by Lynn Shurr
“I remember you.” She nodded at Ancient Andy. “You were a big deal kicker in your day, an inspiration for my boy. Me, I’m more famous now than I ever was.” She watched Andy throw back his stooped shoulders and pretend he didn’t need the heavy cane. “You can sit in Billy’s chair. What are you drinking?”
Andy lowered his bony frame into the seat. “Aquavit if you got it.”
“Tommy, see if Jackson has any.” She nodded toward her fat, bald bartender, another fixture of the place.
“Pappa, no!” Andy’s daughter protested.
Mariah gave her the steely eye. “Sweetheart, why don’t you go dance a polka with your husband? Let the man live this life.”
“That’s what I say.” Nels led his plump wife onto the dance floor and held her close for a slow spin around the room.
Behind the bar, Jackson wiped the dust off a bottle of golden liquor and removed two chilled shot glasses from the refrigerator. He screwed them into a bowl of crushed ice and drew two tall dark beers from the tap. Loading it all on a tray, the bartender delivered the drinks personally.
“Here you go, Mariah.” With a nod toward Andy, he displayed the bottle of aquavit. “Linie okay?”
“Ja, sure. It’s Norwegian, but very good.”
Jake poured two shots and left the bottle on the table. “Honor to meet a legend like you, sir,” he said before returning to his duties. “Let me know if you want anything else.” The old man nodded, beamed, and shook hands.
Back at the bar, Tom slipped the bartender a twenty for delivering the rote message and summoned the three sisters who looked lost to an empty table.
“Where will Mom and Dad sit?” Rika questioned.
“I can’t believe that old crone spoke to them that way,” Tille fumed.
“That’s my grandmother you’re talking about. In fact, the whole team loves Mariah. She’s one tough cookie and doesn’t waste words or breath. As for the table, I’ll shove two together.”
“I’ll help,” Alix volunteered at once.
“I can do it. Don’t get your pretty dress dirty.” Tom thought she blushed—hard to tell in the darkness. The dress was pretty, white with transparent sleeves that showed off her toned arms and a loose filmy skirt edged in lace that swayed as she walked. Its top fit snugly, but not too tight or too low. The square-cut neckline exposed just a peek of the tops of her breasts. She had worn her white flats again and a necklace of tiny freshwater pearls. All of it modest and lovely, exactly like her.
Tom managed to fit the tables together without tipping over the atmospheric red candles in their votive holders or spilling basic condiments like hot sauce, red pepper flakes, and Cajun seasoning on the black tablecloths. The elder Lindstroms sat gratefully after their short romp.
“Tell the bartender to put any drinks you want on my tab. Alix, would you like to dance?” Tom offered.
“Oh, yes!” She shot to her feet.
Tille appraised her outfit. “You should have worn the black. You look like a Catholic school girl about to take her first communion.”
The hurt that passed over Alix’s face prompted Tom to say, “I think you look like a bride.”
“That’s what I thought—sort of bridish. Let’s dance.”
The music had turned frenetic, so not a chance of him holding her close. Tom went into what Dean called his war dance, among many other choice expressions. He jerked his arms over his flaming red head and lifted his long legs almost in time with the music. Dancing, not his greatest skill. Alix did the same. They circled the dance floor. Were people staring?
He noticed Vince Barbaro come out of the shadows and ask Tille to dance. Alix’s sister had worn short black spandex that clung to her rear and cupped each braless breast held up by straps that crossed behind her neck. Vince watched her boobs jiggle as he did a few Saturday Night Fever moves designed to impress. She’d worn heels high enough to increase her mammary motion. Both seemed happy with their choice of partners.
The door to Mariah’s Place opened letting in a shaft of low, long-lasting summer sunshine. As usual, the couple who entered stood there for a moment waiting for their eyes to adjust to the dark. The sunbeam illuminated them from the back as if they were surrounded by holy light, an anointed pair—Dean and Stacy, who were supposed to be in Germany until the end of the month. The tourists gaped.
Tom thought, Oh, shit! In a minute, Alix would want to meet and drool all over his brother, the famous quarterback, but she simply kept dancing with a joyous abandon that matched his own.
