Sinners Football 01- Goals for a Sinner

by Lynn Shurr

  Rita made herself at home on the cypress bench, asked Connor’s permission to record the conversation, dated and identified the subject of the tape. She began by giving Riley a white, toothy smile outlined in man-eating red lipstick. She fluffed her thick, black hair with her long nails and started the interview.

  “There is no doubt that you are having the best season of your professional career after being a first draft pick right out of LSU by the Sinners five years ago. To what would you attribute your success?”

  “Um, a great coach, hard work, keeping my mind on the game, maturity.”

  “What about the rest of the Sinners?”

  “We all do our part. We have a really strong defensive line this year, and Joe Dean Billodeaux and I work well together.”

  “I hear you are the only one of the Sinners’

  receivers who can catch his wild throws.”

  “Not all of them are wild. Joe has a strong arm and he’s getting more control with experience. This is the first opportunity he’s really had to show his stuff. We were sorry to lose Art Golden, though. This could have been Art’s Super Bowl year.”

  “All of the above are undoubtedly true, but I have heard rumors that Connor Riley has a secret formula for success.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  “I’ve heard you have remained celibate this entire season. No groupies for Connor Riley. Is this true?”

  Through the sheer curtains fluttering at her window, Stevie saw Connor color up as if he had just run ninety yards for a touchdown. Her own mind echoed Rita’s question. Could this be true?

  “Well, ah, yeah, it’s true, but just this season.” Connor seemed anxious not to appear to be some kind of freak.

  “So, is this a religious thing or something else?

  You are known on occasion to attend the church where Revelation Bullock’s father preaches. Have you found Jesus?”

  “No, it’s not a religious thing, but it was the Rev’s idea. He’s had a great season, too, and is going to the Pro Bowl. Maybe you should ask him about this.”

  “But we are here now. So tell me, what does celibacy have to do with great football?”

  “Okay, the Rev says it’s a warrior thing. If you abstain from sex, all your aggression, all your concentration can be focused on winning. He says lots of societies have required their warriors to abstain from sex. In the Middle Ages, knights seeking the Holy Grail had to be pure, only in this case it’s the Super Bowl we’re seeking. Sounds weird when I say it out loud, but it works.”

  “The Sinners have quite a reputation for carousing in the French Quarter. Are any of your teammates also practicing celibacy? Say Joe Dean Billodeaux?”

  “Not Joe, definitely not Joe, and none of the others that I’ve noticed. Some of the guys are married and don’t fool around. I guess their wives wouldn’t appreciate them taking a celibacy vow. It’s only for the season though. Not afterwards, and the season is almost over, about five more weeks if we go all the way.”

  Connor noticed the open window and turned his back to it as if to hide Stevie from Rita Fortunado.

  “You dedicated your last game to someone named Stephanie. Who might Stephanie be?”

  “An old friend who was sick in the hospital for awhile, that’s all. Could we talk about football?” Rita had sunk her teeth in the subject and was not about to let go. “Just a guess, but are we talking about the photographer who goes by the name of Stevie Dowd, the woman you tackled a few weeks ago in the last of the regular season games? Stevie is an old friend of mine, too.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yes, I’ve been trying to reach her for days, but she isn’t at her studio.”

  “She’s, ah…maybe, she’s recovering with family or friends. She was injured in the fall, concussion, cracked ribs, you know. And I didn’t tackle her. I just sort of ran into her and fell on top of her with the Rev wrapped around my knees. Your magazine had a small article on it.”

  In the bedroom, Stevie breathed out quietly.

  Nice save, Connor, she thought. No way were she and Rita old friends. Mainly, they were two women trying to make it in a man’s world, and Rita was doing better than her. She did not particularly like Rita, who sometimes traded sex for scoops.

  “If you should see Stevie, tell her I hope she gets well soon.” Rita looked pointedly over Connor’s shoulder. Stevie stepped away from the window.

  “Tell me, Connor, why are you still with the Sinners when you could have gone out as a free agent a couple of years ago? You’ve been playing good ball on a formerly losing team.”

