Love Letter for a Sinner (The Sinners sports romances)

by Lynn Shurr

  Lilah whose real name was Lee kept his idol supplied with various drugs. Although Tricia flushed what she could find, the amount and variety seemed endless. She and Layla had been around this particular street corner before after the first big hit movie. Conceiving a passion for the co-star, a married man but willing enough to sleep with Layla while they filmed to enhance their love scenes, Layla stalked him afterwards. There followed a restraining order, a weight gain of fifty pounds, and indiscriminate drug use until she had to gain control before her next movie or lose her contract.

  Layla stabilized, stating her career meant more than any man. Her mentor and sometimes lover, Micah Stanley, quietly thanked Tricia for hanging in there to prevent worse damage by presenting the PA with an eco-friendly Prius, and Layla with a Jaguar for shaping up. Now, having been rejected by Brandon, Joe, and Rex, matters with Layla would only grow worse if the actress didn’t get what she wanted. How Tricia wished she could get in that car currently parked at Layla’s mansion in L.A. and return to Iowa instead of doing this all over again, more awful than before because a decent man was involved.

  She didn’t expect to hear from Rex after the scene at the airport. Let that be his hint to stay away from both of them. If he didn’t get in touch, they were safe. But, she’d given into the temptation to program his private number into her phone, not under his real name of course. That courted disaster. She chose King Oliver after an old New Orleans jazzman and a signature ringtone of a song called Sweet Like This. Layla might be enjoying all the vices New Orleans could offer her on a golden platter, but Tricia used her free time learning the history of the city and gradually becoming more comfortable with it.

  The notes of Sweet Like This burst from her phone late on Monday night while Tricia holed up in her new bedroom on the other side of the condo from the one where Layla entertained Lee, who consoled her after the dreadfully humiliating airport debacle as the actress referred to it. “They didn’t know who I was,” she told the transvestite mournfully.

  “Then shame on them Lay-Lay. Let Lee-Lee make you feel all better because you are a diva, and I discovered you first. No other tranny is doing Layla Devlin in the entire city.”

  With a full kitchen and a spacious living room having a great view of the Mississippi between them, and the television turned on, Tricia couldn’t hear their weird coupling or whatever else they were doing. No wonder airport security hadn’t recognized the movie star with her unkempt hair resembling Medusa’s snakes in the high humidity and the added fifteen pounds. Good thing no mug shots were taken.

  “Hey, it’s Rex. Sorry for calling so late. Is Layla asleep?”

  “No, but she’s occupied. What did you want?” If he said you, she’d be done for.

  “I’ve been thinking about your situation.”

  “Not your problem, Rex.” She wanted to mean that.

  “When you see a person struggling, you should try to help. No man or woman is an island. At least they shouldn’t be. I got this two million dollar signing bonus and used it to set up the Worthy Foundation. Right now most of the money is tied up in growth stocks, but if Joe does retire, I’ll make a lot more. We held back some to assist the needy immediately. Maybe my charity could pay your mother’s medical bills. You could quit Layla and—”

  “You think I’m a charity case! I have a horrible job working for a terrible woman, but I can take care of my mother without your assistance.” Anger helped keep her on track to do what she had to do.

  “Well then, you could marry me, and my money would be your money.”

  “You believe I’m the kind of woman who would marry a man for his money. That’s as insulting as needing your handouts.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that. I thought maybe you liked me enough to consider it.”

  “Are we back to you feeling obligated to marry me because of one night where nothing happened and a ridiculous newspaper article?” Rex, Rex, Rex, too good for his own good.

  “I only want to help you. Tell me how.” He begged for it.

  “You can get Layla off my back by going to her and getting that experience you so sorely lack.” There, said and done, but how would he respond?

  The pause on the other end of the conversation stretched to such length, Tricia thought he’d disconnected. She almost prayed he had.

  His deep voice came back with a gruff edge to it. “If that’s the only way I can help you, I’ll do it.”

  “Good. We have a condo now. I’ll give you directions. When can you come over here?” Keep it brisk and businesslike. Do not whimper.

