Sinners Football 01- Goals for a Sinner

by Lynn Shurr

  “Ah, sure.” Stevie wobbled to her feet and, giving Mintay a puzzled look, followed Calvin to the dance floor. She took advantage of the screen of his bulk to pull her zipper up another inch. They trundled around the other couples to the tune of When a Man Loves a Woman until the tight end had mercy and cut in.

  “Asa Dobbs here to protect you from Curse ’Em and Crush ‘Em Calvin, Stevie,” he said smoothly.

  The Rev sailed by with Mintay. He was holding her close and whispering in her ear. Stevie searched for Connor, her eyes just above Asa’s shoulder. She saw Margaret fuming alone at the table, but no sign of Connor or Joe.

  After three successive dances during which she seemed to have met most of the defensive and offensive lines, Joe Dean cut in. “I am here to rescue you from the heavy-footed. Joe Dean treads on no woman.” He twirled her around and drew her back into his arms. “Having fun?”

  “I’m not the best dancer either, but they don’t seem to feel it when I tread on them. Joe, I have the biggest, most enormous favor to ask of you as Connor’s friend.” She could feel the quarterback tense beneath the hand she had around his back.

  “You’re asking what?”

  Stevie took a deep breath. “I’m asking you to start with Margaret Stutes at the end of the season.”

  “But, Stevie, mon amour, that would not be fair to the other ladies who wait. I was going to start with the A’s or maybe the Z’s. Even then, Barbara Zelinsky, Sue Yablonsky, and Latasha Xavier, a very hot college chick, would have first chance.”

  “I need to be with Connor during the playoffs, down on the field near him. I cannot sit still anymore and wait for things to happen. I need to be involved. Margaret can get me a photography job with the Sinners. I’m sorry to ask. She wants to hear from your lips that she will be first before she’ll help me.” Stevie looked up at him with tear-glazed eyes.

  “Oh, hell, why does it matter where I start? I can take one for the team and for Connor.” Still, Stevie felt the quarterback shudder as Margaret gave him a small wave and a big smile complete with overbite from the sidelines. He steered Stevie her way and mouthed over her red-spandexed shoulder, “You’re number one, Maggie.” Margaret Stutes pointed a finger at him and said right back, “And don’t you dare forget it.” The band took a break. The team owner seized control of the microphone to announce a bonus for taking the division championship and to promise big rewards if the Sinners won the Super Bowl. Amid cheers and “right-ons,” Mintay steered Stevie to one of the quieter tables where a group of team wives sat smartly garbed in Saks Fifth Avenue—as opposed to Stevie’s tacky Frederick’s of Hollywood ensemble as they could get. Dr. Green had taken some of her very precious and limited spare time to get to know these women and she introduced Stevie to the ladies.

  “So you are the lady who brought Connor Riley to his knees. That almost cost us the division crown,” said Sharlette Dobbs, putting a little sting in her voice.

  “I left him because after his injury, I wanted him to give up football. As you can see, that didn’t work. I’m, ah—wearing this outfit so he could see me in the stands rooting for him today.” Stevie was willing to shoulder all the blame for Connor’s slump and never reveal otherwise, but the clothes she felt she had to explain.

  “The things we do for our men! I used to run around the house in a red lace teddy…four children and sixty pounds ago,” Mrs. Calvin Armitage recalled with a soulful look at her large bosom and back toward her equally large behind. She was so tastefully dressed she might have taken lessons from Oprah Winfrey.

  “Cal says it takes a big woman to be his lover and bear more tackles, bless his heart, but I wouldn’t have the nerve to ask him to give up football. You have courage, girl. I could tell that when you danced with my husband. How are the feet doing, baby?”

  “Killing me,” Stevie said laughing. “But mostly because I usually wear running shoes.”

  “I guess I might be a tad envious of you. During the season, Ace wouldn’t notice if I took off and spent a month in Barbados. Sometimes, I do,” confessed Sharlette. “I worry about him and he just blows me off. He makes up for it in the spring, though.”

  “We all worry. We all have that in common,” Mintay added. “You’re not alone, Stevie.”

  “Amen to that,” Precious Armitage pronounced.

