Love Letter for a Sinner (The Sinners sports romances)

by Lynn Shurr

  His empurpled side hurt like the devil keeping him up at night, and he hated taking painkillers. Oh, he’d tape up and do what he was told on game day, but for now wanted to tough it out. At the moment, he took things slow, just smoothing Nell’s rounded belly and dropping light kisses on her neck. She wore nothing but the locket containing his severed curl. He did love the horny stage of a pregnancy, but that last trimester, always a bitch. Nell moaned softly ready to go on to stage two of the seduction.

  The telephone by the bed rang. “Leave it,” Joe said.

  “Could be a problem with one of the children.” She picked up. “For you. Gregory, the doorman.”

  Joe rolled over to take the call and swore briefly, having forgotten about his bruises while anticipating sex. “Yeah.”

  “Mr. Rex Worthy to see, sir. Shall I send him up?”

  How he wanted to say no, but being the quarterback and team captain came with certain responsibilities, like it or not. “I guess.” He hung up and told Nell about their unexpected visitor.

  “Really? He’s never come here before.” Nell sat up and began dressing.

  Joe pulled up his jeans, sans underwear, and threw on a Sinners’ hoodie. No sense letting the competition see how bad his injury was. Next thing you knew, the kid would expect to play in every game. Sure, sure, Worthy had done a nice job on the touchdown, a gutsy move and one Joe would not have attempted, but who’d set him up for that last play? Maybe he’d come by to say thanks.

  Joe opened the door when the bell rang to find Rex Worthy dressed like a man on his way to church, white shirt, tie, and slightly rumpled blue suit. “Come on in then. You missed team meeting. A quarterback should never miss team meeting—unless his wife is giving birth or something.”

  “Yeah, I know. I sat up all night with a sick friend.”

  Joe merely raised his eyebrows. He’d used that a time or two in his days as a backup quarterback and in reality with Connor Riley. He didn’t buy that virgin guy crap either. The man had to have done something with a woman sometime if he wasn’t queer. “So what do you want?”

  Nell hurried up full of lively curiosity and much better manners. “Sit down, Rex. Would you like some coffee?” The three of them settled at the breakfast bar, the two men with Nell between them like a referee.

  “I’d better not, Miss Nell. I need to get some sleep soon in order to be ready for practice tomorrow, but something is on my mind. I thought Joe could help me with some advice.”

  “Just Nell. I always have to convince the new players I’m not as old as their mothers. How about a glass of milk, warm or cold?”

  “No, thanks, but maybe you could help me out, too. A woman’s opinion on this would be mighty valuable.”

  “I think I understand. You were with a woman last night and botched it. Not the girl with the orange hair and nipple rings?” Joe said with a great deal of satisfaction in his voice.

  “Not her!”

  The man’s horror seemed genuine. Joe grinned, enjoying the reaction. “Then that Patsy-Tricia girl. I saw her hand you a note. Or was she only shilling for Layla Devlin?”

  “For Layla, but I thought I went to meet Tricia.”

  “Ah,” Nell said. “Beauty and the Beast. By beast, I mean Layla.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Layla tried to ruffie me, but Tricia drank my champagne to save me. I couldn’t do anything else but stay with her all night and make sure she didn’t hurt herself.”

  “Yes, you did the right thing, Rex. What else happened?” Nell leaned forward over her belly as if watching a soap opera in progress.

  “Nothing physical, God’s truth, but Tricia talked a lot and maybe said things she didn’t want me to know. This morning when I told her the Lord would forgive her for her trespasses, like sleeping with a man before marriage for example, she blew up at me. She said a woman wanted an experienced man to marry, one who knew what he was doing in bed. Should I believe that?”

  “Yes,” said Joe immediately.

  “No,” Nell replied at the same time.

  Rex looked up at Joe and down at Nell. “I’m confused.”

  “I’ll say you are. First, never mention God the morning after—or forgiveness,” Joe advised.

  Nell broke in. “Are you attracted to Tricia? Do you care about her?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but she made if fairly clear she only wanted an experienced man. But then, I thought I only wanted a virgin. Should I get some experience or what?”

