by Lynn Shurr
Then, Coach switched him to doing field goals for the defense to block. “Lindstrom, get out there and hold for Billodeaux.”
She trotted across the field and knelt before him, the start of another fantasy. Tom suppressed that one and instead gave gentle instruction. “Laces out of course. Hold the ball with your left index finger. This is the angle I want.” He covered her hands with his and positioned the football to his liking. What he didn’t like was letting go of her. “Don’t worry. I won’t kick you.”
“I’m not afraid of that. I held the ball for my grandfather’s students all during my training. He said that came under the punter’s duties on most teams.”
“Okay, then. Bolivar, we’re ready for the snap.”
Barton “Beef” Bolivar, the snapper, caught the ball Tom tossed him. “About time.” He sent it shooting through his legs with such force, Alix bobbled the ball and the defense came roaring to retrieve it. They knocked her over in the scramble. Tom helped Alix up. “You okay?”
“Fine. I can take my knocks, but that wasn’t a good snap.”
“Yeah, I saw. Beef, we need a better one.”
This time the snap came crisply, but not too hard. Still rattled by seeing Alix hit, Tom shanked it. Beef Bolivar sneered, “Either Tommy the Toe is out of practice or his holder is no damn good.”
“Nothing wrong with that hold or the snap. I wasn’t concentrating.” Tom smiled, though he wanted to knock Bolivar in the teeth for that remark. “This is what practice is all about. Let’s see your best, Beef. Alix, get ready.” He did several more field goals, all perfect, from various places on the field before being waved back to the bench. Alix followed and settled down right beside him just as Brian Lightfoot used to do, but Brian’s presence never made him want to put an arm around his shoulder and give a hug. Instead, he only said, “Good job out there.”
“Thanks.” They slurped more snow cones and took turns kicking into the net until practice ended.
When the whistle sounded, Coach Buck announced, “Lindstrom, to the showers. You got fifteen minutes to clean up, then the press conference. The rest of you hydrate or something.”
Alix hurried off. Dean took her place beside Tom. “She’s good, really good, but I think we have a problem with Bolivar. He’s a resentful SOB. Wants to be a starting center, but he’s not above trying to make a teammate look bad. Want me to have a talk with the special teams coach or Marty?”
“They saw what he did. No sense in getting into the middle of it. She’ll have to cope with worse.” Tom studied the hands clenched between his knees.
“That shank, you were more shaken than she was about being knocked down. Anytime you want me to hold for you, just ask.”
Dean knew him better than any other man on earth. Only ten months apart in age, they didn’t remember a time when they hadn’t been adopted brothers. “Thanks. Great to have you back.”
Side by side, they waited to use the showers at the practice field until Alix emerged fresh and clean with her wet hair slicked back behind her ears and dressed in the same gown she’d worn to walk the French Quarter with Tom. Captured immediately by the press, among them more female reporters than usual, she disappeared into the demanding mob.
****
The Sinners’ general manager, Mitch Michener, emerged from his air-conditioned office and arrived in time to hand Alix onto the low platform set up for the press conference. He used all the right words: history making, big asset to the team, forward thinking management. Then, he popped a few antacids, his candy of choice, and turned the mike over to Alix soon buried in a barrage of questions.
“Were you shaken when the defense knocked you down today?”
“No, soccer players get knocked down, too. It’s not the first time for me.”
“Ever served as a holder before?”
She patiently explained about her training with her grandfather and sneaked a glance at her wristwatch. This had to end soon.
“What’s your favorite color?” chirped one of the women.
Alix started to say blue, but came up with a better answer. “Red and black, of course.”
Or maybe just red. She spotted Tom at the rear of the group, hard to miss with his blazing red hair, curly and damp, and his height. Her lips curved into a small smile. He waved. She returned the gesture without a thought. Eyes swiveled and sought him out like heat-seeking missiles. “Tommy the Toe,” a few people chanted.
“Come on up here,” Mitch said in a way Tom should consider as an order.