  “Good ball, not great ball. This year I’m playing closer to my full potential, I think for the first time.

  Maybe a salary re-negotiation is in the future, but I grew up on this lake. I’d like to stay here and help the Sinners to another winning season. I want our victories to be part of the rebirth of New Orleans from the storm.”

  “Very noble of you with your yardage going up each week and your phenomenal number of touchdowns this season.”

  Relieved they’d returned to the subject of the game, Connor Riley sat back and appeared to enjoy the rest of the interview. ****

  Naturally, Joe Dean brought the bad news. He arrived clutching the latest Sports Illustrated, flashing its cover at Stevie and rejoicing that the star receiver on the next team the Sinners were to meet graced the cover.

  “Cursed, Kamal Mohammed is definitely cursed.”

  He tossed the magazine to Stevie who glanced at the teasers for the other feature articles. One of the bars read, A Saint Among the Sinners? She flipped through the contents. “Oh, no!” There it was, Dexter Sykes’ photo of her sprawled out on the ground with Connor Riley kneeling beside her like a knight in black armor.

  The layout was a full page bleed that made the legs of the medics and spectators fuzzy and vague like trees on a misty island. The picture had not been cropped and her nipples poked up visibly under her damp white T-shirt. To Connor’s credit, his eyes appeared to be gazing raptly at her face. With her lips parted and her eyes half open, Stevie thought she looked as if she were recovering from a particularly good orgasm.

  Joe Dean looked over her shoulder, his breath warm on her neck. “Hot shot, Stevie,” he whispered in her ear. He raised his voice to get Connor’s attention. “But Riley looks like a love-starved sap.

  Or maybe that should be sex-starved.” Connor crossed the room to take a look. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I know this must embarrass you.”

  “The camera does not lie. It’s the article that worries me for your sake, not mine.” Connor leaned over Stevie and skimmed the article with her. It started out well enough with a short history of his career with the Sinners and his phenomenal season with new personal and team records set. Then came the celibacy issue, making that seem like the sole reason for his success, not hard work or experience.

  Rita pointed out Connor did little drinking and was known for going home alone to his place on Lake Pontchartrain after victory celebrations with the team. She pumped up his work with Habitat for Humanity and his visits to the children’s ward while visiting Stevie. The reporter ended by saying a good source had told her Connor insisted on giving the female photographer he had injured a place to convalesce at his home.

  According to Rita, Connor Riley lived alongside that woman like a pure warrior-knight, true to his vows. The woman’s name was Stevie, short for Stephanie, Dowd, the woman to whom he had dedicated his last game. Yes, Connor Riley, truly a saint among the Sinners.

  Joe Dean continued reading over Stevie’s other shoulder. “Kind of makes you want to gag, huh?

  There will be letters to the editor next week about printing this chick stuff in a sports magazine, I guarantee you, me.”

  Stevie’s cell phone rang. The gadget had remained fairly silent with the exception of a call or two from concerned friends once she cancelled her assignments for the next six weeks. She had not told anyone where she was recovering except her sis
ter Michelle who had been sworn to secrecy. Stevie handed the magazine to Connor and moved a few feet away to take the call.

  “Oh, hi, Mom. Well, I asked Michelle not to tell you I was injured. I didn’t want you to worry… I’m sorry you had to find out about it in a national magazine. I didn’t know you read Sports Illustrated.

  Thank my dear brother-in-law for showing you the picture… No, no, don’t get on the bus. I’m well taken care of, feeling fine. I’m not shacked up, Mom. I’m recuperating… Yes, he is a nice boy, much nicer than Dex. No, you can’t talk to him. He’s not here. I swear I’ll keep you up to date on my life from now on… Love you too, Mom. Bye.”

  Joe Dean’s background snickers turned into a huge laugh. Pitching his voice high, he mocked, “Connor Riley is such a nice boy. A saint among the Sinners.”

  “I don’t suppose it was you who gave Rita her information about Stevie?” Connor asked, showing remarkable restraint.