  “Definitely,” Joe advised. “New Orleans still has plenty of houses where the girls can teach you all you should know and then some. That might have to wait until we get back from our three week road trip, or maybe we could find a classy bordello in Dallas. I’d only go along to make sure they treated you right.”

  Nell put up her arm and clapped a hand over her husband’s mouth. “Don’t listen to him, Rex. No bordellos for either of you. What you do is give Tricia a little time to cool off. Then, tell her you want to get that experience, but only with her. She’ll be your first. A woman cannot resist that.”

  “My first and only if I marry her. I mean, she’s just right for me mostly. She puts up with Layla for the sake of her sick mother. Now, that’s a loving heart.”

  “Has Tricia asked you for money?” Joe asked.

  “He’s not that green, Joe,” Nell said, slapping her husband’s knee. “Don’t be so cynical.”

  “Oh, I’d give her money if she asked, but she hasn’t. Her mom has cancer.”

  “Yeah, that’s what all the working girls say.” Joe got another glare from his wife.

  “Well, I believe you are on the right track. Take it slow. Really get to know each other first,” Nell said.

  “Mais, yeah, boy. Don’t go rushing into marriage and kids and all dat,” Joe said, his Cajun showing.

  Nell turned on her stool to face her husband. “Are you unhappy about something, Joe?”

  “Having our afternoon interrupted.”

  “Sorry, really sorry. I should go.” Rex stood up wearing his discomfort like a hair shirt.

  Nell hopped down from her stool and put a hand on his arm. “Think about this carefully for the next couple of weeks. While you are certainly old-fashioned, you shouldn’t do anything that doesn’t feel right to you.”

  “Thanks, Nell. Sorry for disturbing your day.”

  “Oh, you didn’t interrupt anything important. I’m just spending a little time with Joe before the team goes on the road. I really have to get back to the children by tonight.” She walked their guest to the door and saw him out.

  The second the door closed, she turned to her husband. “Now we have our answer why he didn’t find any of our young ladies of interest. He’s in love with Tricia.”

  “Maybe in lust, and don’t tell me he’s incapable of that, but she no longer meets his criteria—not a virgin. She burst his balloon last night. You caught that, right?”

  “I did, and he bungled it with her but can overcome it. Now where were we?”

  “Not doing anything important evidently.” Joe looked as sulky as undersized Trinity when told he was too small to do something he really wanted.

  Nell came very close and fingered the cowlick where his curl had once been. “By the time you get back to New Orleans, this will be grown out again.” She fished her locket from its place over her heart and kissed it, then his lips. “Nothing is more important right this minute than our being together. I only wanted to put Rex at ease.”

  “How about me?”

  “Lead the way.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tricia stalled—and lied. First, she told Layla she had no way to get in touch with Rex. Since they’d had a fight, he would have to call her when he got over himself, which might never happen. That excuse did not wash with Layla, but Trish managed to delay any action until the team left for a long road trip, three away games in a row, putting Rex safely out of reach for a while. She needed time to think.

  The Sinners were gone, but that didn’t
prevent disaster from striking in the gossip magazines. Layla snatched the tabloid headlines again. Under a full-length photo of the actress in the billowing caftan that made her ass appear tremendous the caption read, Layla Packs on Pounds Pining for Worthy. There followed a report of beignet runs and a huge feast sent to her suite. “Did she gorge all this food alone after being rejected by the supposedly saintly quarterback?” the article speculated.

  Worse, the rag had paired that story with another, one Tricia didn’t recall. Still, there she was in a photo placed just under Layla’s big butt story waving happily at someone’s camera phone as Rex held her in his arms awaiting an elevator. Rex prefers PA. Spends night in her room. Did they or didn’t they? Testimony supplied by lobby lurkers verified the truth of the picture. They had seen Rex Worthy with a drunken woman in his arms obviously going up to a room. “But what happened after that?” the gossip reporter inquired breathlessly.