  The band returned refreshed and ready to do another set. They started up with a fast and heavy beat. Calvin Armitage made his way to the table and pulled his wife from her chair. “I have rediscovered the joy of dance, sweet thang.”

  “Just so you keep your joy off my feet, teddy bear,” Precious responded as they boogied away.

  Two large, long-fingered hands came to rest on Stevie’s shoulders. She knew his touch. “Where have you been, Connor?”

  “Mingling, my dear.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s dance.”

  “Where is Ace when I want him?” Sharlette sighed.

  “I think he’s in the bar watching replays,” the Rev answered her as he claimed Mintay.

  “Figures. It’s still football season.”

  ****

  Stevie, heavy-eyed, was grateful to be wrapped by Connor’s warm arm as they drove back to the north shore. The killer red shoes had done major damage to her feet and lay under the seat of the car where she had kicked them. Connor worked her zipper down again and rested his hand on her breast.

  Was that dawn backlighting the cypress trees?

  “The only thing I want right now is a toe rub,” she confessed.

  “Me, too. We have a nice break before the next game except for training and team meetings. First playoff game will be played here. No travel time for us.” “Speaking of which, I asked Margaret Stutes to get me photo credentials for the games. I’ll be there for all of them. I don’t want to just sit and watch. I love your mother, but we make each other even more anxious. By the way, Joe Dean sacrificed himself for this. We owe him big time.”

  “I could have asked for the credentials. No need to involve Joe.”

  “But then you would have been the one who had to sleep with Margaret.”

  “Like hell! I would have asked her boss, but the way Joe Dean goes through women, he’ll probably get over it pretty fast. Still, Margaret Stutes—I do owe him.”

  “Some of the wives I met tonight were nice. They worry about their husbands, too.”

  “Good.”

  “Mintay introduced me around. That probably made a difference. She’s very well liked. They were kind to me despite my being dressed like a hooker.”

  “You looked great. Not a guy in the room could take his eyes off you.”

  “Yours were the only eyes I cared about.” He gave her one of those smiles that melted her insides and made her forget her worries.

  “I enjoyed Christmas with your family, Connor.

  Your mom and I talked. She understands why I left…your dad, too.”

  “Merrilee and Kevin’s kids weren’t too much for you?”

  “Christmas is more fun with children around. I got some great shots of them dumping their stockings and opening their gifts, playing with the toys. Maybe if I make up a small album and give it to Merrilee I can win her over.”

  “Don’t bother trying. She will always be jealous.

  Once when I was still playing college ball, she came on to me when Kevin was out of town. She was about three months pregnant with Katie and said no one would ever know, but she had to get even with my brother because she knew he was away cheating on her. I laughed it off as a hormone attack—which did not make her happy. I may have lusted after my brother’s college girlfriend, but I would never sleep with my brother’s wife.”

  “Good to know it.” Stevie drifted, wondering if that was all there was to it—lust and competition with his brother now that he knew the real Stephanie, not the ideal one he had a crush on in high school. Since her return, Connor had not repeated his proposal or said the words of love. She closed her eyes, slept, and missed hearing what she had b
een waiting for since her return.

  “I love you, Stevie Dowd.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Like a hot knife through butter, like shit through a goose, like every cliché for something quick and easy, the Sinners cut down each team on their path to the Super Bowl. When they packed their bags and headed to the great new stadium in Houston, Stevie went with them. Knowing Connor’s time would be monopolized with pre-game hype and training, she stayed with her sister.

  Her brother-in-law, Brent, completely forgave Connor for his antics on the field when Stevie handed over her lone ticket. She had her press pass and didn’t need it. After declaring Connor Riley the greatest wide receiver of all time—he had gone through a rough patch, that was all—Brent asked,

  “If he becomes my brother-in-law, do you think we could get two tickets next time? Then you could go along, Michelle, honey.”

  Michelle snorted, but their mother inquired sourly, “Yes, how is that going?”

  “If the Sinners make it to another Super Bowl, I will try to get three tickets. Okay, everyone?” Stevie answered, pretending to misunderstand.

