She's a Sinner Read online

  “I’m done, too. I’ll walk you back to the locker room and keep watch in case you want to shower,” Tom offered with all the eagerness of a puppy with a new toy.

  Alix Lindstrom shook her head. “Thank you, but I changed in the ladies’ room and left my clothes there.”

  “We have a ladies’ room?”

  “Sure, for when the reporters come to watch practice or a scrimmage. Some of them got tits, you know. Surprised you haven’t noticed, Billodeaux.” Coach Buck barked out a laugh that caused his placekicker to go red in the face and curse his fair and freckled complexion.

  “I noticed. I mean I’m not like Brian. Not that there is anything wrong with Brian. He selected the flowers for my brother’s wedding.” The more Tom babbled the deeper the crimson grew on his cheeks.

  Alix helped him out a little by cutting him off. “Yes, I know that. The pictures in Bride and posted by The Knot were so gorgeous. They really did have a fairy tale wedding.”

  His fear that his perfect woman might be a lesbian vanished. He doubted they pored over wedding magazines, but with same-sex marriage becoming prevalent, maybe they did. What did he know about it?

  “I was in that wedding.” Could he have been any smoother? Why didn’t he just say, “Did you see me, huh, huh?”

  “I noticed. You were the only redhead in the bridal party.”

  “Among the twelve kids in our family, I always stick out like a thumb hit by a hammer.

  “I know.”

  Whether Alix knew how many children were in the Billodeaux family or was agreeing that he resembled a sore thumb, he couldn’t tell. How to make his next move and not sound like a complete idiot? Coach Buck took care of that for him.

  “You two get out of here. You’re blocking my view of the field. Pick up your feet if you want a place on my team, you lazy bums!” he shouted to all the rookies and walk-ons in general. Action out on the grass became frenetic. “Take Lindstrom out to dinner, Tom. Show her the town. Talk up the team before she signs with someone else.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that. Morfar…”

  Tom shook his head. “Show me the way to the ladies’ room. I’ll wait outside while you change. We can get that dinner someplace nice downtown.” He grasped her elbow and escorted Alix away from the training field and all the ogling guys on it. She took the lead in showing the way to the ladies’ room. Alix didn’t linger primping, but appeared only minutes later with her makeup-free face washed and shining and her body clothed in an oversized and much worn Sinners jersey bearing a number one that nearly covered her shorts. The laces of her kicking shoes hung out of the side of a gym bag, that footwear having been replaced by a pair of flip-flops.

  “Sorry, no shower in there. I have to get back to my room and do a better job of cleaning up if we’re going out somewhere. I left my pads in the ladies’ room. Is that okay?”

  Tom suppressed a wince at the mention of pads in a ladies’ room. The guys could craft some pretty crude jokes out of that. “Bring them out for me, and I’ll see they get back. Where are you staying? I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

  “I’m at the La Quinta on Veteran’s Boulevard. Could we make that two hours and meet in the lobby? I really have to take a bath and wash my hair. I smell awful.” She glanced at her pink-painted toenails.

  Tom wrinkled his pug nose and took a deep sniff. “Nope, you smell better than any guy on that field even without the shower.” He coaxed a smile out of her as wide as one of Julia Roberts. “But sure. Get the pads. I’ll meet you there.”

  Alix delivered the bundle of equipment into his arms and set out for the parking lot with a wave. Tom trudged back to the locker room burdened with her gear. As he passed the field some card, probably Barton “Beef” Bolivar from special teams who was working with the rookies as center now that he had finished snapping, chanted, “Tommy’s got a girlfriend, Tommy’s got a girlfriend. He’s carrying her pads.”

  The heat of a blush crept up the back of his neck, but he turned and answered. “Tommy’s got a date and you don’t, loser.” Satisfied, he moved along. He’d carry Alix Lindstrom’s pads any day. Heck, he’d even go into a drugstore and buy her some.