  Joe Dean looked down shamefaced. “She already knew or guessed. She came on to me real strong, and you know I’m not one to turn down a good offer. Hey, I’m the guy who said you weren’t sleeping together.

  Don’t I get some credit?”

  “Let’s go over the game tapes and forget it.

  Stevie, I’m sorry about this dick-head talking to Rita about you.”

  “Not your fault. I think I’ll take a soak in the tub. You guys study your tapes. Big game coming up.” Stevie left the room and Connor tried to get back to business. He cued up a tape of their next opponents’ last game, the one that moved them up in playoffs to meet the Sinners.

  “Strong defense, hard hitters, fast runners. I think you should consider going to the short pass just over their line.”

  Joe Dean wasn’t listening. Stevie, heading for the Jacuzzi, had walked past them out to the deck in her electric blue tank suit.

  “Great legs, nice rack,” he said appraisingly.

  “You can tell the breasts are real because they look all soft and squeezable. Can’t believe you sit in that tub with her and don’t get a hard-on.” Connor buried his face in his hands. “The game, Joe Dean, think about the game.”

  Chapter Six

  Stevie watched the brutal game against the Salt Lake Saints. Joe Dean Billodeaux tried to stay with his favorite long passes to Connor Riley, but when the opposing team put three men on Riley, he created fumbles, overthrows, one interception, and many teeth-jarring tackles of the wide receiver. At the half, the score stood at seventeen-zip in favor of the Saints.

  In the second half, Billodeaux saved his own ass with a fake and a run through a hole, gaining enough yardage to make a short pass into the end zone a possibility. Going to underutilized receiver, DeVon Deets, the Sinners got their first goal. A fierce defense kept the Saints from scoring again, and their attempt at another field goal failed.

  Riley, taking over for the normal punt receiver, ran the ball back to the Sinners forty-yard line thanks to some great blocking. However, when Billodeaux attempted a throw to Riley on the next play, he was sacked with nowhere to go as defenders swarmed around the wide receiver. A series of short passes to Deets eventually got the touchdown.

  In the fourth quarter, the Sinners needed one more. Billodeaux faked to Deets but found Connor open. He scored.

  Stevie jumped up in front of Connor’s wide-screen TV. She pumped her fist. “Yes, he scores!” She remembered her sore ribs and sat down again.

  Recuperation was becoming tedious, and she supposed Connor wouldn’t be home until sometime tomorrow. He certainly didn’t have to call or answer to her. The announcers had made a big deal about the Saints playing the Sinners. With no place in Salt Lake for the kind of victory celebration the Sinners team enjoyed, Connor would probably stay with Joe Dean in the city and go out with the team when they got home.

  The big house was a lonely place with only the incessant shrill of the phone and the click of the answering machine taking endless messages ever since the magazine article appeared. Despite the number of calls, the messages sounded all about the same. “Connor, this is Brandi. Give me a call when the season is over.” “Connor, this is Autumn. We spent a night together a couple of years ago. Here I thought you didn’t like me, but now I understand.

  Let me leave my number in case you’ve lost it.” “Hi Connor, Keely Hyde here. We went out a couple of times in college. Got your number from your mother.

  I’m working in New Orleans now. Give me a call sometime.”

  Feeling restless and edgy, Stevie went out to jog around the perimeter of Connor’s walled and gated property. Her healing ribs demanded she stop before she got half way to the gate. She walked the rest of the way to use up some energy and quell whatever urges built inside her.

  When she got back to the house, the phone was still ringing, the answering machine collecting more phone numbers from old flames and a few women who admitted they had never met Connor but had ferreted his number from acquaintances. A particularly candid lady named Caresse confessed she’d slept with Joe Dean Billodeaux to find out how to get in touch with Connor, the kind of man she really wanted.