  “Big game this Sunday, the Falcons. Practice will be tough. Maybe next Monday night when that’s over with. Is seven too early?”

  “Like I said before, people can have sex anytime, anywhere. I’ll put you on Layla’s calendar. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.” Only me, I’ll hurt. “Sleep well, Rex.”

  “You, too, Trish.”

  ****

  Rex Worthy didn’t sleep well for the rest of the week. He had so many wet dreams he changed and washed his own sheets to avoid any questioning looks from his cleaning lady. By day, he dreaded his appointment with Layla and by night when deep asleep, he desired Tricia. Sluggish during practice, Coach reamed him out on a daily basis. He didn’t believe he’d play on Sunday, partly because of his recent performance and more because Joe would want to keep the intense rivalry with the Falcons in his own competent hands.

  Whether the flattening level of crowd noise in the Dome affected their rivals or Lady Luck had momentarily deserted them, the Falcons could do no right on Sunday afternoon. Adam Malala intercepted one ball and popped out another for a crucial fumble. Joe played like he had ten more good years in him, connecting pass after pass and driving up the score to the roar of the fans. By the end of third quarter, the game was over by any standard.

  Coach motioned Rex to go in and run down the clock. “You don’t need to do anything, but keep the ball as long as you can. It’s good practice.”

  He started out obeying those instructions, mostly letting the backs run the ball for short distances just enough to achieve the first downs by inches, but the Falcons made a goal line stand and blocked Rex’s short pass into the end zone. Two more failures to score followed, and Howdy McCoy came out to make a field goal with his usual ease. Rex headed back to the bench and let the defense do its job.

  Joe Dean sat next to him and said, “No big deal this time, but you need to get women out of your head,” as if the quarterback read minds. The only problem, now he’d planted the thought of Monday evening and Layla in the forefront of Rex’s brain instead of buried in the back where she belonged. The game paused as the medics came out on the field to remove a Falcon’s receiver with a possible broken leg. An idea formed.

  The big men of the defense polished off the rattled Falcons after four pitiful possessions. Rex went out again, same instructions, but he could not bring himself to follow them. He hugged the ball close and ran it three times in a row making good progress down the field but taking hard hits that brought him crashing to the ground and had the coach screaming in his ear. Each time, he got up and ran the ball again. As the end zone loomed ahead, he slowed enough to allow the opponent’s most aggressive tackle to bring him down by the ankle as he stretched his arms across the goal line. Touchdown! With the air knocked out of him and pain attacking his lower leg, Rex hardly had enough presence of mind to raise that hand to God.

  Two trainers helped him limp off the field. X-rays and ice followed. Nothing broken but his eardrums as Coach Buck lit into him. “What the fuck were you thinking? Practice your passing, I told you. Now you got a sprain bad enough to keep you out of the next couple of games. You coulda broken that leg and ended your season, shit for brains.”

  He’d hoped for exactly that. A man with a cast on his leg could hardly be expected to perform in bed. If his season ended today, maybe Layla would move on, but evidently God did not see fit to give him an easy way out. As it was, he’d had to endure
her parading around wearing his number in her luxury box along with that transvestite who found it cute to dress exactly the same right down to big, false boobs. The camera followed them pressed against the windows of the suite nearly as often as they did the plays, or so it seemed to Rex. Right now, the lens caught Layla weeping hysterically over his injury in the arms of her double. Gave him the willies.

  After the game, he limped into his condo with a tightly taped ankle and a bottle of painkillers, the Monday night date still on as far as he knew. Rex thought about calling Tricia to see if he could get a reprieve, but remembered how badly their last conversation went. He’d never gotten a chance to say he’d rather be with her, let her teach him and train him to please her. Instead, he’d promised to go to Layla, the worst mistake of his life.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rex got through the team meeting on Monday fairly well despite having his stupid last plays dissected over and over. “You don’t take unnecessary risks like this unless you want a short career. Sure, play hard, but don’t play dumb,” Coach Buck repeated, running the sequence one more time.

