by Lynn Shurr
Stroking his long blond curls, Stevie let herself slip back against the cool planks of the deck. A few moments later, Connor heaved himself out of the water and lay on the deck beside her. They touched at shoulder, hip and fingertips. Both looked up at the stars.
“Did I hurt you? You know, your ribs. I sort of lost track of where my hands were going.”
“I’m not feeling any pain. None at all. But look, I’m sorry if I made you break your vow. I wasn’t trying to get first in line for the end of the season or anything like that. It’s been a long time between lovers for me, too.”
“Hell, President Clinton wouldn’t even consider this to be sex. I keep telling people the celibacy thing wasn’t a vow, but nobody hears me. I just hope those old stories about women getting pregnant in swimming pools aren’t true. I wasn’t exactly a model of control tonight.”
“Chlorine will get those little buggers, I guess…I hope. I stopped taking the pill after I threw Dex out.
No sense filling your body with chemicals when you’ve given up on men, right?”
“Uh, right. I have a whole box of condoms in my night table. We could go check the expiration date on them together.”
“Sounds like a great plan to me.” The condoms had not expired. Stevie stretched out beside Connor and rested her head against his chest. He looked down the length of her naked body nestled against him and admired her full, pink-tipped breasts, the light unwaxed curls between her legs, those long, smooth limbs. Stevie Dowd, one-hundred percent natural woman and all his.
“Ah, Stevie. I’m kind of beat from the game and the travel time, and I’m no Superman. I might need a little time to recuperate, but if you want, I can take care of-um-your needs again.”
“No Superman, but definitely a saint. I don’t recall any man ever saying that to me before. If word gets out, that phone will start ringing again. They won’t hear it from me. I want to keep you all to myself for awhile.”
“That’s the way I want it, too.”
“Let’s get some rest. Maybe later tonight.” Stevie snuggled even closer and simply fell asleep.
Connor stroked her long, blonde hair still damp from the tub and tangled from their last encounter.
He’d given her something Kevin never had. Now this tough, independent woman belonged to him, not his brother. She would not appreciate being treated like some fragile female. He was no expert on women like Joe Dean, but he did know that. Still, what he felt for her was a deep tenderness and the desire to protect, something pretty close to love. But then, he’d been searching for Stevie Dowd all of his adult years while she went unaware with other men who had hurt her. Time, he had to give her some time whether he wanted to or not. Keeping her near, he closed his eyes.
Stevie woke around three in the morning.
Pressed up against her, Connor snored lightly. She should return to her own bed and let him rest.
Carefully, she raised the heavy arm that enclosed her and slipped to the edge of the mattress. Connor rolled on to his back. The shine from the security lights outside the house pierced through the windows and gilded his tall, pale body. Even flaccid he was an exciting man to behold. Ah, those bold Viking cheekbones, those sculpted lips, the light stubble beginning to appear on his chin that would give a slight scratch to any lovemaking. Not to mention what he had between his legs. Nothing to complain about there. No, indeed.
She wanted to lean over and kiss his lips, wake him for more bed sports, but she also noticed his bruises, that taped ankle. She must let him recuperate. She could always finish up alone just by remembering him. Connor Riley, a man who would be too easy to love. She shifted her weight and stood up. His eyes opened. His hormones kicked in.
Looking at her naked body with drowsy eyes, he said, “I think we should use those condoms before they go bad.”
“You should rest.”
“I don’t need rest as much as I need you.”
“Fine, I’m easy to convince and ready just looking at you.”
Stevie spread herself out on the bed again and Connor, fresh condom applied, rolled atop. He started slowly making sure of that readiness, careful of her sore ribs.
Oh yes, so much better without the bathing suit and swimming trunks between them, Stevie thought. Better than Dex or Marcello. And who cared about Kevin Riley anymore?
Chapter Seven
Obviously, Joe Dean Billodeaux was not the happy team player this evening. He slumped in a lounge chair on Connor’s deck and glumly watched Riley flip steaks on the grill where three thick porterhouses and one rib eye sizzled. Connor knew he wore a cheese-eating grin and gave himself away every time he looked at Stevie. Frankly, he didn’t give a damn what kind of foul mood Joe was in, nothing could take the shine from having Stevie in his bed last night.