  “Don’t evade me, Stephanie. I know you are living with that man. Your security deposit refund on the New Orleans house was mailed here.” Mrs.

  Dowd waved an open envelope containing a check in Stevie’s face. “Knowing your record with men and that football player’s nasty disposition, don’t you think you should make it legal before something goes wrong?”

  Stevie winced. She had forgotten she’d used Michelle’s address for forwarding. Though difficult to give up her independence, Stevie had notified her landlord she was moving—an attempt to give Connor total commitment. This concession had not gone exactly as planned. Impulsively, she’d hired a one-day mover and had all of her belongings sitting in a van in the driveway when Connor returned from a practice session.

  “Honey,” he’d said carefully. “Where were you planning to put all this stuff?” Some very expensive vehicles sat out in the weather while she sorted through the boxes. The majority of her furnishings and household goods, none of them as fine as the ones chosen by Connor’s decorator, went to the Salvation Army. Her photography equipment, the best she could afford, now took up two parking places in the air-conditioned garage as she waited for the promised studio to be built. Connor told her to go ahead and find a contractor, tell him what she wanted and send the bill to him, but Stevie felt hesitant to do so. She wasn’t doing studio work right now. She could wait to see how things went between them.

  “Mother, I am very serious about Connor. He had some problems. We both did, but now things are better. He’s honest with me, generous and kind.”

  “And he has a great body,” Michelle chipped in.

  “That, too,” Stevie admitted.

  “When he gets tired of you, you’ll be out on the street with nowhere to go and nothing to show for your time,” her mother warned.

  “Mom, I have a job of my own.”

  “With the Sinners. How long will that last if he moves on to someone else? You know how these athletes are.”

  “I’ll be careful. Look, I have to get to the stadium and do some PR pictures. A few of the players are meeting some of the Louisiana Wish Kidz who wanted to attend the Super Bowl.”

  “Well, that’s no Olympic assignment,” her mother huffed.

  “No, but I still have to go.” Glad of the excuse, Stevie grabbed her gear and headed out to the stadium. Her consolation prize, Connor, would be there.

  ****

  In one of the luxury suites of Reliant Stadium, Connor Riley, Joe Dean Billodeaux and Rev Bullock waited for the Wish Kidz to arrive. Joe stayed in the box since skinny Margaret Stutes lurked like a witch who devoured small children in the hallway near the elevator and waited to greet the sick kids.

  He looked out over 69,500 empty seats toward the field being groomed to perfection. “Tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow, the Sinners win the Super Bowl,” he said tossing one of the autographed footballs destined for the sick children from hand to hand. “My long, long fast will be over. Ladies, look out.” The Rev shook his head sadly over the comment and helped himself to the complimentary barbecued shrimp and bacon wrapped chicken livers, took a long swig from a bottle of fizzy water. He left the breaded chicken nuggets and tiny wieners with the dipping sauce for the kids. Fastidiously, he wiped his big fingers on a napkin and took care not to get any grease on the team jersey he wore over street clothes. At the end of the meeting each child would get a jersey actually worn by their heroes.

  Connor, dressed in his black game shirt with the red 80 on the back, drank chocolate milk from a small bottle, got a brown milk mustache, and was wiping his lips on a napkin when Stevie came through the door preceded by a tiny woman not much bigger than a child. Joe Dean watched Connor glance over the delicate lady and lock with Stevie’s gaze. She raised her camera and clicked. That Stevie, camera always in hand to catch the moment.

  No woman had ever given him the kind of loving look she shared with Connor.

  The small woman continued on and positioned herself in front of the players. Joe Dean swiveled in his seat. He didn’t know how she got in here, but everyone in the room knew what she wanted. Even the cute, spiky-haired blonde with the dragon tattoo who brought in the refreshments had signed his fabled book and hinted she would be around after the game. He gave this petite woman with the big, dark eyes a dazzling grin and pulled the black book from his pocket.

  Standing on the steps, Stevie eyed Connor again and sighed. Joe Dean knew what she was thinking.

  Billodeaux is a sex addict—but he’d stayed celibate for the entire season, more than Connor could say.