  He stayed at the training facility all afternoon doing some weight lifting since he had to stay off the ankle. Waving a trainer away, Joe sidled over to spot for him. Rex knew he could press more than old Daddy Joe, not that it mattered when you had an arm like Billodeaux. He prepared for a lecture as perspiration dribbled down his forehead and stung his eyes. Joe tossed him a sweatband and a towel during a short break. Almost casually, the great quarterback brought up a different subject.

  “You tell Tricia how you feel yet? I can tell it’s eating at you.” Joe said “feel” as if as the word spoken to another man caught in the back of his throat and needed to be expectorated. “Sorry, I sounded like Dr. Mind Fuck there. I mean how’s it going with Trish. You two get it on yet?”

  “No.”

  “I could tell. You sure aren’t any more relaxed.”

  “When I called, she made me promise to go with Layla.”

  “You’re shittin’ me! Maybe she doesn’t return your interest after all.”

  “I don’t know. I think Layla forced her into this.”

  Joe considered this statement while stroking his newly regrown forehead curl like a pet he’d lost and found again. “Layla can be pretty persistent. I’ve seen her goods, all of them. It’s not a shabby offering. She’s used to more experienced men. My guess is her infatuation won’t last long, and you’ll be free to go with Tricia. On the other hand, she might make Tricia off-limits because she’s that kind of bitch.”

  “That’s your advice—sleep with Layla and hope she lets me see Tricia later.”

  “Since Tricia won’t have anything to do with you otherwise, yes. I imagine Layla will make the experience very pleasurable. Wish I had some other idea to offer. Let me know how it goes, particularly if it’s going to affect your game.” Joe stood and beckoned the trainer back into position. “Don’t let him hurt himself, you hear.”

  Rex worked on his muscles until the trainer forced him to quit. He wanted to be exhausted this evening, too tired to arouse by any means. He shouldn’t shower. Body odor might repel Layla. He bathed anyhow because Tricia might be around. Shaving, forget about it—and no lime aftershave this time.

  Later, when he ripped through his closet considering what to wear, he finally settled on plain khakis, a deep green dress shirt with plenty of buttons down the front and two on each cuff, a hassle to take off. Remembering his sister said this particular shirt make his hazel eyes look greener and lots more attractive, he considered discarding it, but then it was a pain to unbutton. Same with the shoes, brown oxfords with tight laces he could untie slowly worn with long socks that wouldn’t come off easily. He considered adding a sweater over the top, but October in Louisiana remained steamy, and he’d already put on an undershirt with his snug boxer-briefs. He tied all this together with a stiff leather belt harder to unbuckle than the one he’d worn the night Layla tried to molest him in the cab.

  The virgin had girded his loins as well as he was able. Rex said a quick prayer for deliverance from his fate, took a deep breath, walked out his door and toward Layla’s new lair. A little more exercise couldn’t hurt even if his ankle did. He took a couple of pain pills he’d stowed in his pants pocket, but didn’t pause to pick up flowers on the way.

  He arrived a trifle late and rapped on the condo door wondering if Tricia would let him in. She’d texted him a reminder of his appointment on his cell phone earlier in the day. A call to her went to voice mail, and he did not leave a message. Neither woman answered his knock. The creature known as Lilah Divine, but dressed as a man for a change, waved him inside. Rex had only a moment to observe that Lilah, a male so nondescript he would have made a great spy, appeared much more attractive as a woman. Maybe that’s why he did his act. God loves all creatures, Rex reminded himself.

  “Layla awaits you in her boudoir,” the transvestite said grandly, pointing in the proper direction. “You are in for a treat. We’ve been getting ready all afternoon. Don’t mind me. I’m just leaving.”

  “Where’s Tricia?”

  “In her room way over there with her headphones on, I imagine. That’s where she usually goes when I’m around to take care of Layla for her. Not that I mind. Ta ta.” Although wearing trousers and running shoes, the tranny swept from the condo as if gowned in satin and six-inch heels.

  Turning his eyes away from Tricia’s bedroom, Rex took another deep breath and forced himself to walk in the opposite direction. He rapped lightly on the indicated door.

  “Come in dear Rex. I’ve been waiting.” No Southern accent now but a throaty purr.

