by Lynn Shurr
“Um, I usually just pop across the street and get a latte and a croissant at the coffee shop on my way to work.”
“This is a better breakfast: protein, vegetables, and carbs.” Junior cracked eggs into a skillet pooled with butter, one, two, three, four.
“Ah, just one egg for me, I guess.”
“Hard or soft yolks?”
“Soft.”
“Me, too. I can steam some milk for your coffee if you want, but we need to get a better machine.”
“That’s the office coffeemaker. I rarely use it anymore since most of our clients prefer to meet at their place of work. I guess we could get one of those pod machines like Tom has. Don’t bother about the steamed milk.”
“I like to grind my own beans. I’ll get a good one today. Here we go.” Junior slid a perfectly fried egg onto the warm tortilla and topped it with salsa. He placed it before her on one of Stacy’s old grape-patterned plates. “Sit, enjoy.”
She did. Xochi broke the yolk and mingled it with the salsa. She took a bite and closed her eyes. “Just like your mother used to make for us.”
“Where do you think I learned? Here’s your coffee.” Junior took a seat next to her. His plate brimmed with the remaining three eggs, a triad of tortillas, and a heap of salsa and beans. He dug in, but blotted his lips on a paper napkin before saying, “I thought we might go out for dinner tonight. I know some great out of the way places. You aren’t too well stocked for cooking.”
“Oh, I promised Connor Bullock I’d go out with him. It’s his first night in town.”
“When did this happen?” A storm cloud covered Junior’s usually sunny face.
“While you were putting your baggage in the Escalade yesterday. We talked for a while. He’s not as familiar with New Orleans as we are.”
“Sure, okay. He can come along.”
“I think he meant it to be a date.”
“Yeah, I guess so. I’m going to the training center today to work out. I’ll pick up some groceries after, and hang out at Mariah’s Place tonight. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
“Maybe.” Xo bolted her last bite of egg and dribbled salsa down the front of her uniform. The red sauce followed the slope of one full breast. Junior eyed its path and reached out with the napkin. Xochi stood up in a hurry. “See, this is what comes of eating a good breakfast. Now I have to change and rush to work. Later!” She dashed from the kitchen as if the devil, or simply a Sinner, was on her tail.
****
Junior cupped his wide jaw in his hands. Damn! Connor Bullock, brilliant and age-appropriate, had come back to Louisiana. The only team Connor ever played on was the debate team. President of the Beta Club, inductee to the National Honor Society in his junior year, and now a doctor, he represented everything Junior was not.
Junior got up and cleared the table, washed the pans and dishes in the sink, dried them, and put everything back where it belonged. If his career military father had taught him one thing it was to clean up your own mess, leave everything shipshape, and have some consideration for the woman who tired herself out cooking and caring for the twelve Billodeaux children as well as her only child.
His warmest childhood memories were of sitting in the kitchen at the ranch and chattering away in Spanish with his mama and Xochi so rapidly that Tom, Xo’s half-brother, who made a good attempt to learn the language, couldn’t keep up. Not to say his mother favored these three over the other kids—but she did, just a little. Xochi needed her special care after her trauma, and Junior was her only child. His mother often gave them special treats—miniature sugar candy skulls, pastelitos, a kind of Mexican Twinkie, and delicious coconut rolls—that she bought in the bodegas springing up in Chapelle opened by men who had come into the area to do hurricane repairs and stayed to found small businesses.
“You don’t tell your mama,” Corazon said to Tommy and Xochi. “She say is bad for your teeth. One will not hurt you.”
But, Junior often had two or three. Hence his early start in football. The Billodeaux boys weren’t allowed to play before age twelve because of Mama Nell’s objections. Only soccer for them, not that Daddy Joe didn’t toss footballs around to his sons as soon as they could toddle. When his own father enrolled him in Pop Warner, they’d placed Junior a year ahead of his age because of his bulk. He learned quickly how to hold the line—simply push the skinnier kid opposite him over and then do the same to anyone else who tried to pass into his team’s territory. Didn’t take a lot of brains. He did well and inwardly exalted that he would never be bullied again.
