you done?” his wife mouthed at him. Trying to look innocent, Joe shrugged. Nell ripped at the papers he held on his lap. Her eyes took in Rex Worthy being seduced, then slid below the fold. “Hang up,” she said.
“I apologize, Mama. Word got out unintentionally. You should have been the first to know. Look, we haven’t told the kids yet. Would you keep it quiet for us?”
“Sure, because I can keep a secret unlike my own son. Well, makes no never mind now. You know nothing brings me more happiness than a new baby in the family. Two new babies is even better. You done good, Joe. Tell Nell she needs to get plenty of rest and give up the sex, okay.”
“I will. Always great to hear from you.” Reluctantly, he put away the phone, the only thing standing between him and Nell, a woman as steaming as that cup of hot tea by her hand. He checked to see if she’d taken all the papers off his lap. No, he still had a layer for protection.
“You told the team first!”
“Not exactly. Brian was ragging me about my shaved head. I explained about how we thought you had cancer, how I wanted to be really supportive. Then, when I said you were fine, the second part sort of slipped out.”
“We weren’t even sure about the twins until the ultrasound yesterday. I’m surprised these papers don’t know the sex and the names already.” Nell shoved the tabloid in his face. Good, she’d forgotten about the tea.
“Well, neither do we. The doctor couldn’t tell yet, and I don’t need to know. It only matters that they are healthy, right? Even Dean doesn’t care if we have more girls than boys since he discovered how great the opposite sex could be. The twins bring all their friends home. It’s a pretty good selection.”
“We are not raising Dean to be a teenage Lothario like you were.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that! I meant to say he’d be happy to have two little sisters. All the kids will be.”
Nell dropped the papers, hitched herself onto one of the high stools, and buried her face in her hands. “No, they won’t. All but the triplets are teenagers. They will be mortally embarrassed by this.” Tears oozed between her fingers.
“Don’t cry, Tink. Think of all the free babysitters we have on hand.” Joe let the rest of the tabloids drift to the floor and took Nell on his lap. “It’s gonna be fine, sugar. Fine and dandy, you’ll see. Look, I didn’t plan to spend today driving back and forth to Chapelle, but we can. We’ll get there before the kids come home from school and call a team meeting when they arrive. One snide comment about us being too old for more kids, and they get stall-cleaning duty for a week.”
“Okay,” Nell sniveled.
“It’s just your hormones talking right now. You know how you get when you’re expecting.”
If Nell didn’t remember, Joe certainly did. She had fits of jealousy, one of which had lead to their twin girls being delivered in the bathroom of a motor home, and chafed at being confined to bed rest for her multiple births. This would be another long haul with a large load, but he’d become wise enough in the ways of marriage never to say those words.
“You’d be tetchy, too, if you were about to swell up like you’d swallowed two watermelons whole while half the women in the world chase after your husband. I see Layla Devlin is in town.”
And so it began. “After telling me how unattractive I am bald, Layla only showed interest in Rex Worthy.” Joe retrieved one of the tabloids. “See, she made a move on him the other night.”
Nell scanned the article. “Well, unless they did it in the taxi with her assistant watching, I’d say Rex is still a virgin. By the time the paparazzi arrived, he’d left and some bellhop hauled her wiggling ass to her room. Poor Rex to be pursued by a woman like that. I mean he is entitled to his principles. You should help him get rid of her.”
“How, by throwing myself between them?”
“No! Some other way. You’d help any other guy on the team.” Nell reached up and removed Joe’s Sinners ball cap. She leaned back in his embrace. “Layla is right. You look terrible bald. Would you consider keeping your head shaved for the next six months until I have the babies?”
“I’d do it for cancer, but not for more kids. I don’t want to frighten the new babies with my huge ears.”
Nell closed in on one of his lobes and nibbled. “I think I am almost over the morning sickness phase of pregnancy and entering the horny phase.”
“Last thing my mama said was we should lay off the sex.”
“When have I ever listened to your mama?” She gave that earlobe a really long suck and shifted her position from sitting on his knee to wrapping her legs around his back. Nell rubbed against the erection she provoked in his jeans.
Joe could have cited a few incidents where his wife gave in to the steamroller tactics of Nadine, but he held his tongue because Nell stuck hers in his ear. He stood, taking his wife with him, and moved toward the bedrooms. They only got as far as the Madame Pompadour room, as Nell liked to call it. All pale blue brocade and gold accents with a crystal chandelier over the large bed and white, spindly-legged furniture intended for female guests, their daughters fought to stay here when they visited. Their mother never told them it remained as a relic from their father’s womanizing days.
Her baby bump hadn’t gotten big enough to prove any impediment yet, but Joe went as gently as he could considering that Nell raked her nails across his back under his fitted black T-shirt to spur him on. He’d only managed to get his bottoms off when the urge struck Nell really hard. Earlier in the summer with cancer on her mind, Nell’s lovemaking had been preoccupied and routine. He should have caught on then that she worried about something, but since sex was always good for him, he’d missed it. Now, she came quickly once, and then again waiting for him to finish, very satisfying for both.
Now they lay waiting for their heartbeats to return to normal and watching the morning sunlight dance in the crystals of the chandelier and shed little rainbows across their half-naked bodies. “I needed that,” Nell said.
“It was great for me, too. Shower together?”
“Sure, I could use another one after getting hot and sweaty.” Nell rolled off one side of the bed. “Meet you there.” She paused to regard the brocade bedspread they’d never turned down. “That will have to go to the dry cleaners.” She didn’t seem at all upset.
The doorbell rang and sent his Tink sprinting for the bathroom. Joe groaned and got into his jeans commando. What now?
Brian Lightfoot stood on the other side of the door with Howdy McCoy
hovering behind him, one of the disadvantages of having a condo in the same building as other members of the team. Brian exuded a scented body wash and wore his long, dark hair slicked back wet, both proof that he’d cleaned up after his run. Howdy, clad in grungy sweats and sporting a light, reddish stubble on his face, looked like a man dragged from his bed a little too early.
“May we come in? I hope we aren’t disturbing anything,” Brian said.
A little flushed, Howdy added, “We waited until the headboard stopped banging against the wall, then waited a few minutes more before we rang. You could hear that noise all the way out in the hall.”
“Good thing I own the entire floor then.” Reluctantly, Joe allowed them to enter.
Brian held out a peace offering. “I brought beignets, still warm.”
Nell’s head poked from the bathroom door. “Save some for me.” She retreated again.
Getting to the point as if he were really, really tired, Howdy said, “My mom called me from the club around closing time. She doesn’t like the looks of Layla Devlin and thinks we should protect Rex from her wiles. Just try to get back to sleep after the images she left in my mind. Then, Brian comes along singing the same song this morning.”
“Not that Rex is a dear friend, but having met Miss Devlin close up I’d say she is a nasty piece of work. She treats her nice assistant worse than a slave and sleeps with all her leading men. Good thing you only had a bit part, Joe.”
“She tried with me and Brandon Deal and went back to Hollywood frustrated.”
“Unsatisfied. That explains why she’s after Rex. Imagine what the tabloids will say if she actually takes his cherry.” Brian snooped in the cupboards looking for just the right plate to serve the beignets.
Clad in a cute yellow terry exercise outfit with an elastic waistband, Nell whizzed by and snatched the beignets from his hands. She dumped her dry toast into the sink, rooted in the bag like a truffle pig sniffing out powdered sugar, and refilled her plate with two of the donuts. “I’m over my morning sickness,” she declared.
