Sinners Football 01- Goals for a Sinner (10 page)

“No, I’ve gone over to chocolate mousse. This is too much for me.” Stevie pried a lump of chocolate ice cream out of her carton with the plastic spoon and dumped it in Connor’s dish.

Mr. and Mrs. Riley shared a container of jamoca almond fudge, but they put it down to suggest a game of Pictionary. The teams divided up with Kevin, Merrilee, their two oldest children, and Keith Riley on one side, Kris Riley, Connor, Stevie, and the two youngest children on the other. The grandparents suggested simple drawings to the children though Colby’s were always a scribble. He contributed by acting out various animals, and all overlooked the cheating. The brothers, as if trying to prove something, competed ferociously with Kevin and Merrilee being the big winners. The smallest children, allowed up long after their bedtime, fell asleep on the couch, and the evening was declared to be at an end.

“Yeah, I don’t want to get fined for staying out too late on game night,” Connor claimed. “Wait for my cab with me, Stevie. I need a good luck kiss.”

“Yuck,” said Collin on his way up the stairs after giving his uncle a good luck hug.

With Connor’s big arm sheltering her from the damp, Stevie strolled up to the street. “Sorry we lost at Pictionary. There’s no beating a married couple when we’ve only known each other a few months,” she apologized.

“This game didn’t matter. It’s the one tomorrow that counts,” Connor said, shrugging it off even though losing to his brother and his wife clearly rankled a little.

“There was a lot going on back there. Merrilee hates me and Kevin keeps making allusions to our not so torrid past. Do you think he cheats on her and that’s why she’s so insecure?”

“I don’t know. Maybe when he travels. Merrilee believes he’s never forgiven her for cheating on him in college. She’s real jealous. I remember Kevin coming home the night they made up. He was still seeing you at the time. He told me you were the girl of his dreams, but Merrilee would do anything, and I do mean anything, to get him back. His exact words.

She failed to mention she had stopped taking her birth control pills. Old Kev fell right into the trap.”

“But all those children?”

“Every time she thinks he’s cheating, she comes up pregnant. She says she has rediscovered her Catholicism, but I think it’s her way of controlling Kevin.”

“Just so you know, I’m not Catholic, and I’m not about to have five kids or get pregnant by accident.”

“I’m not Catholic, either. Mom raised us Lutheran. Dad didn’t care. Any number of kids you want to have is fine with me.”

“Connor, what did I just say about our being together only a few months? Hell, we’ve only been intimate a few weeks.”

“Stevie, I want you to stay with me out at the lake. This season is over tomorrow one way or the other. I know you usually run to stay in shape. We could run together.”

“Like I could keep up with you, famous wide receiver.”

“I’d slow down for you, or run my laps and sprints, then come back around for you. Whatever.

We could take the sailboat out or do some water skiing when the weather gets warmer. Do you like to fish? I have a cabin cruiser at the marina. We can do some deep sea fishing and sleep over out on the Gulf.”

“Connor, I have a career. I have a living to earn,” she answered letting some exasperation come into her voice.

“Fine. I have plenty of land. We can build you a studio near the house. We’re both on the road a lot.

I’ll bet I could get you a permanent assignment with the Sinners.”

“Great, I need a man to do that for me. Talent counts for nothing. They’d say Stevie Dowd got the job because she’s Connor Riley’s mistress.”

“Wife. I want them to say Stevie Dowd is Connor Riley’s wife—and a great photographer. Stay with me. Give us a chance, Stevie. I know what I want.

You just need a little more time to see this was meant to be.”

“Oh, Connor.” How could she not love this man?

Stevie cupped her hands around his thick neck and pulled his head down for a kiss that maybe made the cabbie wish he had a camera so he could sell the shot to the tabloids—golden boy, Connor Riley, with some babe, kissing under a streetlight on the eve of the Super Bowl. Some babe. She twined her fingers in his long, blond curls. His great receiver hands cupped tight around her butt. Not so much as a centimeter of air between them, they were that close together.

The cabbie gave two light taps on his horn. The couple did not seem to hear. He laid on a louder blast. They sprang apart.

“You called for a cab, Mr. Riley? You are Connor Riley of the Sinners, right?”

“That’s me. You sure give quick service.”

“I been here five minutes already waiting for you to say your good-byes.”

“Sorry. I’m a big tipper, could you wait another minute?”

“Since I’m such a big Sinners fan, sure. Do you think you could autograph a receipt—for my kids?”

“Sure thing. Stevie?” Connor turned to find her starting back to the rented house.

From a distance of a few feet, she answered him.

“Connor, I’ve lived with two men. It doesn’t work for me. They all end up lying and cheating on me or walking out or disappointing me in some way or another. I think I should go back to my own place and start working again. I’d like to keep seeing you.

Then maybe…who knows?”

“I don’t lie and I don’t cheat. I’d rather die than disappoint you. Believe it.”

Connor Riley got into his ride and slammed the door. Stevie Dowd watched him go until the cab turned the corner and shot up the hill toward the heart of the city.

Chapter Ten

A long, long day led up to game time. As Stevie promised, she passed that time with Connor’s family. They embarked on a harbor tour taking them out through the locks to the rougher waters of Elliot Bay. Colby threw up his giant breakfast cinnamon bun and milk on his father’s shoes and was rushed to a tiny restroom on the ship for a cleanup.

Making the best of things, Stevie took some nice panoramas of the surrounding snow-capped mountains and the Seattle skyline from the water, touristy and unexciting, but it passed the time.

When the clouds covered the scenery, she shot the wind-blown Riley family standing on the bow of the ship and did some cute kid photos she thought Mrs.

Riley would cherish.