Xo noticed. She came to his games, as did all the Billodeauxs when they had no conflict with soccer. She rewarded him with praise and hugs that that rapidly grew softer as her body matured. Too bad he remained a blob until she left for college when he turned thirteen and finally began to shoot up and harden, worked on his speed, and became a cornerback. By the time he played college ball, Xo had been to Europe to hone her language skills, picking up Portuguese, graduated, and started a business with Stacy. Still, she cheered him on whenever she could, though the Billodeauxs frequently traveled to Tuscaloosa to root for Mack. Why the heck couldn’t Mack play for LSU like the rest of his family? Because he wanted to do his own thing, of course.
Now when he finally wheedled himself into Xo’s apartment so she could get to know him as a man, along came Connor Bullock! He took his frustration to the training facility, worked on his legs and his abs preparing for the first mini-camp, picked up a coffeemaker to his specifications, and shopped for groceries to prepare his signature dishes for the woman he adored. Meanwhile, Xo had been home, stripped out of her business uniform, leaving it tossed across her bed, and applied makeup for a date night—if the state she left her cosmetics in the bathroom gave a clue. Junior guessed he’d go to Mariah’s Place, eat bar food, and hope she’d show up there, even with Connor Bullock.
Chapter Four
Junior nursed his second beer in a dark corner at Mariah’s Place and picked at a platter of chicken wings and loaded potato skins. Lots of fiber in the potatoes, protein in the cheese and bacon stuffing them, and the wings came with celery if you could call that a vegetable. It wasn’t that he’d never been to Mariah’s, the hot spot the tourist guides proclaimed the best for sighting Sinners players. Once he’d come here with a bunch of underage LSU players and been chided by the outrageous Mariah herself in her gold sequin gown and huge white wig for trying to order drinks. She’d had to take a few huffs from her oxygen tank to finish the scolding before the bouncer escorted them out into a night more brilliantly lit by neon than the inside of the always dim nightclub. Of course, they’d managed to get drunk elsewhere in the Quarter, Junior less so than most because Mariah recognized him from her visits to Lorena Ranch and ended her rant with, “I know you, Junior Polk. Don’t make me call your daddy.”
Now that he was legal, she’d welcomed him with a huge hug to her overinflated breasts and the hindsight prediction, “I always knew you’d be a Sinner. Remember, I look out for my boys.”
This being the offseason, the club had more tourists occupying the small four tops than football players at the bar. In fact, he was the only one. A middle-aged man approached him hesitantly. “You play for the Sinners?”
“I will be playing for them this fall.”
“Okay. Would you sign this napkin?”
“Sure.” A little flattered, Junior scribbled out his name.
“Junior Polk. Never heard of you.”
“I play in the secondary defense, cornerback. No one knows who we are.”
“Yeah, that’s right. But I’ll look for you next time the Sinners play.” He ended the conversation with a slap to Junior’s broad back and a return to his table where a wife, son, and teenage daughter pondered the mysterious unknown name. Obviously from out of state since an LSU fan would have been happy to meet him.
The door to the club opened. Junior looked up from a chicken wing. Not Xochi and Connor, but a pallid pair of celebrities, Tom
and Alix Billodeaux, the NFL’s first married football players. Tom’s red hair and Alix’s Nordic blonde looks brightened the mostly black and red room.
The teenage girl rushed toward them with a real autograph book and a tiny pen. She gushed, “I think it is so romantic that you two got married.” Both signed and made a little chitchat before joining Junior at the bar.
Tom appropriated a potato skin. The guy could eat anything and still remain slim. Good thing because Alix was quite the cook in a Scandinavian sort of way, lots of heavy food and always a Bundt cake on the counter. “Hey, these skins are cold. Pop them into the microwave for a minute would you, Jackson? And draw two drafts for us,” he said to the fat, bald bartender, a fixture at the nightclub since it opened. “You off your feed, Junior?”
“Sure he is.” Alix nudged her husband. “He’s brooding over Xo because she went out with Connor Bullock tonight.”
“Who told you?”