He complied and took the chair next to Alix. “Sorry,” she wanted to say, but feared the mic would pick it up. She let one arm dangle beneath the red-skirted table. Tom did the same. They squeezed hands while he deftly fielded lots of questions about working with a woman, and got a laugh when one reporter asked if he worried about her mood swings.
“Hey, I’m the guy with five sisters and a sister-in-law. I can handle a mood swing of any dimension. Actually, Alix has proved to be the most even-tempered football player I’ve ever met. I mean some of these guys can throw a better hissy fit than my baby sister.” He grinned at Dean and some of the other players who had stayed around for the circus. Tom squeezed her hand again and released his grip. For a moment, Alix felt alone and unprotected up on the dais, but he’d quickly deflected all the attention away from her with humor.
As the reporters moved on to privacy issues, Mitch described the specially built bathroom area in all its opulence. Tom chipped in that he’d suggested the makeup lights and reused the quip that their quarterback might want the same put in his contract to get another laugh.
Dean said good-naturedly, “I certainly do. I can never get this curl to stay off my forehead.” Dean tucked his lock of hair back into place and mugged for any cameras turned his way. He’d gotten to be a pro at more than football.
The GM offered a brief chuckle and went on to more important matters. “We will also be holding a sensitivity training session for the men.” In the back of the crowd, Beef Bolivar and Vince Barbaro groaned loud enough to be heard up front.
“Anyone not attending will be fined.” Mitch glared at his players and crunched another antacid.
“Maybe Alix needs a special class of her own on how to deal with uncouth guys,” Tom suggested, going for the joke again. Damned if Mitch didn’t pick up on it.
“Say, not a bad idea. That’s all about Alix, folks. We’ll let Coach Buck take the stand with our new running back.” With a gesture he’d never made to any other football player, the GM, sweating in his suit and tie, offered a hand to Alix to help her from the stage.
On the sidelines, PR person Action Jackson patted her on the back. “Good job. You never get flustered, do you?”
“It’s not in the nature of Swedish-Americans to fluster,” Alix replied. Except when Tom paid her a compliment. He came to her side more supportive than a sports bra, more understanding that most of her female soccer teammates. She sure hoped he wasn’t lumping her in with his sisters and that he meant the things he said about her looks. Hard to tell when he turned so many things into a joke.
Dean joined them. “Let’s get out of here fast. Either of you need a ride?”
Alix answered quickly. “No, I came with Tom.”
“Yeah, we’re saving gas by carpooling,” Tom claimed. “Besides, I’m used to big city driving, and she’s not.”
“Right, you two millionaires drove a few miles in a big, honking SUV to save gas. Maybe you just enjoy each other’s company.”
She’d kept her cool on the field and on the platform. Now she blushed. What would Dean think about the fact they hadn’t gone out for pancakes this morning as Tom suggested? She’d made him scrambled eggs with grated cheese, half and half she found in the fridge, and a pinch of fine herbs from the bottle her mother left in the cupboard. As minute sausages browned in the skillet, Tom toasted a half a loaf of whole wheat bread and slathered on the butter. He declared toast to be his only culinary accomplishment. She do
ubted that since the Billodeauxs were famous for their huge barbecues often featuring whole pigs or deep-fried turkeys. He said things that simply made her feel good like, “Love these eggs. Dean never cooked for me.”
They arrived at the parking lot, and as soon as Tom clicked the lock, Alix climbed into the passenger seat unaided like any good buddy. She didn’t want Dean to make another remark, but oh, how she wished she were petite and feminine, the kind of girl Tom might lift by the waist to help into the car. If he ever tried that, he’d probably sprain his back. Alix put down the window to let the sweltering heat escape just in time to catch the last of the brotherly conversation.
“Heads up. I had a call from Dad while you were on the platform being a celebrity. He’s arriving tomorrow to watch practice,” Dean said.
“Is the whole gang coming, too?”
