by Lynn Shurr
“Yes, we have the best jobs in football and the most long lasting, but you are a good-looking woman, Alix Lindstrom. The uniform covers that up.”
Genuinely puzzled, she said, “I’m not that great, not like Stacy who is gorgeous, or Xochi who is dark and very beautiful.”
“Or Ilsa, thank God,” Tom muttered.
“The mother of Dean’s son?”
“Let’s just say pretty is as pretty does and forget about it.”
Alix was out on the field sending her best left-footed punts to the return team for practice and working hard to get used to Bolivar’s hikes when the area went quiet. The great man had arrived, Daddy Joe Billodeaux in person. He paused to greet Coach Buck, nodded in agreement to something, and soon began to warm up his arm by tossing a football back and forth to Tom. Rounding out the family scene, Dean trotted over to receive a manly hug and took over that duty. How she wanted to abandon hers.
Though steely gray of hair, Joe had stayed in shape and still possessed a charisma she could feel way out there on the twenty-yard line. Easy to see where Dean got his dark good looks and that curl hanging on his forehead. Her mother might say the older man could put his shoes under her bed any day, but to Alix, he was the man who had created a family of twelve kids, this way, that way, all ways, and still ran a camp for seriously ill children every summer. Judging by Tom and Dean, he’d raised his brood well. That fact impressed her more than his five Super Bowl rings. Oh, to be a part of his clan.
Bolivar’s snap caught her in the chest but bounced off her pads. She’d probably have a bruise under there tonight. “Pay attention, Lindstrom!” Beef hollered at her. She nodded, got ready for the next one and executed her perfect coffin corner punt, putting on an exhibition for the great man and his sons watching from the sidelines.
Coach Buck signaled her to come in. “Lindstrom, we need you to kick punts the guys can return in practice, but since I got you over here, meet Joe Billodeaux.”
Aware her hair would be a sweaty mess, Alix took off her helmet to shake the hand of Tom’s father. “I’m very excited to meet you, sir.”
“Good to hear I haven’t lost my appeal to women,” he joked and made her blush.
“I mean I’ve followed your great career and read the stories about your family. I’d like to meet each and every one of them, Mama Nell and the twins and triplets and Teddy.”
Joe Billodeaux gave her the smile that made women swoon. “We’ll have to invite you to our big Fourth of July bash at the ranch, then. Right, Tom? It’s my grandson’s first birthday, too, so a really special event this year.”
“Absolutely, Alix has to come. I call dibs on her for the dragon boat races, Dean.”
“Is Adam Malala here? I want to find out how many pigs he wants for the pit.” Joe searched for the big Samoan cornerback.
Coach Buck shook his old white, but still ornery, head. “No, mini-camp wasn’t mandatory for him. He’s still in Samoa with the family. Guess he’ll be back in time for the Fourth.”
“Tell him I’m counting on him. Okay, let’s get this show on the road and give Dean a break.”
Joe strode out on the field and called plays for wide outs and the new running back. He could still lob those long spirals into the slot—if the receivers were in the right place to catch them. Alix accepted a rest and a snow cone while Daddy Joe dominated the field for a while. Much to her surprise when he finished, the elder quarterback returned to sit beside her.
“Can I make you a snow cone?” she offered. “I’m getting good at that, too.”
“Let Tom get it. I want to welcome you to the Sinners. From what I saw, you are going to be a big asset to the team. I hope everything works out for you. So, are you all settled in New Orleans? Tom, you getting that snow cone?” Joe repeated as his redheaded, adopted son lingered nearby.
“Right on it!” Tom raced to the snow pile, filled a cup, and slopped an orange sports drink over it. He returned in time to hear his dad say, “You find a nice safe place to stay? I always make sure my girls have good protection. New Orleans can be a dangerous place.”
“Oh, Tom is taking care of me so well. He offers to take me to breakfast, but…”
Tom thrust the snow cone at his father. Part of it sluiced off onto the ground. “I think we should take Alix out to dinner tonight.”
“Oh, I’d be glad to cook,” she offered.
“No, no, our treat. Galatoire’s? Nope, didn’t bring a jacket. Maybe Court of the Two Sisters,” Joe suggested. “We can wait for the heat to die down and eat in the courtyard.”