As the door shut, Dean and his bride of almost a year slipped alongside the length of the bar and took their usual seats at the very end around the corner in the deepest of shadow. Dean, no seeker of attention, preferred to go unnoticed. He never managed that. He’d barely put his fine behind on the stool when Sinners’ fans began lining up with cocktail napkins to sign. Tom and Alix finished their gyrations as the music came to an end. Getting it over with, Tom asked, “I guess you want to meet Dean and Stacy.”
“I’d love to! First, I need the ladies’ room. I must powder my nose. Heck, I have to pee. Be right back.” Alix peeled off toward the neon restroom sign.
Tom avoided the Lindstroms’ table for the moment and went to say hello as the last of the Sinners’ followers dissipated like fog on the Mississippi, leaving behind a mist of encouraging words. “Almost had us another Super Bowl.” “We’ll get it next year.”
Dean greeted his brother with that dazzling smile he didn’t mean to be sexy. It simply was. “Hey, bro. Glad to see you practicing your dancing. You looked like two whooping cranes mating out there.”
Stacy, his blonde, brainy, and voluptuous wife, pressed Tom’s hand. “He means that in a good way. Whooping cranes are beautiful birds. They mate for life.”
“No, he doesn’t. I couldn’t dance as well as Dean if they offered me another million on my contract.”
“Who’s the babe?” Dean asked. Stacy elbowed him. “I mean the attractive and very tall young lady.”
“Our new punter, Alix Lindstrom. That’s her family at the table. Ancient Andy Mortenson is sitting in Billy’s chair.”
“No!” Stacy gasped. “I’ve never known Mariah to allow anyone to sit there.”
“I don’t know. She seemed to sense a kindred spirit. What are you doing back two weeks early?” He thought he’d have more time to impress Alix before Dean’s light shone upon her and transmogrified her into another adoring female.
“After studying German all winter, Stacy was pretty fluent with four weeks of endless conversation with everyone she met, so I thought I’d come home for mini-camp. I have to work off all that bratwurst and German pastry. Every dessert over there comes with real whipped cream.” Dean patted his stomach as if he had a paunch instead of a wall of tight muscle beneath his white dress shirt open at the collar to show the strong column of his neck and rolled up on the arms that launched his perfect spiral passes. “Besides, I was curious about the new punter. She even made the news abroad, mostly shots of her in a Sinners’ uniform. Cleans up nice.”
“She does. You ought to see her at the gym.” Tom caught a glimpse of white out of the corner of his eye. “Here she comes. Try not to enchant her, Dean.”
Stacy, possessive, put a hand bearing that famous yellow and pink diamond engagement ring on Dean’s arm. “This prince already has his princess.”
Alix didn’t bother to wait for a formal introduction. She arrived and shot out her somewhat large hand. “Alix Lindstrom, your new punter. I’ll try my best for you.”
“That’s all I ask,” said Dean as he shook. The errant black curl that always flopped on his handsome forehead did its thing. Women adored that hank of hair. Stacy pushed it back into place.
But Alix’s sunny blue eyes didn’t stay on Dean’s darkly handsome Cajun face, dwell on his sculpted lips, or move downward to his broad shoulders and chest. Instead, her wide pink lips formed an O as she glimpsed the rock on Stacy’s finger. “Is that the e
ngagement ring? Of course it is! There are no others like it. May I see it more closely?”
“Certainly.” Stacy held out her hand for the inspection.
“Your wedding was out of a fairy tale. I admit I clipped your pictures from People and Us.”
“Sit down and I’ll tell you what went on behind the scenes.” With a pleased smile on her lovely face, Stacy motioned to the stool on her far side. Rarely did someone want to speak to her and not Dean even though she spoke five languages.
“I guess we aren’t going to be talking football,” Dean said.
“Nope, girl stuff. Come meet the family.” Inside, Tom’s fear melted away. The Titanic had met the iceberg and didn’t even leave a dent.