  To get away from the messages that were driving her slowly and surely nuts, Stevie headed to the hot tub where she could enjoy the peace of the night and the stars in the sky. She turned the deck lights low, slipped into the warm water and drifted off. After looking around the house, Connor found her in the Jacuzzi. Blonde tendrils escaping from a mussed topknot floated in the water around her pale neck like the hair of a mermaid. Her lips, full and pink, were slightly parted. He didn’t wake her but, limping slightly, went inside and got his trunks on.

  The backwash when he slid into the tub slapped Stevie in the face. She floundered awake to see Connor grinning at her across the tub.

  Stevie wiped the water from her eyes. “I thought you wouldn’t be home ’til tomorrow night. I must be reaching prune status by now.” She contemplated her wrinkled fingertips.

  “You look fine. I asked Coach if I could fly out right after the game. I guess you saw I got roughed up. I wanted to get home and soak the bruises. Got a sprain will have to be taped for the rest of the season. Not much longer now.”

  “Can I bring you something to eat? You can stay in the tub,” she offered.

  “No, I’m good.”

  “You certainly must be. The phone has been ringing all day and all night. I think the messages are being erased and recorded over. A lot of eager women out there are waiting for the end of the season.”

  “Damn Rita Fortunado. Like the hazing I’m getting from the guys isn’t enough. They tried to get Joe Dean to give me one of his current women. He’s running with a redhead who has a forty-four inch chest and just for balance, a skinny Tyra Banks super model look-alike right now. Joe said he isn’t sharing. Didn’t want to destroy my mojo, he said.

  And the trash talk I got about my saintliness from the opposing team, I don’t even want to repeat.

  Stevie, I’m not a saint.”

  “That’s what all these women who are calling seem to know.” She flicked a small spray of water at him, but the droplets only hit mid-chest and meandered down through his golden hair and back into the tub just above his waist. Stevie followed the trickle with her eyes.

  “And I’m not your brother’s college girl friend anymore. I’ve been around, Connor. The funny thing is I might have ended up married to Kevin if he had known I got a prescription for birth control pills that week. I was waiting for my next period so I could start them, Kevin’s Christmas surprise. I got the surprise when he dumped me, so I took my pills and went to study in Italy.

  “I didn’t need to know that.” Connor knew his face flushed. From the heat of the water, he told himself. Regardless, Stevie went full steam ahead.

  Stephanie Dowd, no shrinking violet.

  “And then, there was Marcello who wanted to be a male model. I created a great portfolio for him, dressed and undressed. He did leave me a note of thanks for the good times and the great photos wh
en he took off for New York. You know about Dexter Sykes. We were partners in the studio and in bed.

  He stole my Smokey LeBlanc cover. I don’t think saintly men exist. I need to get out now. I really do.” Stevie heaved herself out of the water. The tank suit immediately plastered itself against her body and revealed her raised nipples, the small dent of her navel and the cleft between her legs. She bent to get her towel and gave Connor the rear view as well.

  “Do you know why I always stay in the tub for awhile after you get out? Because I can’t get out without embarrassing the both of us. I still covet my brother’s college girlfriend.” Connor stood, his desire obvious. He reached up, grasped Stevie by the waist and pulled her back into the tub. He slid down into the water and held her along the length of his body, his aroused penis pressed against the cleft between her legs. He wrapped both of his muscular arms about her as if she might try to escape, and drove his lips against hers, his tongue seeking immediate entrance.

  She had been celibate longer than Connor. She moved against him with her legs planted wide over his hips. They had to give up the kiss to suck in enough air to keep breathing. Connor loosened his arms and put his head back, eyes closed. He jerked when Stevie bit his shoulder, but pressed her harder against him with his hands on her buttocks.

  He could not stop himself. It had been such a long time. He shuddered and cried, “Oh, God!” But Stevie wasn’t finished and she wasn’t stopping. Connor tried to lift her, but she clung tightly to his hips, moving against him faster and faster. The slick fabric of the bathing suit sunk deep into her cleft seemed to add to her pleasure. And then it happened, that tight contraction, that the infinite expansion only women experienced, going on and on until she collapsed against his chest.

  Connor took her in his arms and raised her to the lip of the tub. He buried his face in her lap.