“I’d love that.”
“Good, I’ll get reservations for seven-thirty. Now, tell me—”
Tom cut into the tête-à-tête between Alix and his father. “I’m going to do some field goal practice. You need to hold for me, Alix. Let’s go.”
“I’ll see you later, Mr. Billodeaux,” she said as Tom fairly yanked her away.
“Joe—for heaven’s sake, call me Joe,” Tom’s dad shouted after her.
She was on a first name basis with a hall-of-famer. That tickled her down to the very bottom of her cleats. Tom didn’t seem to be on his game and missed from forty yards and thirty yards, fine at twenty, and then as if to prove something, hit one dead on between the goal posts at fifty. “I can go longer,” he told her.
“Yes, I know. It’s only practice.”
After that expression of her faith in him, things went smoother. At lunch, Joe spread himself around, sitting next to one of his favorite receivers of the past, Jakarta Jones, and giving out tips and suggestions to other players who crowded at his table. He bid farewell to his boys at mid-afternoon.
“I’m going over to my apartment to shower. No more locker rooms for me. Alix, do you want me to pick you up around seven?”
Tom jumped in with, “We’ll meet you at the restaurant, okay?”
His dad cocked his head, but merely said, “Sure, see you then.”
“Your father seems really nice,” Alix said.
“He can be very charming, but you never want to see him or Dean with their game faces on, believe you me.”
Laughing, she asked, “Show me your game face, Tom.”
“Not sure I have one.” He did his best to look mean and threatening, which only made Alix laugh harder.
“Sorry, sorry, it’s the freckles and upturned nose. You simply don’t look fierce, more like an angry leprechaun about to shout ‘begosh and begorra’,” she said.
“Let’s see you do any better,” he challenged.
Alix narrowed her eyes to slits of blue and thrust her chin forward, lower lip puffed out. She attempted to channel her grandfather on a bad day.
“That’s—that’s adorable—like a pouty child,” Tom said as if he searched for the right words.
“I tried to imitate Morfar. Don’t ever let him hear you say that.” Both of them burst into laughter.
Coach Buck noticed and probably decided they were having too much fun. “If you two are done making faces, I want Barbaro to show Lindstrom how to throw a block in case she ever has to execute one. See she doesn’t get hurt.”
“Right, Coach. Come on, newbie.” Vince picked up a pad and held it in front of him. “Dig in. Hit me hard as you can.”
Alix did her best and got a “worst you can do?” from her personal protector. “I’m glad you aren’t protecting me. You hit like a girl. Again on the count of three.”
That irritated her. She pushed as hard as she could into the pad. Vince didn’t budge. Gathering all her strength, she hit him again. This time he yielded a few inches.
“Okay, you got to do that every time. It won’t stop a real football player from running right over you, but it might slow him down enough for me to come to your rescue. Again!”
Come to her rescue? Alix rammed into him, hurting her shoulder a trifle, and pushed Vince back a foot.
“Now you got it, babe. One more time.”
Alix gritted her teeth and gave it to him again,
another solid hit. “There you go, dude.”
Vince gave her a toothy white grin and simply held up the pad again.
At the end of their session, Coach signaled for her to hit the showers first. Alix straggled in bone-weary and not too sure which she hated more, Vince Barbaro or football.
****
Tom waited by the entrance to Alix’s suite of rooms. He hadn’t set foot past the threshold since she moved into the place. Not like her to dawdle or be late, and they planned to walk to the restaurant. He called down the hall, “You ready yet? It’s ten after seven.”
“I can’t decide what to wear!” she called.
“How about the bride dress? That’s pretty.”
“No, what if I spill something on it in front of Joe? Besides, the neckline is too low. I guess the illusion dress maybe.”
“Sounds great.” Tom shrugged though no one lurked around to see. What did he know about women’s dresses? And what the heck was an illusion dress anyhow? Whatever she wore, she’d look great in it—that he knew for sure. “It’s seven-fifteen.”
“I know, I know.”
Alix emerged in a garment with dark sides and a beige center shaped like a woman’s figure. It reminded Tom of Halloween skeleton costumes, but he knew enough not to say so or they’d be here until ten p.m. The skirt was slender and short enough to show off her endless legs. Good enough for him.