The quarterback regaled everyone on the deck with his complaints. “Sure, after the game review, the rest of you guys did a light workout and went home. Coach Buck says, ‘Oh, Connor stay off your bad ankle’, but I get held back. I spent all afternoon throwing pass after pass to DeVon Deets, long ones, short ones, left field, right field. Next practice, Coach wants me to concentrate on handing off to the halfback as if I’m some new kid in high school.
‘Pretend there is no Connor Riley on the team’, Coach says. My performance isn’t our big problem.
You know what our problem really is?”
“What?” the Rev asked. He’d driven in from his mama’s house in Chapelle for the cookout. Not being in training, and being far from his father’s church, the big man sucked on his third beer.
Joe Dean still nursed his first drink. “Sure, I’m tired today after that hard game and that little victory celebration. Amber went home early. She had a six a.m. modeling call. Misty stayed until four when I asked her to go home so I could get some sleep. Tired isn’t the problem, no.” The Rev rolled his big, brown eyes and asked again, “What is the problem, Joe?”
“Say Con, where’s the grim warrior face I’ve been seeing at all season?” Joe chafed. “Where did it go?” “Just happy I didn’t have to work out with you all afternoon, Joe.”
“Our problem is you nailed Stevie last night, didn’t you? Now all your mojo is gone. That’s our problem. If I’d known you were going to give in this late in the season, I’d have let you have Misty. The boobs aren’t real, but they’re still nice to look at.” Joe glanced around cautiously to see if Stevie had come back from checking on her place in the city.
“Misty’s chest is bigger around than mine. Those boobs had to be fake. And I did not nail Stevie.” Connor held the meat fork up like a weapon ready to use. “Well, if not nail, then screw or fuck her?” Joe Dean persisted.
The Rev frowned. Connor’s grim warrior face returned. “It’s none of your damn business. I don’t ask what you do with your bimbos.” The Rev got up and casually took the meat fork from Connor’s hand. “Let the expert grill.”
“Oh, no! Do not tell me you made love with Stevie.” Joe Dean drilled a dimple in his chin with his little finger and fluttered his eyelashes. “This is bad, really bad. You fall off the celibacy bandwagon with two games left to play, and it’s not just good old theraputic sex, it’s looove. How are you gonna keep your mind on the game, tell me that?”
“Joe, let Connor be. He wouldn’t break his oath.” The Rev startled when Connor turned on him.
“Yeah, it’s easy for you, Rev. Your season’s been over for a month. You’re probably getting plenty back in old Chapelle. And it wasn’t an oath! Celibacy was a strategy to improve my game. I would keep an oath.”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t been with anybody and I’ll tell you why.” The Rev took advantage of their stunned expressions. “I’ve met the woman I am going to marry.”
“And you haven’t tried her out yet?” Joe Dean said with amazement.
“There I was sitting in my mama’s kitchen watching her fry up the Sunday chicken. Granny was on her way over with a big yellow bowl of my favorite cornbread dressing. A big mess of gree
ns full of bacon cooked on the back burner and my Aunt Lizzie’s cold banana pudding chilled in the fridge. I was a happy man until my mama says we are having a special guest over for dinner. That always means she’s trying to fix me up with someone and get herself some grandkids. Suddenly, Burger King for lunch looked mighty good.”
“Those steaks about ready? You’re making me hungry,” Joe Dean asked.
“All in good time,” said the Rev. “Eat some peanuts. As I was saying, I thought about heading out when Mama tells me the guest is the new community doctor, one of these med students who gets a free ride, then has to work in a rural area for some years to pay it back. Okay, it’s a man, I think, and relax. Then, in walks Arminta Green, Dr.
Green.”
“And she was dazzled to meet a famous football player living right there in Chapelle, Louisiana,” Connor said.
“Nope. She doesn’t follow the game. Been studying and doctoring for years with no time to watch TV. Didn’t recognize my name even when Mama dragged her into the living room to show her my albums. I had to finish frying the chicken.” His audience laughed. They looked at the opening door to the deck and saw Stevie about to rejoin the group. The Rev cranked up his narrative a notch.