“Nope, you’re in luck. Mom doesn’t want to sit in the sun all day. The triplets are on lifeguard duty for Camp Love Letter, and he says Edie and T-Rex will just get bored and whiney.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Moi?” Dean poked a finger at his own chest. “I thought I was sworn to secrecy.”
What secret? Alix pondered that while Tom circled the huge red SUV with the little devil on its tail and Dean roared off in his black Mustang GT. She shouldn’t probe if he didn’t want to share it with her. No matter. Tomorrow, she’d meet the legendary Joe Billodeaux.
Chapter Nine
Tom’s cell phone rang as he set the table for breakfast. He tucked it under his chin and poured the orange juice. Nearby, Alix flipped pancakes made from scratch on a griddle and monitored the bacon she’d put in the microwave. “Oh, hi, Dad. No, we’re—I’m not at the practice field yet. Where are you? Well, as Mom would say, watch out for the speed traps. See you soon.”
He could have, should have, told him about Alix living at his place but not when she was standing right there with a plate of steaming pancakes in her hands and a wide, happy smile on her face. “I can’t wait to meet your father. I’m sorry all the Billodeauxs aren’t coming. I mean I wasn’t listening in yesterday, just caught that part of the conversation.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.” Tom forked a huge pancake from the platter, topped it with another, buttered the mound, and drenched it with warm syrup. He cut out a triangle and ate—light and heavenly with a hint of an extra ingredient. “These are so great. What do you put into them?”
Pleased, Alix said, “Vanilla. That makes them special. Sorry, the bacon is a little overcooked. I’m not used to your microwave yet. It’s always better done in a pan, but this way is less messy and saves time. I don’t want to be late for mini-camp. When will your father arrive?”
“Three hours if he obeys the speed limits, so make that two and a half. I like extra-crispy bacon, any bacon really.” He got that smile again. He’d never met anyone happier in the early morning than Alix, certainly not Dean. She appeared to spring out of her bed and into her clothes ready for action.
A little shyly, she said while concentrating on her pancakes. “If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m a good listener. Morfar says I don’t gab as much as most women.”
“I’ve noticed. When I walk into a room where my sisters are all talking, I feel like a weasel entering a henhouse. The clucking just gets louder.”
“When I enter a room back home, my sisters are usually talking about me. At least, I think so. With me coming into the world last and several years younger, Tille felt displaced and Rika always was bossy and likely to find fault with anything I did. She’s a little better since she became a mother. You seem close to your sisters.”
“Closest to Xochi, but I get along with practically everyone. In such a large family it pays to be a diplomat, but we each have our own groups within the group. Dean and I have always been together. My twin sisters had each other from birth. Stacy and Teddy are tight and so on down the line. Xo is my favorite female sibling, same no-good birth father and our shared adventure in Mexico as kids.” Tom bit into a piece of slightly burnt bacon, which crumbled all over his robe and caught in his chest hairs. He opened his robe farther to brush the crumbs away. Alix followed the motion of his hand with her eyes, and he willed himself not to flush because when he did, it was a full body experience.
Alix stood up abruptly. “I’ll make more bacon less well done.”
“No, sit and eat. We need to get going shortly.”
Alix stuffed the remains of her pancake into her mouth and polished it off by chugging a glass of milk. “I only need to clean up the kitchen.”
So she didn’t have dainty manners, he could care less. “Just put everything in the dishwasher. Krayola will take care of the rest.”
“A good, seasoned cast iron griddle can be ruined by soap and water. I’ll wipe it down and be ready to go.”
“We own a seasoned griddle?”
“My mom left it along with several bundt pans in case I want to bake.”
“Cake is good.”
“Maybe after we finish with camp I’ll have the time.” Alix tossed greasy paper towels into the trash and stowed her precious griddle. She hurried toward her rooms leaving Tom to polish off the bacon without a clue as to what spooked her.
****
What had she claimed about Swedes not getting flustered? Not so! Watching Tom brush those crumbs from his chest had sent a surge of desire straight to her nether regions and an imaginary flash of her licking the bits from the curly orange fuzz surrounding his nipples directly to her brain. After that, sex on the dining room table. Not that she’d ever done such a thing, but she’d be willing to try with Tom.