  ****

  Tom Billodeaux took extra care with his appearance. He realized he had a penchant for loud clothes that went with his trickster personality, but for the sake of Alix Lindstrom toned it down all he could tonight. Straightening his silk tie of silver and black stripes in the mirror, he doubled checked his pale gray summer suit with the black square in the pocket matching his shirt and hoped he didn’t look too mafia. He’d shaved close and done the walk through a mist of masculine cologne as Uncle Brian had taught all the boys in the Billodeaux family. “Do not overwhelm, a typical adolescent mistake,” Lightfoot coached. Nothing Tom could do about his flaming red hair and freckles unless he went girly and used dye or makeup, but that would be going too far. At least, he’d had a recent haircut and subdued his wild curls.

  Which car to take? The old truck shared with his brother Dean as a teen, the big SUV, or Dean’s dream car, the black Mustang convertible, left in his care while the newlyweds took that long delayed trip to Germany. Not the truck, and much as he wanted to, not the Mustang. Driving that would bring up Dean, and he’d have to confess he didn’t own it. He could only be thankful his alluring quarterback of a brother was out of the country. If Alix fell all over Dean like most women, Tom wouldn’t have a chance with her. You’d think marriage might end all that, but women still came on to Dean—but not when his wife, Stacy, stood anywhere in the vicinity. She could ice all of New Orleans in August with a glance.

  He grabbed the keys to the red SUV with the little Sinners devil on its rear and headed for the interstate, taking the exit for Veteran’s Boulevard. Definitely overdressed for the budget motel lobby, he sat near the cereal dispensers for the free breakfast and waited for his dream woman to appear. Alix Lindstrom came through the door precisely on time, not making a man wait. Tom liked that.

  He also liked what he saw. Her pale straight hair gleamed and rested on shoulders that might be a little broad for a woman but would seem frail compared to those in the Sinners’ locker room. She’d darkened her light brows and lashes and outlined those big, blue eyes, making them even more striking. Her lipstick was a bold ripe peach color. She wore a sundress that tied around the neck. Its tangerine and blue swirled skirt ended just above the knees, and that still left plenty of her bare legs showing. Because her feet were encased in plain white flats, Tom figured Alix might be a trifle self-conscious about her height, but he still had a couple of inches on her. Not gorgeous like Stacy or model-perfect like Ilsa, the woman who had dumped him for Dean, Alix Lindstrom suited him just fine.

  Alix greeted Tom with that wide smile, then a slight frown as she took in his attire. “Are we going somewhere formal? Friends told me Louisiana would be pretty warm this time of year, and I didn’t bring much besides shorts and tees and this dress. I thought it would be okay for walking on Bourbon Street if we end up there.”

  “You look okay for anywhere, and we are dining on Bourbon Street at Galatoire’s, one of the grand old New Orleans restaurants. They used to require coats and ties but have gotten it down to jackets now. Still, it is a dressy place, but you’re fine. We have reservations. Shall we go?” He offered his arm, and she latched onto it lightly. Tom figured he was the envy of a group of German tourists raiding the fruit bowl on the counter. At the SUV, she didn’t need any help getting in, but he gave her a hand anyhow. Manly Manners 101 as taught by his short Mama Nell who really couldn’t get into an SUV or large truck without help.

  He maneuvered the interstate again, got off on Poydras to point out the Dome where the Sinners played, and parked in the garage across from his condo. “Parking is hard to find here, but it’s only a few blocks.”

  They braved broad Canal Street with its four lanes and streetcar tracks and penetrated a couple of blocks down Bourbon Street where they were seated immediately at a prime
table by the window, supposedly the same spot Tennessee Williams used to dine. Tom had requested it; Sinners in the window, especially any named Billodeaux, were always good for business—not that Galatoire’s wasn’t always packed and noisy. The tuxedoed waiter appeared immediately with menus.

  As they perused their choices, Tom mentioned their historic table. Alix replied, “A Streetcar Named Desire, right?”

  “Yes, desire.” He should have kept the heat out of his voice and lowered his eyes faster because he made her blush again. Alix hid her blue eyes behind the large menu. Tom rushed to a neutral subject. “We should have appetizers. Let’s see, they have sweetbreads and escargot, that’s brains and snails. The Oysters Rockefeller is really good.”

  Alix surprised Tom by wrinkling a nose so straight he was amazed it could scrunch up like that. “No thanks on those.”