  Layla Devlin stunned him, absolutely stunned him. Rex stood just inside the doorway, yet almost at the foot of a king-sized bed with an ornate brass bedstead arrayed with icy blue satin sheets but no bedspread to get in the way. That lay crumpled on the floor. Layla reclined like a nude centerpiece amid a mound of lacy cushions with peach-colored walls for her background. She bore no resemblance at all to the snaky-locked Medusa at the airport. Her blonde tresses cascaded in smooth waves down her shoulders and across her chest. Other than that, Rex could swear on a stack of Bibles she hadn’t another hair on her body.

  “Look all you want, baby,” Layla encouraged. “That will get us both started.”

  His eyes roved over a lavish display of breasts tipped with shining nipples a peculiar shade of deep pink. There appeared to be more of her that didn’t show when sausaged into tight clothes. Her navel sank deep into the soft dough of her belly as if someone had tested her for doneness at that spot. He blinked twice when he got to her naked pubis. Did it glitter beneath the light cast by a modern brass chandelier? He knew his mouth hung open and couldn’t seem to shut it.

  “All for you, darling. Cherry gloss on my tits for a whole new taste sensation and a little sparkle down below to get the fireworks started. Come lie beside me.” Layla patted the space next to her.

  Rex knew most men would be drooling and erect by now, but he viewed only the goddess of lust carved from a block of pure white lard. Far from exciting him, he merely felt repulsion. He didn’t go beyond her dimpled thighs, but looked up again to her best feature, those lilac eyes, not lovely and provocative tonight, but hard and voracious. She did not move him at all.

  Impatiently, Layla punched the mattress. “Here! We can’t do more with you way over there.” She pouted her lush lips, the same shade as her nipples and presumably also cherry glossed, at him and then smiled coyly. “Or perhaps we could. Would you like to watch while I play with myself?”

  “No!” That brought Rex to heel. He moved to the side of the bed and lay down beside her without so much as taking off his shoes.

  “Do you want Layla to undress you?”

  “Uh, no. I’m fine.” He licked his dry lips.

  Layla answered his gesture with a pink tongue circling her own lips. She placed them hard against his and walked her hand down his body with her long, ch
erry-colored nails making little dents in his clothes as it went. Rubbing her palm against his crotch, she broke off the invasive kiss. “You aren’t ready for me. Do you need something to help you relax?”

  Rex fastened his gaze on the clear bulbs of the chandelier. “No. If I’m supposed to learn something I need to remember it in the morning.” Suspecting all he would retain was shame, he closed his eyes against the little blue dots he started to see.

  “That’s right. Close your eyes and just feel.” Her lips and hand went to work again.

  Rex opened his eyes wide and turned his head to one side. He concentrated on the jolt of being tackled, the pain in his sore ankle now numbed by drugs. Numbed. Without thinking about it, he’d given himself the perfect defense against Layla. Thank you, Jesus. But if she kept him here for hours of torment, he had no backup.

  “This would go better if you undressed.” Layla worked at the small, annoying buttons on his shirt and revealed his pristine white undershirt. “I didn’t know men wore these anymore, at least not under another shirt. No matter. It’s like unwrapping a fabulous birthday gift with many layers and a great surprise at the end. I’ll bet you aren’t all scarred up like old Joe Dean. Here we go.”

  She finished with the buttons down the front and struggled with the cuffs, breaking a nail in the process. Cursing under her breath, Layla finally pushed the green shirt off his broad shoulders and pulled out the long tails. “Well, take it off. Don’t make me do all the work.”

  Rex sat up and removed the shirt, folding in neatly into an oblong. He started to rebutton it as if returning the shirt to a display in a men’s wear department.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Layla flung the bundle onto the floor and striped off his T-shirt in one swift movement. She shoved him down on the pillows. “That’s better.” Slowly, she circled each of his nipples with a fingernail. “Such great pecs, so big and firm, but you might consider waxing your chest, not that it isn’t gorgeous as is. Your pecs need to get to know mine.” She rubbed her breasts back and forth across his chest and stroked the bruises he’d gotten in the last game. “These kind of turn me on, my brave warrior.”