“So there I am sitting across from this light-skinned lovely with green eyes and soft, beautiful light brown hair that didn’t even look like it had been straightened. I could hardly finish my fourth piece of chicken for staring at her. We get to the cold banana pudding and I say, ‘Miss Min-tay, would you like to take a drive in the country in my Cadillac Escalade, see some of the town?’ She says no. Got an early clinic in the morning and wants to get some rest. ‘Maybe some other time.’”
“How many times have you taken her out since then?” Stevie asked sliding on to a bench next to Connor. Riley automatically put an arm around her shoulders. Joe Dean glared.
“None, not once. Dr. Green does not impress easily, but I think I’m making some headway. I been driving the elderly who have no transportation over to her clinic. Then, I have to wait around to take them back. I get in a few words. She can’t help but notice what a good guy I am. I mean, some of them old folks is real nasty. I think one of them peed on my car seat. But, I’m gonna make my mama proud. I plan to marry a doctor.”
Stevie laughed. Joe Dean took a turn rolling his eyes. Connor smiled and tightened his hold on Stevie’s shoulders.
“How do you know this is love and not just plain horniness?” Joe Dean queried.
“Because I can get rid of my lust anytime with anyone, but I only want to do it with Dr. Arminta Green. Connor knows what I mean.” The noise of a speedboat coming towards Connor’s dock drowned out any comment. Driven by a young woman who appeared to be topless—no, definitely was topless, the boat veered close. Two more women, judging by age, college students on semester break stood up holding a banner made from a bed sheet. The lettering read, “Call us first, Connor” and listed their phone numbers. They dropped the sheet directly across from the men to show their naked bodies. While not particularly well endowed, they were young, slender and nubile. One was a real redhead unless she used dye in unusual places.
Joe Dean scribbled the phone numbers on a paper napkin before he could forget them. Connor stared straight ahead, watching his sailboat and ski boat bob in the wake. The Rev shook his head in disgust as he watched the young women pulling on bikini bottoms and T-shirts, their giggles coming across the water on the wind.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Stevie.” Connor took her hands in his.
“I’m twenty-nine. I can’t compete with that,” she said, joking, sort of.
“Yes, you can. You more than do,” Connor assured her, gazing into Stevie’s eyes.
“That leaves all three for me, then. I can handle that,” Joe Dean claimed, but he still fretted.
“Connor, you just keep your focus on the game and don’t slip up again. That cover curse could still be in effect, you see, a double whammy because you broke that vow. Might be too, too much for one Cajun boy to fix.”
“It wasn’t a vow! No worries, Joe Dean, no worries.” Connor planted a kiss on Stevie’s cheek.
A cool breeze wafted off the lake. Stevie shivered and Connor snuggled her against his side.
To lighten the mood, she said, “It’s a wonder those girls weren’t blue and goose-bumped. Then, I could compete.”
But what if Stevie Dowd had cost the Sinners the Super Bowl last night?
Chapter Eight
Coach Buck paced in front of his team. He stopped and faced them giving Connor and Joe Dean the eye. “This is the big one that could take us to the Super Bowl, boys. Now, y’all know I’ve been working Joe hard, making him try new moves, and letting Riley get some rest. It don’t matter what they do if all of you ain’t at your best, too. For my part, I think we got the best defense in the league and more fine receivers than the Packers expect. But, it’s their home field, Lambeau Field, one of the truly great stadiums. It’s twenty degrees out there with snow on the ground, something us southern boys ain’t used to. Their fans will cheer you deaf. So, I’m saying, tune out the crowd. Forget the snow. Keep your mind on the game, and go out there and win!”
****
Back at the Lake Ponchartrain house, Stevie Dowd again watched the game on Connor’s big screen TV. This was the kind of playoff game fans relished, hard fighting for yardage punctuated with dramatic breakouts and passes. Few passes came to Connor Riley. Billodeaux listened to his coaches. He faked when they wanted a fake, passed off the ball for a charge through the line when told to, and threw his passes to DeVon Deets who eventually scored the two touchdowns that had the Sinners one up on Green Bay going into the second half.