  “Here you go, sugar. What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked as he picked up one of the felt-tipped pens used to autograph the footballs.

  “Nellwyn Abbott,” she replied, returning his attention with a cordial smile.

  “Abbott. Why you go right to the top of my list, Nellie. You just beat out Lacey Abshire for first place with Joe Dean Billodeaux.”

  Coming up beside Stevie, Margaret Stutes glared at him from the entry. Joe Dean ignored her and concentrated on the fine, delicate lady before him. Not his type as he was usually seen with bigger women all away around, but Joe denied no female the chance to leave her name. Behind him, the Rev cleared his throat loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

  Was that going to stop him? No. He continued with the seductive business at hand. “Now, how can I get in touch with you after the game? You live here in town?”

  “No. No, I don’t. We came in from New Orleans.

  I’m a Sinners fan, too, of course, but—”

  “Even better, sugar. I can get to you soon as we get back to the state with our trophy. That would be area code 504, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  The Rev’s voice attempting to interrupt grew louder. He was going into preacher mode. Connor laughed so hard, he had lowered his head on to his arms. The Rev blasted out as if he were standing at his father’s pulpit, “Joe Dean, you hitting on the Wish Lady.”

  Joe blinked. Tiny fingers tipped with pale, pink-polished nails laid a business card on the well-filled

  “A” page of his little black book. It read, “Nellwyn Abbott, Volunteer, Louisiana Wish Kidz Foundation.”

  On the landing, Margaret mouthed, “I’m first” to the stunned Joe Dean. Behind her stood a group of parents and children—a frail little boy in a wheelchair, a black child whose joints were bigger than the limbs surrounding them, a pale girl bespeckled with freckles. The last child wore a black Sinner’s bandanna twisted around her bald head like a gang member. The intent was to look tough but came across more like a piece of a pirate costume. Blue-coated disability service team members flanked the children.

  Stevie clicked her camera and captured Joe’s slack-jawed look on film along with the small, serene smile of the Wish Lady, her hand on the black book, and Joe Dean’s total humiliation. Damn that Stevie Dowd.


  Connor, always quick with a recovery, pushed a note pad toward the quarterback. “Let’s sign a few autographs for our guests, Joe.”

  “Sure, sure. Wish Lady, Miss Abbott, Nellie, how would you like your autograph to read?” Joe Dean did have the basic decency to be embarrassed.

  “To Nell, not Nellie,” she laughed softly. “I will never forget this moment.”

  That’s exactly how the autograph came out, “To Nell—not Nellie—I will never forget this moment.

  Joe Dean Billodeaux, Sinner.” He drew a line under his name ending with a devil’s tail looping around to form a heart. Inside the heart, he wrote his phone number.

  Grinning again, he said as he handed the paper over to Nellwyn Abbott, “But give it some thought.”

  “I am sure most women would be honored, but I’m here for the children. Let me introduce you.” Seeing that the wheelchair might be a problem, Joe Dean rose and went to shake hands with his audience. Connor and the Rev followed, still snickering like brothers who caught a sibling making out with his girlfriend.

  “This is Patrick Maguire and Willie Jones and Cassie Thomas,” Nell introduced. “Each one picked their favorite player to meet.”

  “I guess I’m yours,” Joe Dean said to the girl who looked to be about thirteen. He was doomed to be embarrassed again.

  “Oh, no! Mr. Connor is mine. He’s so beautiful,” she sighed. “Not that you aren’t sexy Mr. Joe, but I want a man who will pine for his one true love like he did for Stevie Dowd. Say, did you just hit on Miss Nellwyn?”

  “We often call her Sassy,” said Nellwyn Abbott.

  Behind Cassie, her flustered mother fluttered her hands. “I don’t know where she gets these ideas.”

  “From that newspaper you always buy at the grocery store, Mom. Didn’t you see it a couple of weeks ago when we were picking our favorite players? The headline said Sweetheart StevieReturns, Riley Rises. “

  “Oh good Lord! I’ll never buy that rag again. I’m so sorry, Mr. Riley,” Mrs. Thomas blurted. It was easy to see where Cassie had gotten her freckles and probably red hair and a quick blush, too, when she was well.