“Girls talk.” Alix shrugged shoulders a bit too big for a woman but by no means unfeminine.
Junior noted that the right-footed kicker and the left-footed punter had twined their legs together and sat touching hips. A little burst of envy surged through him. He drowned it out with a slug of beer and another wing. “I thought if I moved in with her it might work out like it did for you two, but she still looks at me like I’m a kid brother.”
“Hey, bro, no secret you’ve always had a crush on Xochi. She knows it, the whole family knows it.” Tom thanked Jackson for the piping hot skins. He offered the plate to Alix before setting it in front of Junior again. “Maybe if you dated around some instead of mooning over her, she’d see you as a desirable man.”
“Hey, Stacy tried to make Dean jealous, and it did not work out too well,” Alix pointed out.
“Maybe it’s my looks. I got this round baby face.”
“No, I think you are adorable with that little gap in your teeth and big grin,” Alix said.
“I don’t want to be adorable! I need to be smokin’ hot!”
Alix reconsidered. “You got the bod for that.”
“Just a second.” Tom reached for his phone and called Brian Lightfoot, his former punter and honorary gay uncle. “Busy?” he asked.
“Waiting for Derek to get off work. What can I do for you?”
“Not for me. Junior needs help with his round baby face.” Tom flashed a picture with his phone and sent it. Up front at her private table, Mariah grumbled, “Fricking, blinding nuisances.”
“Needs definition. I’d suggest a light mustache and a beard shaved close just around the edge of his face. You could get that going in a week,” Brian advised. “Stand up and turn around, Junior. Nicely dressed, impressive body. I’m not needed there and what a pity. You appear to have naturally good taste, unlike some others I could mention.” Brian seemed to intuit that Tom wore a wrinkled green plaid cotton shirt.
Alix pecked her husband’s cheek. “You don’t have to change for me.”
“Thanks, Brian. You give me hope.” Junior ate a potato skin with a little more gusto. Involved with the conversation, he failed to notice when Xochi and her date made an entrance, a very quiet, low key one. In fact, he jolted when Xo took the seat next to him. Even separated by inches, he felt her warmth envelop him.
“That all you need?” Brian asked.
“Yes, have a good evening.” Junior reached over and shut off Tom’s phone. “You two hungry? There’s plenty. Help yourself.”
“Who were you talking to?” Xo picked up a chicken wing and nibbled it so delicately Junior imaged what else she could do with those plump lips.
“Brian Lightfoot. We thought he might like to join us, but he’s waiting for Derek. Do you think they will last, Xo?” Tom covered the conversation as smoothly as he kicked field goals.
“They’re happy for now.”
“What about us” Alix had to ask.
“You and Tom are forever. You know that.”
Connor took a celery stick to be sociable, but waved away the cholesterol laden potato skins. “Actually, we just had a great meal at Ralph’s. Xo said we could listen to some good music here. Seems we arrived right on time.”
Mariah Coy heaved herself from the table nearest the stage and managed the steps in heels far too high and hazardous for a woman her age. Dry ice swirled around her ankles and brilliant red gown. She went into her signature rendition of Fever and managed to finish it before running out of lungpower. “COPD, right?” Connor remarked as if the fabulous Mariah were his patient and not an esteemed French quarter fixture that people travelled miles to see.
Mariah bowed, giving a great view of her cleavage, and slipped back stage for a moment to fill her lungs with oxygen. She returned to introduce the band and singer for the night, a recent and very talented castoff from The Voice. She began with a Beyoncé song. Tom and Alix got up to dance and began strutting, gyrating, and flapping around the vacant dance floor. The teenage girl jumped out of her bentwood chair nearly upsetting it and began to record the entire show with her phone. “Look, Mom. They’re doing their whooping crane dance!”
“Come on, Connor, we’d better help them out.” Xo stood and waited for her date so scrupulously attired in suit and tie to join her.
“Mind waiting for a slow one?”
“I got this.” Junior rose and led Xochi out to the center of the floor being circumnavigated by Tom and his wife. He started into his moves, ones he’d been practicing for years. Xo soon caught on and matched him. “Smooth, Junior, very smooth.”