Naturally, Dean charmed them. He gave lurking Vince Barbaro a hearty handshake and extended that to Nels and Britta Lindstrom. He signed napkins for the two sisters, and when the music began again, the Super Bowl winning quarterback took chubby Rika, who used to be a size three, out on the dance floor for the thrill of her life. God, Dean was so smooth, but Tom noticed he’d asked the married one, not the sister who panted for his attention.
Back at the bar, Stacy still regaled Alix with nuptial details. At one point, Alix put her hand over her mouth and giggled. Must have been the story about Prince Dobbs, a Sinners wide receiver with a bad reputation, showing off his new religious tattoos to the guests—or maybe the one about Ilsa pawning Dean’s month-old son off on Mama Nell. The kid promptly threw up on the napkin placed to shield her pale blue silk suit. Good times, Billodeaux family style.
Doing his duty, Tom raised his russet eyebrows and held out his arms to Tille. A disappointed quiver passed over her pouty lips, but she rose and followed him out onto the floor. Tom felt no need to hold her close for the duration of the slow song. Like an old-fashioned suitor, he kept Tille at arm’s length and managed to stay off her toes. He tried a little conversation, but her eyes were so busy tracking Dean who had just spun Rika in an elegant twirl that she failed to answer. To his relief, Vince, doing his he-man bit, cut in by tapping his shoulder. No loss there. Tom headed directly toward Alix, the flame drawn to the beautiful white moth instead of the other way around.
“Mind if I interrupt your conversation for a dance?”
“Oh, good, a slow one.” Alix got up and apologized to Stacy. “I want to hear more, but I guess we’ll be seeing each other again if this is where the Sinners hang out.”
“I know we will. We’ll have to go salsa dancing with Xochi’s crowd, you and Tom, me and Dean.”
“I’d like that very much.”
Finally, Tom took her into his arms, not much distance between. She fit him so handily he failed to trip over his own feet as he often did with shorter women like Tille. They drifted along in perfect harmony. He might be a redheaded woodpecker, but Alix was a swan. Half a dance, only half a dance, and the music ended.
Tille approached with a cross expression on her baby doll face. “Mama says we have to leave. Morfar is drinking too much, and Dad thinks Vince is feeling me up.”
Probably right on both counts. Tom suppressed his sigh of frustration and plastered on his jolly grin. “I’ll walk you to the hotel and make sure Alix gets safely to the condo.”
“No, no, we’ll see her home first. It’s just across a street. You been a great host, paying for dinner and drinks and bringing us here. You stay and enjoy the rest of your evening,” Nels Lindstrom insisted.
Tille and Rika deposited their autographed napkins in their tiny purses. “Wait until I tell my hubby I danced with Dean Billodeaux! He’ll be so jealous,” Rika raved as the group started to move.
“Yeah, he’d probably like to dance with Dean himself. Thanks to Dad, I didn’t get the chance,” Tille moped.
“I had a wonderful evening. I met Stacy and danced with Tom,” Alix said softly.
“Now, I don’t know about a guy who has his own bar tab, Al,” her mother said as they stopped by Mariah’s table to pick up Pappa Andy who swayed a little getting up and needed his cane to steady himself.
“Maybe Andy should spend the night. I have an apartment upstairs,” Mariah suggested.
“Certainly not. We will take care of him ourselves,” Britta Lindstrom said.
“Anytime you’re in town, Andy, come by. I’ll save your seat.”
“Ja, sure, Mariah. I’d like that very much. We must leave in the morning. Long drive back to Wisconsin, but see you later.”
The old kicker wobbled out shored up by his son-in-law and daughter. Tom stared until the last wisp of Alix’s white dress flew into the night and the portal closed. Sinking down next to Stacy, he ordered a beer. Dean returned to his wife’s side and did the same.
“What did you think of Alix?” Tom ventured.
“Nice kid. I hope she’s as great a punter as the papers claim she is,” Dean said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, Dean, can’t you see Tom is smitten? He doesn’t care how she kicks.” Stacy shook her gorgeous blonde head.
“Language majors. What kind of word is smitten when talking about a man in lust?”
“In love, Dean. She isn’t Ilsa, right, Tom?”
“So very right. Now what am I going to do about it?”