The group filled an elevator to the top of the Space Needle after a long wait in line with others in town for the game. A guide reprimanded the children for racing around and around the circular space. After half an hour, they came down and headed for the Pike Street Market where the tourists were so thick the Rileys formed a human chain and walked sideways to get down the aisles.

After another long wait at a restaurant, the adults ate bread bowls of clam chowder and the kids scarfed burgers and fries. Mutual exhaustion forced them back to the rental house for afternoon naps all around.

While the house lay still, Stevie quietly checked over her cameras and supplies, stocked her vest and pulled out a black Sinner’s T-shirt with the red devil on the sleeve. Going braless was more comfortable when wearing the photographer’s vest and she debated which way to go with herself. What were the odds she would be sacked again? None if she stayed where she belonged. The dark shirt should provide some insurance if her vest came off. Braless it was going to be. She’d take the odds she would never appear in
 
Sports Illustrated
 
again in a sweat-soaked, white top.

Stevie shrugged on the black shirt. She pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail and topped it with her Sinner’s cap. She wore black jeans and good running shoes. Double checking her credentials, she went quietly to the phone, called a cab and made her escape to Seahawk Stadium.

****

Pre-game insanity already raved by the time Stevie arrived. She took a few backstage candids of the aging grunge rockers, Seattle’s finest contributors to contemporary music, who would be doing the pre-game show. The group was still for the most part grungy. A photographer never knew what would have value in the years to come and snapping them passed the time until the game. The halftime show had been hyped as patriotic and inspirational, the networks not wanting to take any chances with past snafus. And not half as interesting to film, Stevie thought.

She dined lightly on a classic hot dog and diet drink while watching the opening acts. In the quiet interval while the stages were being moved and the smoke from the pyrotechnics cleared, she walked the length of the field and checked the lighting, searched out the best vantage points. She was jogging back towards the fifty-yard line when she heard the call from a row of excellent seats. “Stefania, Stefania! It is me, your Marcello!

Crowd noise covered her groan. Marcello had flown out of her life half a dozen years ago. Why did he have to reappear now? She turned toward the stands. There he stood in all his dark-eyed Italian glory, dressed, she guessed, in what he thought was appropriate attire for an American football game: black leather pants, a black silk shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, and a brilliant red scarf that would have made any other man look gay—but not Marcello.

His black, wavy hair was slicked back; comb marks stood out like fans in a stadium. One elegant hand draped over the shoulder of Joe Dean’s model girlfriend, Amber. She could imagine the quarterback’s chagrin when he found out how his other ticket had been used. Marcello and Amber, a lady in red with black accents—two beautiful people who made quite a picture. Stevie snapped one as the pair smiled for her showing their straight white teeth.

“Did I not tell my friend, Amber, that Stefania would be here when she says to me Joe Dean don’t give her enough attention, to come with her and be, how you say, the competition? You see us in
 
Sports
 
Illustrated
 
together,
 
same issue as you. I was the handsome man in the ad who gives a glass of the finest American
vino
 
to the lovely lady.”

“Sorry, must have missed that ad,” Stevie claimed. She had seen it and wondered if the man in the shadows was a more mature Marcello than the one she had known.

“Many times I say, Stefania, you can be model, too. We go to New York together, make the big time.

Once I even take the pictures of her after we make love. She is beautiful, but now too old. So sad she miss her chance.”

Another voice from Stevie’s not too distant past sounded behind her. “I’d like to see those pictures, sport. Still got them?” Dexter Sykes leered at her, flipped the strap of Stevie’s best digital camera over his head, and held it out to her.

“I took good care of it, baby. It’s ready to go.

Thought you’d want it for the game.”

“Yeah, thanks, Dex,” Stevie answered without enthusiasm. She was happy to have the Canon back in her possession, and not so happy to be trapped between Marcello and Dexter.

“Running into more old friends?” an insinuating voice from the next row of boxed seats asked. Kevin Riley leaned towards Amber and Marcello. His sons were seated between him and Merrilee while his daughters sat by the older Rileys. Merrilee frowned in their direction. She could not hear the conversation over Colby’s demands for another hot dog and Cammie’s crying because Katie spilled soda over her souvenir red devil.

Like a very noisy version of a scene from the play,
 
No Exit,
Stevie felt trapped in a hell with all her old boyfriends and lovers and no way out. The announcer’s voice swelled over the crowd noise calling for the opening of the game. The Sinners, all in black, surged into the stadium through an entry decorated to resemble the mouth of Hell. Fans in red and black roared. Connor’s family cheered.

“Gotta go!” Stevie took off as fast as her running shoes would take her. She heard Marcello yelling,

“You come to the party after the game, no? Amber says all the footballers will be there. We talk of old times.” She pretended not to hear.

There was, of course, nothing to photograph at the moment, just huge men stretching and officials clustering for the coin toss. Dexter Sykes stayed right on her tail.

“Stevie, wait up!”

She kept jogging. Dex pulled along side.

“I’ve been thinking about what a great team we were. We did some fantastic shoots together. I was looking through them last week. Lots of good things there.”

“We never took shoots together, Dex. When we split, you took what belonged to you and I kept what belonged to me. “

“Well, ah, I guess so. But you see, I had an offer for some of my older pictures and since that misunderstanding about the Smokey LeBlanc shot, they, um, want you to sign a release before using them. I just happen to have it here.” Dex pulled a much folded paper from a vest pocket and offered a pen that had been clipped to his collar. He gave her his appealing Jimmy Olsen look.

His fine brown hair fell across his forehead and his puppy-like brown eyes filled with pleading. A couple of inches shorter than Stevie, he looked up at her, begging.