There are so many options in the Quarter. My insides are tense, and I do want to release this pressure.
“Let’s do it.”
I dash into my bedroom and quickly toss my leggings and Saints tee onto the bed in exchange for a fun, flouncy red dress with eyelet cutouts.
My roommate seems to have the same idea in mind. When we meet up in the den, she’s wearing a black and gold sequined top and shorts.
“Okay, Saintsation,” I tease.
“I don’t care if we lost,” she argues. “I’m still representing.”
We high-five and head out to the streetcar that’s going downtown. “Let’s do this!”
* * *
“What are you having?”I call to Lindsey as the live band charges into “Play That Funky Music.”
We’re at one of the five Tropical Isle bars on Bourbon Street, and I’m having a traditional hand grenade. I know from experience, one of these is all you need to forget your troubles… Or worrisome football players who are infuriatingly handsome and undisciplined.
I lay my credit card on the shiny wood, and my friend points to a neon green alligator cup.
“Horny Gator!” she shouts over the music. “Guaranteed to make you a better lover!”
The bartender mixes up our drinks, and we start dancing. The dress I’m wearing has thin spaghetti straps, and my golden-brown hair swishes around my shoulders. Lindsey’s crazy curls are up on her head, and I can feel a set of eyes watching us.
I’m not interested in hooking up with anybody tonight, but it’s nice to be noticed.
My friend leaves me to collect her drink, and I sway side to side, sipping my long-necked beverage as the band slides into a New Orleans standard.
“Come here often?” a tall guy in a black polo with a gold fleur de lis on the chest asks.
“Not really,” I reply, subtracting a few points for lack of creativity.
A cute grin breaks across his face, and he leans closer. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”
“Oh, no!” I groan, holding up a hand. “You were doing so well.”
“Was I?” He squints, and I confess, his personality is cute.
I shake my head, taking another pull from my straw as Lindsey dances up to where I’m standing.
She takes a big drink, shoving her hand into the crook of my arm. “I’m feeling hornaaay!”
My eyes widen, and I almost snort hand grenade through my nose. Waving my hand, I do a quick introduction.
“Meet my best friend and producer, Lindsey.”
“Producer?” The guy asks. “Are you on TV?”
“Mm…” I swallow my sip. “Podcaster.”
“No shit! Which one? I’ll give you a listen.”
Narrowing my eyes, I consider revealing my identity. This guy’s shirt is clearly official Saints gear, but that doesn’t mean he has any affiliation with the team. Every other person in this bar is wearing Saints gear, even if they’re all bitter about tonight’s loss.
“Girl’s Got Game,” Lindsey answers before I can. “You’re talking to the Quarterback Princess herself.”
Clearly that Horny Gator is kicking in, and I think our first order of business on Monday should be a discussion of how much I want the public to know about who I really am.