  Mrs. Luanne Davis of San Antonio, Texas, answered her question. “I saw with my own eyes Rex Worthy entering a hotel room with a drunken woman. I have no idea who she is, but he took advantage of her right in front of my children, practically tackled her on a king-sized bed. No case of mistaken identity I assure you. I watched that boy play footfall his whole time at A & M. The next morning he left the room at nearly noon with her screaming at him to get out. He said right to my face he’d never loosened so much as his tie. He certainly had on the same clothes, but I say you can have sex with a necktie on or shower and get dressed again in the morning. I thought of Rex as a good Christian gentleman, one of the few left on this earth. It breaks my heart to see how far he has fallen from his values since becoming an NFL player.”

  The reporter picked up where Luanne left off. “We have no way of knowing what went on behind closed doors as the country song says. Other informants claim the bed and shower remained unused. As for the young lady in question, we have verified her identity as that of Patricia Welles, personal assistant to Layla Devlin, an actress known for her steamy roles but obviously unable to attract Rex. What really went on Sunday night—Bible study or debauchery—only God knows.”

  Layla had strolled out for her own beignets Friday morning. She returned with a double order. Judging by the powdered sugar on her upper lip she’d eaten more of the donuts on the spot before coming back to the suite with the scandal magazine tucked under her arm. She scarfed down beignets between rants. Waving the paper in Tricia’s face, she demanded, “Do I look fat to you?”

  “No, Layla. You are as spectacular as ever.” If the entire tissue of her life weren’t made of lies right now, Tricia could have mentioned the strained seams of her boss’s short shorts and the very slight puff of extra flesh above the wide cinch belt she wore with them. A striped top practically shrink-wrapped over her breasts did little to hide the small defect, but most men would be staring at Layla’s long legs or deep cleavage depending on their tastes. Tricia didn’t know if the extra weight acquired came from excessive consumption of New Orleans cuisine or the number of sweet cocktails the actress chugged down nightly in the clubs.

  Slightly appeased, Layla offered the bag with one beignet left in it to Tricia. “No, thanks, I had some breakfast while you were gone.” Beignets made her think of Rex. Our love can never be, never be, never be.

  Layla chucked the scandal sheet into the waste can by the desk and finished the last donut. She dusted her hands of powdered sugar and demanded another inspection with her arms held out wide. “Anyone can tell I’m not fat, only voluptuous. I mean, I’ve been to all the hot spots where people see me for themselves. How could they print those lie about me?”

  Tricia plucked the paper from the basket and studied the photo of her in the quarterback’s arms. She did look drunk—and very elated. “The reporters are only speculating. They say so if you read the whole article. You aren’t upset about what they said about me and Rex?”

  “Only the part about him preferring you to me. Not having any experience, he doesn’t know what he is missing. I suspect all this intimidates him more than your meager offerings.” Layla patted Pride and Joy.

  “I don’t know. Mine are pretty and perky.” Why had she said that? Competing with Layla in any way usually brought reprisals.

  Her boss laughed so hard she had to loosen the belt cutting into her belly. “Thanks for taking my mind off this stuff with a joke. I’m going up to the pool to sunbathe. Put a suit on, and we’ll see who looks best in a bikini.”

  “You’ll win, Layla. You always do.”

  “Damn right.”

  No matter, Tricia still had to put on a bathing suit and accompany her. She’d have to fetch drinks and rub on suntan lotion. With the paper still clutched in her hand, she went to change. Once in the privacy of her room, Trisha used a scissors from her bag to cut out the picture of her and Rex and buried it deep in her black bag next to the notepad with his phone number. She had no memory of the event, but now she had a souvenir to cherish.

  ****

  Rex Worthy trotted out onto the field at Cowboys Stadium, did his warm-up, then dropped to his knees for his usual prayer. A few boos sounded from the stands, and he suspected he knew what those were about, but he shut the noise out of his mind. As usual, he asked for the safety of all the players on both teams and added a few words for the protection of Tricia back in New Orleans and at the mercy of Layla Devlin. Taking his seat on the bench, he continued to think about the woman he’d left behind to deal with the scandal in that trashy magazine, the one a teammate taped to his locker.