  “Then, have the Galatoire’s Goute. That’s shrimp and lump crabmeat in sauces. I’ll get the Oysters Rockefeller, and you can try one.” Tom ordered a bottle of champagne as well, and it arrived icy cold at the table where the sommelier made a ceremony of opening the bottle and not spilling a drop. They decided on entrees of blackened redfish for him and pompano topped with crab, artichoke hearts, and mushrooms for her.

  “Do you treat all the walk-ons this way?” she asked.

  “Only the best punters. Coach told me to take you out, and believe me, you never disobey Marty Buck.” Tom picked up the small loaf of French bread and twisted it in half scattering bits of crust across the table.

  Alix dug into her portion. “So good.”

  She ate like an athlete with gusto, not a girl who always watched her diet, and he found that appealing, too.

  As she devoured her shrimp and crab dish, she said between bites, “We don’t have seafood like this in Wisconsin.”

  “Few places do. If you sign with the Sinners, you can eat it every night.”

  “What do you mean if? Who else would take me? I know Morfar called Coach Buck to get me a tryout.” Tom offered her an oyster on the end of his cocktail fork, and she tried it without hesitation, cupping her hand under it to prevent the green sauce from falling on her dress. “Delicious, but I don’t think I want to try them raw.”

  “You will if you stay here. Coach really wants you on the team, and he has lots of pull. One thing you need to be careful of though. The guys upstairs are going to try to lowball you on the salary. They’ll start around $250,000.”

  Her blue eyes widened. “That much?”

  “For a punter like you that’s an insult. Do you have an agent?”

  “No, but Morfar probably knows some.”

  “Use mine. He manages Dean, too. He can get you a million, maybe more.” Tom fished out the card he’d placed his pocket before leaving the condo. “I’ll put in a word for you.”

  “Thanks. You really think I’m that good?” Alix deposited the card in a purse so small Tom wondered why women bothered to carry them. She had that in common with all girls.

  “You are so good I’m almost jealous, but we’ll work together and be together a lot.”

  She flushed a little. “I’ll like that, but I’ve only had a year of practice. You see, I wanted to be on the next Olympic women’s soccer team and didn’t make the cut. I had Mia Hamm’s picture on my wall since childhood. You know the one of her stripping off her jersey at the 2004 Olympics.”

  “Me, too, but probably not for the same reason,” Tom said. “Awesome black sports bra.”

  “Yes, that’s the color I always wear as a tribute to her.”

  How he’d like to see her in that bra, any bra. She wasn’t big busted, but seemed just right for her height and athleticism. Big boobs only got in the way in most sports. Tom kept that thought to himself as well.

  “I hoped to get the chance do the same gesture, but that won’t happen now. My main strength in soccer was in long, high kicks down field, but I’m not so great at scoring,” she admitted as the waiter removed her empty plate. “I was in the dumps so badly at failing to make the team that Morfar put me in his training camp for kickers for an entire year. He only takes three students at a time at $3000 a head, so it cost him to instruct me in punting. He said the Sinners already had a great kicker, but he’d gotten wind of Brian Lightfoot’s retirement. He thought I’d be safer, too.”

  “As a punter you won’t have to worry about scoring, and you’ll be making history as the first female NFL player.” Tom didn’t add he hoped to score and make his own kind of history with Alix Lindstrom. Dinner arrived within minutes, taking his mind off the randy thoughts.

  Alix’s pompano stared up with a dull dead eye through its coating of sauce and crab meat. Its crispy tail overhung the plate. “Do you want me to ask the waiter to take off the head and the tail?” Tom asked.

  “Oh, no. I go fishing with my dad all the time, even out on the ice in winter. Trout is best served like this. The bones add flavor.”

  For the first time, he caught a whiff of a Wisconsin or maybe Swedish accent in the way she drew out that oh-no, but Alix proved not to be a squeamish babe. “You like fishing?”

  “Sure.”

  “My father isn’t too into it, but Connor Riley used to take us out in the Gulf on his boat.”

  “Imagine going saltwater fishing with two football greats. I’ve never been on the ocean before, the Great Lakes, yes, but not an ocean.”