“Take it slow right now. She has a lot to adjust to at the moment,” Stacy counseled.
“A month? Six months? A year? I don’t think I can do that last one.”
“Maybe a football season, but I think you’ll recognize the right time.’
“Lord, I hope so before someone like Vince moves in on her.”
“Hey, you already have a head start since Alix is living with you,” Dean said with one of his blinding grins.
If Tom had been a red wolf, he would have raised his hackles. “She’s renting half the condo! You can’t call that living together. She’s my roommate. So, Xochi ratted me out already.”
“Don’t get upset. She only told me, not the whole family. I felt compelled to tell my husband—your brother and best friend—no one else.” Stacy ruffled his curly hair to calm the beast.
“You know Dad will show up sometime during mini-camp. He always does. I’d give him a heads up about the situation to keep it from getting weird,” Dean said.
“What, like you dating your cousin?”
“Exactly like that. And Stacy isn’t really my cousin, and you know it,” Dean retorted with some irritation. “Let Dad in on your arrangement before the tabloids get wind of it.”
Tom finished his beer and slapped the heavy glass mug against the black marble counter. “Thanks for all the unsolicited advice. Maybe Alix is home by now. We can watch a movie together. See you later.” Smitten, Stacy as usual had chosen the correct word.
Chapter Eight
Mini-camp began and the bleachers filled with sports reporters as usual, but they weren’t assessing the first round draft pick running back or the strength new blood brought to the defense. All eyes stayed glued on Alix Lindstrom, first female punter in the NFL. Coach Buck had her decked out in full pads despite the heat. He had no intention of allowing her to be damaged as he commanded the Sinners return team to charge at her as she completed each punt. His reasoning—she could not flinch and flub those kicks. Not to mention how Marty Buck relished watching his own men cope with the new spin on punt returns.
Tom kept a sharp eye on his roommate. Vince Barbaro did his job protecting the punter, throwing blocks at anyone who got too near. They ran down the field a few yards together after each punt, very cozy, too cozy. Tom suspected the linemen had been instructed not to hit her, an illegal move, roughing the kicker, but shit happened on the field and those penalties often helped the team. He’d been downed more than once when the opposition tried to block his extra points and field goals. Alix did well both in the length of her punts and the steel of her nerves. Dean, who’d come out to work with the new running back, gave Tom a thumbs-up. He couldn’t have been more proud if she’d been his own sister—not what he desired at all.
Coach called for
a break, and Tom showed Alix how to make snow cones from the ice pile kept to cool off the big linemen. He doused a cup full of chips with a flavored sports drink after inquiring whether she wanted orange or lemon-lime. They sat side by side enjoying the treat while other players took theirs straight from the bottle.
“You did really good out there, showed no fear. That’s important.”
“I played soccer against some really tough women—and we didn’t have all the padding and helmets. Besides, Morfar had me study your tapes. He’d say, ‘See how Tom just swings his leg a few times to stay loose when the other team calls a time out to ice him. Never works. They should not bother.’” Alix licked at her orange snow cone with flicks of her pink tongue.
“You studied me? I’m flattered.” Her lapping tongue drove him crazy with thoughts of what it might do applied to parts of his body. He really should take a dive into the snow pile to cool off like the linemen.
“You and Howdy McCoy and, of course, my grandfather. I have to admit my thighs burn right now.”
Burning thighs, she had to say that. Not helping him keep his composure. “You won’t be doing so many punts in a game as you are today. Lots of time to rest your muscles between kicks though you want to stay hot—I mean, warm.”
Alix gave him an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile. You never knew what women were thinking. That was the trouble. Alix brushed her damp bangs to the side. Even with her light blonde hair sweat-soaked to brown, he found her attractive.
“Tom, get your ass out on the field and do some kickoffs for the return team,” Coach shouted.
Tom’s turn to show off, and he did for Alix who sat on the bench watching him drive ball after ball into the end zone. “No, no, no! Not so deep. I want them to practice running the ball back, not taking a knee,” Marty Buck hollered. He set the next few down on the twenty-yard line and threw in a few directional kicks to provide more challenge. For a while, he forgot all about Alix Lindstrom.