  Surprisingly, Joe tore it down and held the paper high. In a voice the quarterback used for audibles or to quell his horde of noisy children, he said, “We don’t do this to one of our own before a game. We all have to deal with this kind of shit from time to time. Pray you aren’t next.” He clapped Rex hard on the back. “Get your head together. You might have to go in for me.”

  That last remark cheered Rex no end as did a comment from Howdy McCoy that he believed the backup quarterback only meant to help a woman in trouble. Even Adam Malala, known for doing his intimidating war dance before a game, offered to pray with him afterward if he felt the need. The rookie wide receiver and new running back went shamefaced into the tunnel. Rex would bet, if he were a betting man, that those two had done a lot more with Katya and Tatiana after the barbecue than see them safely home. He needed to get in touch with Trish later, make sure Layla hadn’t hurt her in some way out of jealousy. Usually, he had lots of time to let his mind wander when bench-warming. But now, he had to get his head in the game as Joe suggested.

  Already as the first few plays went off, he could tell Joe had a problem with that sore side. His passes fired off short and abrupt as he worked the team past the fifty-yard line. One try for a long spiral fizzled short of its goal and fortunately did not lead to an interception. The Cowboys noticed, too. They sent their roughest tackles to attack Joe on his weak side. So far, the Sinners’ offense protected him well. As if to make up for his prank on Rex, their new running back, Jakarta Jones, carried the ball into the end zone with speed and flair after a handoff from Joe. Cowboys scored one, but before the half, Howdy McCoy kicked a field goal through the uprights that put the Sinners up by three.

  Late in the third quarter as the linemen tired, Joe took a sack. He finished out the time, but failed to come up with a touchdown. The Cowboys put one of their own on the board making the score, fourteen-ten. As the teams changed sides, Joe had a few words with the coach. Must have been, “Send Worthy into the game” because Rex got the nod to get out on the field.

  Young, eager, strong, and feeling every bit of it, he chose to run the ball himself on the first play. Straight-arming and elbowing, he moved the ball forty yards before being bought down. A sharp, choppy pass to his tight end advanced the team another twenty. His try at a long pass failed worse than Joe’s prior attempt, but one of his teammates covered the ball and prevented a turnover. A pass-off to the running back got them close to the goal. So much fo
r variety. When Rex saw a hole, he tucked the ball, charged through it for the touchdown, and gave the glory to God. Reliable Howdy made the extra point. The Sinners defense held the Cowboys for the remainder of the game, and the team triumphed by three points.

  Back in the locker room, Jakarta Jones and Eric Blixen, the new wide receiver, groused a little about Rex hogging all the glory, but still asked him if he wanted to step out with them that evening. Rex looked at Joe who shook his head. “Not tonight. Howdy, Adam, and me are going to have a few brews and play some darts. You stick with us. I need to tell you what you did wrong today.”

  “But I made my second touchdown.”

  “Yeah, keep running those balls and taking those hits and see how long you last as a quarterback. Not to mention, you aren’t a one man team. You still have lots to learn about many things, but Nell was probably right about one of them.”

  Rex preferred this kind of evening anyhow, a couple of beers, a platter of wings, a competitive game of darts, and a return to the hotel around eleven. Sure, Joe mentored him most of the time, but the information would help his game. The bit of advice he took most to heart—you are the quarterback, so don’t let guys like Jones and Blixen disrespect you.

  Back in his hotel room where his roommate, an older reserve quarterback who never got to play, hadn’t returned from celebrating the victory, Rex debated whether to call Tricia at the Windsor Court. He might get Layla instead, but no, always the star, she wouldn’t answer her own phone. He thought it might be too late at night, but the idea of Tricia dealing with the scandal alone ate at him. Finally, he rang their suite. The bell sounded over and over. No one answered.

  In the silence after he hung up, Rex considered turning to prayer, but another notion almost as good came to mind. He didn’t go in for poetry much, but his mother once gave him a volume of inspirational verses to guide his life. He’d liked one meditation by a man named John Donne enough to commit it to memory since this wasn’t the sort of book he could take a chance on packing for a Sinners’ road trip. He took enough ribbing over his well-worn Bible. It began, “No man is an island” and ended with “send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”