Alix stared at her shoes. “My mom said I should get the beige pumps because they go with everything, but I think the color makes my feet look big. Of course, my feet are big. Should I change to something black?”
“Your feet are fine, so are the shoes. Let’s boogie. We’re going to be late.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to keep Joe waiting.”
That moved her forward, and they finally got out the door, but not before Alix remembered the matching handbag she’d left on the bed and dashed back to get it. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a matching handbag before. Mostly just backpacks and gym bags.”
“I still don’t own one. Whatever shall I do?” Tom put on his best Blanche DuBois southern accent and fanned his face with his hand. “Stop stressing. My dad doesn’t really notice women’s clothes unless they are indecent or on my sisters or both.”
Out on the sidewalk, Alix hobbled along far differently from her usual athletic stride. “You okay?” Tom asked.
“It’s the cracks in the sidewalks and the places with bricks. I’m not used to high heels and…” Either the ever-present heat or her own embarrassment made her flush.
“Might a gentleman offer a lady his arm?” Tom paused to bow with a flourish.
“I would gladly accept that offer.”
Alix linked arms with him and steadied herself as they passed the elegant shops offering antiques, silver, and jewelry on Royal Street, so different from Bourbon. They arrived on the dot, not that Joe Billodeaux watched the time. He’d been holding court in the bar, signing autographs and visiting with old fans, not forgotten ten years after retirement. Never to be forgotten in New Orleans. His smile blazed when he saw them arm in arm, but Tom’s dad made no comment. They followed the hostess to a courtyard table and ordered amidst the lush greenery, flowers, strings of lights, and the sound of water trickling in the fountain. Veal Oscar for Joe, tenderloin of beef for Tom, and corn fried catfish for Alix who couldn’t seem to get enough of fresh Louisiana fish. Joe ordered turtle soup all around for starters.
Alix hesitated. “You really do eat turtles here? I’m not so sure…”
“Mais, yeah, cher. Us Cajuns eat everyt’ing. Even the zoo got signs naming where dat animal come from, its name, and how to cook it. And we do it good, good. Besides, we only eat da mean snapping turtles, not da the cute ones.” His dad had launched into what Mama Nell called his cute Cajun routine.
The joke was old, but Alix smiled and tried the soup. “It tastes like beef,” she said, surprised.
“And sherry. Dat’s the best part, don’t you know.” Oh, Joe was on tonight.
Tom refrained from rolling his eyes since Alix appeared to be enjoying every minute of the routine and every mouthful of food.
As the meal came to an end, Daddy Joe declared, “We started with sherry in the soup. Let’s stop with brandy.”
“Oh, I don’t really drink much hard liquor, only beer and wine,” Alix said.
“You’ll like it in this form—Strawberries à la Ray.”
In the twilight, a chef ignited fresh strawberries soaked in strawberry liqueur and brandy. The blue flames reflected in Alix’s eyes as they danced over the dessert. When the fire died down, the cook poured the entire mixture over vanilla ice cream that immediately began to puddle. Alix dug in as happy as a child eating candy, grownup candy. He could have watched her perfectly natural joy all night. He did the little ritual of fighting to pick up the check, but let his dad win this time.
As Joe signed the credit card bill, he said, “Want to hit a few clubs or just go over and visit with Mariah?”
Alix stifled a very wide yawn behind her hand. “If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon turn in. While hitting Vince Barbaro was in some ways very satisfying, it did wear me out and give me a sore shoulder. Good thing I don’t kick with that part of my anatomy.”
Joe immediately retracted his offer to go clubbing. “Believe you me, I understand sore shoulders. We’ll walk you home, then I might spend a little time visiting with Tom. I don’t get to see enough of my boys these days.”
“That won’t bother me at all.” They started off along Royal Street with Alix in the middle, sometimes having to split up for groups of tourists barging in the opposite direction, but finally crossing broad Canal Street. Arturo happily opened the door for them with a cheery, “Buenos noches, Miss Alix and the two Mr. Billodeauxs. Good to see you again, sir.”