  “It’s a big boat. Those lakes, they are pretty great, huh?” After making a remark as idiotic as that Tom concentrated on his blackened redfish.

  “Yes, we could trade fishing trips.”

  Good, she didn’t seem to mind his inane conversation. “Here, try some of my redfish.” He forked over a small portion.

  “Oh, spicy!” Alix fanned her lips and took a large swallow of champagne. She wrinkled her nose again as the bubbles tickled, and she laughed. “Food up north is sort of bland.”

  “If you stay here, you’ll get used to the flavors and come to love it red hot.” Like me, he implied.

  She took no notice that he could see, but said, “I’m sure I will.”

  They worked through most of their fish and shared sides of cauliflower au gratin and potato soufflé, but needed boxes for leftovers. Still, Tom insisted they share a portion of bread pudding.

  “Doesn’t sound all that great,” Alix said. “And I’m very full.”

  “Once you’ve had it with praline sauce and vanilla ice cream, you won’t ever forget it.”

  They managed to devour a portion between them. “I really need to walk that off,” Alix claimed. “Can we stroll down Bourbon Street now?”

  “Oh, we don’t stroll here. We strut! But first, let’s take the leftovers to my place so they won’t spoil. My condo is just across from the parking garage.”

  “Yes, it would be a shame to waste food like that.”

  They made the trek back across Canal as night set in, and people came out to enjoy the lessening heat of the day. Alix seemed impressed by his apartment and its location so near the French Quarter.

  “Yeah, it’s fairly big for one person. Dean and I shared it before he got married. Now it’s all mine. I’ve been thinking of taking on a roommate. That person would have their own wing with two bedrooms. Dean turned his second bedroom into a game room, but that spare room would make a nice office or sitting room for someone. They’d have plenty of privacy with this big living room and the kitchen between us. Wall-mounted big screen TV, gas fireplace beneath. We don’t really need a fireplace down here, but it adds ambience.” Realizing he sounded like a realtor, he shut his mouth.

  “Oh, we need them in Wisconsin in case the snowstorms take out the electrical wires. I love a nice fire in the evening.”

  “Top-notch appliances, too,” Tom babbled as he put their takeout boxes in the fridge on top of several others. “You want coffee? I have this pod machine thing.”

  “No, thanks, but I’d love to cook in here. I bet you think a girl jock can’t get a meal on the table.”


  Tom really didn’t care if she could or not. He wanted to do all his cooking in the bedroom, so very nearby. “I’d eat anything you cared to make.”

  “Really, I’m a very good cook. Mom insisted. She said even the boy in the family needed to know how to make Swedish meatballs.”

  “Boy?” Could she be transgender? They weren’t that uncommon in New Orleans, but Wisconsin?

  Alix cuffed him lightly on the arm. “It’s a family joke. Poor Morfar had only one child, a daughter, my mother Britta. She married Nels Lindstrom and gave birth to three more girls. When she was pregnant with me, she told both men this was the last and it better be a boy. I came into the world at a strapping nine pounds and looked so much like my grandfather it became a standing joke. So, I went hunting and fishing. I played soccer, basketball, and Little League baseball on a boys’ team. I wore flannel and sports uniforms while my more petite, girly sisters dressed in ruffles and lace and took piano lessons. I guess I’m not very feminine because of that.”

  “Alix Lindstrom, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you.” Tom wanted so badly to cup her face with his hands and swoop in for a kiss. Heck, their heights matched so well, he’d hardly have to bend his head.

  “I appreciate that, but I must tell you I went to my prom with the girls’ soccer team, not a date.”

  “Those high school guys didn’t know what they were missing.”

  A pretty ordinary compliment, but she studied her flat-heeled shoes, blushed, and he loved it. After he’d been taken in and discarded by the sophisticated and conniving Ilsa, his sister’s roommate, Alix seemed as fresh and pure as the land of sky blue waters. No, that was Minnesota. What did they call Wisconsin? The Cheese State? Oh yeah, the Badger State. Neither was too flattering.

  “College was better,” she said.

  “For all of us. Believe me high school girls weren’t keen on red hair and freckles. Where did you go?”

  “University of Wisconsin-Madison. I had a soccer scholarship and played some other sports for them.”