The girl’s camera turned their way. “I don’t know who they are but they’re really, really good.”
Junior gave her a great grin. He wondered if she’d send him the recording if he cleared it with her parents. All too soon the song ended and the next, a slow one, began. Connor wasted no time getting out there to claim his dance. Junior retreated to his stool and devoured another potato skin while he watched the doctor guide Xo rather stiffly around the room. Her wildly patterned floral dress pressed up against his somber suit as if he held large bouquet. Blossom, yes, tonight she was a blossom, an exotic flower too rare to be appreciated by Connor Bullock, Junior thought. That man would subdue her natural exuberance and disregard her special gift, if he had his way.
When the pairs returned to the bar, Junior suggested, “Why don’t we go to Paco’s next Saturday.” Let’s see the stuffed shirt compete with him in salsa dancing, Xochi’s favorite form of entertainment.
“Oh, I want to go to Paco’s. We can really let loose there,” Alix exclaimed as if she and Tom hadn’t done that already just minutes ago. She called for another cold draft.
“Um, haven’t been there in a long time. I guess it’s okay to go back,” Tom said with a lot less exuberance.
“Are you free, Connor?” Xochi sipped from the glass of red wine Junior had ordered for her. “Oh, this is good!”
“A nice California pinot noir,” Junior said. Xo raised her brows at his wine expertise.
“Let me see.” Connor consulted his iPad. “The new residents always get the worst rotations. Could we make it Friday?”
“Certainly. I’ll invite some of my friends to go along. The more the merrier, right Junior?” Xo claimed.
“Sure.” He’d burn up the floor with Xochi while the doc warmed a chair at their table. Maybe Connor would take an interest in one of the other girls.
“Speaking of having to work weekends, I need to get going. Xo, are you coming with me, or do you want to stay here?”
“No, I’ve had a long day. See you guys later.”
Junior lingered a little while after the couple left and danced once with the teenager who had the courage to ask him. He had no desire to walk in on an evening kiss or anything more between Xochi and Connor. Once back at the apartment, he found Xo wearing purple yoga pants, a sweatshirt with an LSU logo, and ballet-style slippers as she flipped through the TV channels. Not exactly dressed for seduction, neither his or Connor’s, and that was fifty-percen
t good.
“Say, you want to turn on the Spanish channel and take in some telenovelas? You know how my mama loves them, and we used to make fun of them behind her back?” He sat beside her on the couch giving her lots of room or at least as much as his large body allowed.
“Why not?”
They settled in to watch television as comfortable as an old married couple. Just what Junior had in mind for the distant future.
Chapter Five
Xo woke to an aroma even better than coffee—bacon sizzling in a pan. A quick splash on her face, a comb through her tangled waves, a jump into Saturday lounging clothes, and she went downstairs to see what Junior had conjured in her kitchen now. As she drew near, the coffee burbled from a machine of such complexity, she doubted if she’d ever learn to use it.
“Hola,” Junior greeted. “We have stuffed French toast this morning with a side of bacon and freshly brewed coffee. You can start with that papaya half while I finish the toast. Squeeze a little lime on it first.” He turned back to a large skillet and flipped over portions as thick as doorstopper sandwiches.
“Stuffed with what?” she inquired as she squeezed a wedge of lime on the fruit and began spooning it from the rind.
“Strawberry cream cheese.”
“Exactly what my hips need, that and bacon.”
“It’s fried crisp.” Junior offered her a piece from the pile draining on a paper towel.
He held it in his fingers, and she accepted it with hers, though Xo knew he’d meant to feed it to her. “Coffee is ready. See, the top part of the machine grinds the beans and funnels them into the filter. I press a button, and the hot water runs through. This little side piece warms milk for a latte.” He lifted the small stainless steel pitcher and dressed her mug of dark coffee with white. Waiting a moment for the two liquids to mingle to a light brown, he raised the pitcher, poured a circle of milk, and deftly cut through its middle with the stream from the spout. A delicate heart formed on the surface. Junior presented it to her almost as an offering.