The perfectly handsome Dean unsettled her a little, but Tom with his upturned nose and freckles was as friendly and nonthreatening as a troll doll she’d kept on her dresser as a child. If she jumped him, she’d violate his trust in letting her rent rooms from him. Every day she arose early and fretted over what to wear to breakfast. She owned no sexy nighties, only her new underwear, and slept in an oversized tee. Maybe the sundress yesterday had been too much, but were her khaki shorts, long enough on other people but kind of brief on her, and loose sky-blue polo shirt too little to be attractive? Men had it so easy, jeans and a T-shirt for casual, a suit and tie for formal. The piles of her discarded choices littered the white throw rugs in her bedroom.
If a guy wanted to ask a girl out, he did. If she asked a guy, she’d be considered aggressive or an easy lay. Yeah, yeah, women’s equality for all it was worth. Look how the lawyer had tried to make poor Stacy seem cheap when she faced her attacker on the stand. All the papers, both legit and sensational, had covered the trial. Dean had stood by her. Alix had a feeling Billodeaux men did that well. But how to let Tom know she’d like to go farther than roommate with him? Too soon, she’d have to wait.
Though still leery of the traffic, Alix offered to drive, and Tom let her. She steered her Escape through the early morning traffic out of the city to Metairie where the lanes ran four across and she had to cut off another driver to make the exit. Tom sucked in his breath but didn’t say a word about women drivers. At the training center, he walked with her to get her pads and helmet.
Already out on the field, Vince Barbaro tracked the length of Alix’s long, bare legs, up her lean torso and straight to her chest with his eyes. “Hi, Alix.” He gave her a finger wave. She waved back.
Tom leaned in. “Be careful of Vince. He’s not as sensitive toward women as I am.” Concentrating on Alix, he collided with the bulky chest of Beef Bolivar coming out of the locker room.
“Watch it, Billodeaux!”
“I don’t think I made a dent in you, Beef. Wait a second, Alix, and I’ll see if it’s all clear for you to go in there. If not, I’ll bring out your pads and helmet.”
Beef didn’t move out of the way. “You two girls get together on what to wear this morning?”
Alix hadn’t paid much attention to Tom’s attire but now noticed he’d put on khaki slacks and a n
early identical polo shirt in a darker shade of blue. Tom gave the long snapper a grin that seemed almost feral, but his words were mild enough. “We did because we’re besties. You know, you make a better door than a window.”
“Yeah, Bolivar, you’re stopping traffic. Save your blocking for the line.” Behind the man, Dean Billodeaux backed up his brother. Bolivar moved aside and away without further comment. Dean handed Alix her gear. “I put it by the door just in case you needed to be in and out quickly. Sadly, I think some of the Sinners do need Dr. Funk’s sensitivity training.”
“That was so nice of you. I’ll go change in the ladies’ room and be out on the field in a few minutes. See you there, Tom.”
As she turned back to her changing area, she noted most of the guys were working out in shorts and loose T-shirts today. No sign of reporters around, no press conferences planned. Coach Buck had announced he’d had enough of that BS and closed the camp to the media. Mostly, they’d be doing drills and running routes the schedule said, no contact anticipated. Only she had been required to cover up so completely in the relentless heat and humidity of a Louisiana June. Already sweat trickled between her shoulder blades, ran down the curve of her back, and into her shorts. The jerseys were hot and the pads uncomfortable, but she’d do what she had to do to make Morfar proud.
Minutes later, she was doing leg stretches next to Tom so much more lightly attired. “How come I have to wear the full regalia in this heat?” she asked.
“I can think of several reasons. Management doesn’t want you accidently hurt in practice, Coach thinks you should get used to the gear, and both don’t want you to be a distraction.”
“How so? Mostly we stand on the sidelines kicking into the net and eating snow cones.”