Stevie enjoyed the game, screaming herself hoarse in the large, empty house. The phone didn’t bother her. Presumably, all of Connor’s old girlfriends were glued to the TV just as she was.
She wondered if they had the urge to touch the screen every time the cameras panned to a bench shot showing Connor huddled under a parka, his blond hair falling forward across his cheeks from under the edge of the black hood. He never took his eyes from the field. Stevie wanted to reach up and bush his hair back with her fingertips, then warm his hands and tell him she waited for him back in New Orleans where it was fifty degrees outside and much warmer inside. Thinking that way put her on the road to more heartbreak. She needed to move back to her studio and quickly before she became just one more of his off-season women.
The second half started. Obviously, the cold and the hard play had taken its toll on the Sinners.
Green Bay scored twice in the third quarter. During the break, they had rethought their defense and adjusted to the Sinners’ new tactics. The defense gave Deets no room to run. Billodeaux was sacked twice.
The Sinners’ defense pulled itself together and kept the Packers from scoring for most of the fourth quarter. They saw to it their offense would have one last chance at a goal in the last minutes of the game.
Then it happened. The long, long pass Joe Dean had been saving up rocketed into the arms of the lightly guarded and supposedly injured Connor Riley who stood right there waiting for it. Riley streaked into the end zone and spiked the ball. Ancient Andy kicked the extra point and the game went into overtime.
Once again, the Sinners’ defense dug in and held the line until the ball turned over to their team again. Their offense struggled down the field with both Deets and Riley well-covered. In the end, the golden toe of Andy Mortenson kicked a ball rock hard with the cold between the posts to send the Sinners on to the Super Bowl.
“Amazing, from wild card team to Super Bowl.
Coach Buck can you explain how this happened?” the sportscaster asked, shoving his mike into Buck’s face. Coach Buck, an old hand with reporters, took control and seized the mike.
“Quarterback Art Golden saw us through our infant years as an expansion team. He gave us a decent season this year, too, but young Joe Dean Billodeaux—now that’s a tongue-twist
er of a name, I call him Joe most times—gave the Sinners the extra spark that got us here. Young don’t necessarily mean better, Cal.” Coach waved the mike toward the team’s owner. “You need your coach well-seasoned and your kickers well-aged. Couldn’t have done it without Andy Mortenson. Deets and Riley played their best game. There are no finer receivers in the league.”
Green Bay’s fans gave their team a standing ovation. Over the roar, the reporter hauled Connor from the crush and pressed the mike on him. “Most of us assumed you were playing hurt after last week’s rough and tumble game, Connor. We all thought we detected a slight limp when you came on the field. Would acting be another one of your talents?”
“I took some hard hits last week, have a taped ankle. But right now, I’m feeling no pain, none at all.” Connor stared right into the camera as if he were making eye contact with Stevie—and half a million other women.
“Would you like to dedicate this game to anyone, Connor?” the sportscaster asked slyly.
“Sure would. This one’s for you, Mom.” The newsman laughed and headed off to push his way through the throng surrounding Joe Dean Billodeaux.
“Joe Dean, great game, but not your usual game.
What’s going on?”
“Well, I practiced hard on some new plays and listened to my coaches. I was glad I could do what they asked of me. And Stevie, no hard feelings, sugar.” Joe Dean aped a big smacking kiss.
Across America, Stevie was sure women who watched football alone pressed their lips to the screen. She sighed and shook her head as Joe Dean’s face gave way to DeVon Deets’ visage. She should pack right now and go back to her place even if it meant borrowing one of Connor’s vehicles. The keys were all kept on the pegboard for the fully-loaded black luxury SUV with the custom red pin-striping, the low-slung Jaguar with the same custom paint, and the 4x4 truck with the winking red devil on the tailgate. No, he had driven that one to the airport.
The red Honda motorcycle didn’t have enough room for her suitcase. Yes, she definitely must leave before she got used to living like this with the guy who was too easy to love. ****