“Gracias and have a good evening yourself,” Joe replied. “Alix, you have a place here, too?”
“Yes, she does,” Tom interjected before Alix could open her mouth. He got to their entry first, punched in the code, and held the door for her.
“Certainly you are welcome to join us, Alix, if you don’t mind a lot of family and guy talk,” Joe said as she just kept walking past the huge sofa off toward Tom’s old rooms.
“No, you have your chat. I’m going to try out those directional nozzles on my shoulder in that amazing shower, then go bed. Frankly, I’m relieved mini-camp is over, and I have some time to heal and get to know the city better. So great to meet you, Joe. See you in the morning, Tom.”
While he didn’t particularly like the dress, Tom did appreciate the way it clung to Alix’s hips as she moved away. When he finished staring, he found his dad’s eyes studying him.
“I think we need to talk about more than who you’re going to pick up for the Fourth of July bash, son. Sit down.”
“Look, I offered her my old rooms. I can watch out for her like I promised her family. She’s paying rent and does most of the cooking. Nothing going on between us. I haven’t set a foot across her threshold,” Tom blurted in one long, revealing breath.
“Don’t pee on my boots and tell me it’s raining. You want that young woman.”
“Okay, I won’t deny it. How did you know?”
“You watched her eyes when they flamed the dessert, and you stared at her behind when she went down the hall. I was a quarterback. I know about reading the eyes. Just make sure you don’t mistake her for another Ilsa. Alix used to be exactly my type, only with a bigger rack and much less innocent.”
Tom tried a deflecting technique. “But you ended up with a tiny brunette.”
“Yes, I did.” As he’d hoped, his father’s eyes took on a faraway look. “I decided I needed a more wholesome kind of woman, but let me tell you, those little ones can surprise the hell out of you. I chased after Nell, but in the end, she jumped me, dumped me, and took me back again. Lots of energy in small women.”
“Please, no details!” Tom clamped his hands over his burning red ears.
“Hey, that happened to Dean, not me. Being dumped by Ilsa for Dean was a very lucky break. Before you say it, I’ll go slow and be careful.”
“Good. Now, if you want to talk more about your emotions, call your mother. You bring Alix to the Fourth of July celebration. Ilsa and Beck will be there for his first birthday party. Just as well you bring a date in case she decides to double back and pick off another Billodeaux. A woman like that can be pretty persuasive.”
“Tell me I don’t have to pick up her and the kid.”
“Don’t forget the kid is your nephew.”
“Beck is great. It’s Ilsa I like to avoid.”
“No, just pick up the twins in Baton Rouge and get Teddy in Lafayette. Ilsa said she’ll be bringing Prince Dobbs. No way to keep him out, not with his parents invited.”
“Won’t be a problem for me. I do pity Dean.”
“It’s his own fault, just as Dean’s birth was mine, but I’ve never regretted him or adopting you. I couldn’t have two better sons. Aw hell, I’m getting old and maudlin. Throwing those passes today made my shoulder sore as well. Since all your bedrooms are taken, I’ll go back to the apartment for the night and head out in the morning.”
“Want to come over for an ebelskiver breakfast? “
“Huh?”
“It’s a Swedish beignet sort of thing Alix makes.”
“She cooks, too! No, I don’t want to intrude on your domestic bliss. Expect a call from your mom. Just keep your hooray rod in your pants and if it escapes, don’t forget the rubber raincoat, boy.” He rubbed Tom’s red curls as if he were still a lad and ended with the hug and the words, “I love you, son.”
Chapter Ten
For two quiet weeks, Tom had Alix mostly to himself. They enjoyed breakfast together each day. Could she ever make an omelet and home fries to perfection. After that, off to work out or go for a long run side by side. Come home, wash off in separate bathrooms, unfortunately, and take in the sights via carriage or riverboat. They visited the massive white alligator and cute sea otters at the aquarium or strolled around the Audubon zoo to watch the tigers and polar bears cooling off in their pools. He usually paid for dinner in one of the French Quarter restaurants both plain and fancy since she cooked something nearly every day. They were in no danger of running out of places to eat for a long time. What had his dad called this?—oh yes, domestic bliss. Too bad it didn’t include any kind of sex.