THE LAST SHOT: by

by Matayo, Amy

  No one can take that away from me.

  * * *

  I find her walking out of the bathroom backstage. She’s looking down, drying her hands on her jeans, so she doesn’t notice my approach. I’m dripping with sweat and tired as I’ve ever been, but I’m on an adrenaline high that won’t come down anytime soon, because I did it.

  I freaking did it.

  I was scared out of my mind until mid-way through the second set, but I don’t think anyone noticed. I pushed through raging fear, kept singing, and fired that shot just like Jane told me I should. It’s all thanks to her. If she hadn’t come with me…if she hadn’t delivered that pep talk before I stepped on stage…I’d probably still be sitting in that chair with my head between my knees. I owe her everything.

  Jane.

  She still hasn’t looked up. She doesn’t need to.

  I hook her by the belt loop and pull her into me, crashing my mouth to hers like I’ve wanted to since I stepped on stage. Hell, since I first kissed her in the closet two weeks ago. At first, she’s surprised, stills for a moment as though trying to comprehend who’s kissing her in the first place. Of course, it’s me. And it’s time she knows it.

  I kiss her harder and push her backward a few steps until we’re back inside the bathroom, then use a foot to close the door behind us. The whole world keeps me under their scrutiny, but this moment is private. Prying eyes, look away. This might get a little R-rated.

  Okay, PG-13. I’m not a monster.

  I back her against the door and press into her, threading my hands through her hair, trembling at the way her fingers dance up my spine. I could get high on her touch alone, might just try it for the rest of my life.

  The rest of my life.

  It comes as a shock to my subconscious, but the thought isn’t an unwelcome one.

  I keep kissing her, thinking about the possibility. I get lost in it. So lost that it startles me when she pulls back and forces me out of my thoughts.

  “What was that for?” she asks, a smile in her voice and in her eyes.

  I keep a hand behind her neck, the other gripping her waist. I’ll answer her question, but then we’ll get back to where we were.

  “For being here. For making tonight possible. For being you.”

  Her smile grows wider and more flirtatious. “Good answer.”

  “Mind if I keep doing it for a while?” I feel myself grin. I can take no for an answer, but I really don’t want to.

  “Not at all.” Another good answer; we’re both full of them tonight.

  “Good.”

  The time for talking is over.

  I’m back to kissing Jane. Even as people start to call my name. Even as footsteps mill around outside. Even as someone knocks on the door and yells, “Teddy, I know you’re in there.”

  He’s right. I’m in a bathroom the size of a broom closet, kissing the girl of my dreams, making sure she knows exactly how I feel about her.

  There’s no place I’d rather be.

  Epilogue

  One month later

  Jane

  These people are crazy. It’s the first time I’ve been around them as a group since that night six weeks ago at the arena, and now I see what I’ve been missing. Teddy and his cousin are the wackiest of the bunch.

  “I still don’t see why you’re doing this now,” Teddy says, walking behind Liam like a lost puppy, holding onto a shirt he just removed from Liam’s suitcase. For a country mega-superstar, he sure is whiny when he isn’t happy. “Can’t it wait until next month? What if you change your mind? What if you decide you’re no longer compatible? What if you find out Dillon talks in her sleep and kicks really hard and sometimes wets the bed? What then?”

  Dillon rips the shirt out of Teddy’s hand and folds what he just unfolded. She looks so offended it’s hard not to laugh.

  “You haven’t slept in the same bed as me since you were six years old,” she says. “I only wet the bed once, but you act like I did it all the time.”

  “That’s because you woke up and pushed me into it, and then pretended I wet the bed instead of you,” Teddy protests. “I woke up with dry pants, and I was so confused. Not to mention grossed out.”

  I’m grossed out just listening to them.

  “Tell me about it,” Liam said. “I had to live on an island with her, and she wet the bed all the time then.”

  “We didn’t even have a bed, we had a beach! And we peed on palm trees, so none of that counts!”

  “Gross, Dillon,” Teddy says.

  “Gross, Dillon,” Liam says at the same time.

  Now I am laughing, especially when Chad says from the computer screen:

  “Gross Dillon. Hey, that’s my shirt. I’ve been looking for it everywhere. Liam, unpack that right now. Teddy, bring it to the wedding. And if there’s anything else that belongs to me, bring it, too.” He’s on Facetime from Springfield, using Teddy’s laptop perched on the bedroom dresser so he can join the fun. It’s a circus. They’re all mad around here.

  “You can have everything but the coffee maker,” Teddy says.

  “Can’t you buy your own coffee maker, Teddy?” A blue-haired chick asks from the background. I think her name is Riley. I’ll meet her next month and find out for sure. “You have like, a bazillion dollars.”

  “So do you, Riley. You can buy him a new one.” Teddy says. She laughs and says she will, then kisses Chad’s nose to soften his scowl. It works. I have no idea what anyone is talking about, but I’ll find out later. “Besides,” Teddy continues, “I like this one because it makes the best coffee.”

  “He’s right, it does,” Chad says.

  “He’s right, it does,” Liam says too.

  They’re crazy, and they speak Parrot.

  I wish blue hair would look good on me, but I can’t pull it off. I tried it once and looked like Smurfette. Actually, she looked better than me.

  “I’ll let you have it if you stay here until the wedding,” Teddy says to Liam.

  “It’s my coffee maker!” Chad protests.

  Teddy just waves him off.

  “First of all,” Liam says, “you’re lying. Second of all, I already rented an apartment in Brentwood. If I don’t move in now, they’ll give it to someone else.” He places a hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay without me, buddy. Use your blanket if you have nightmares.”

  Teddy flings Liam’s arm away with a growl. “Piss off, jerk. It’s just, this place is too big without roommates. I don’t even like it that much. And I don’t have a blanket…anymore.” He mumbles that last word, but we all hear it.

  “Then find another place. Or…get a roommate.” I don’t miss the way Liam’s eyes flick to me.

  “Don’t look at me,” I say. “I just rented my own place down the street, and it’s a one-bedroom. A one-bedroom for me only,” I point out when all three people in this room grow more intrigued. “We’ve only been dating a month,” I mutter when no one looks away, and it seems I’m losing the argument.

  But it’s true. I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. Scratch that. I am ready, but I now know I deserve more than part-time or dangling promises. I’m very ready for a solid commitment with Teddy, but only if it comes with a ring.

  A ring? Where did that thought come from?

  Is it hot in here?

  Is anyone else having trouble breathing?

  “Leave Jane alone,” Dillon says. “Sorry, Jane, you’ll get used to this eventually. No one escapes a family gathering without a hard time, so consider yourself an official member now. Lucky you.” At this, I laugh. There’s no denying I feel more than a little lucky. These people are definitely strange, but they’re also great. Something tells me this is what family is supposed to be.

  “Yeah, lucky you,” Liam says.

  “Yeah, lucky you,” Chad says.

  “Yeah, lucky you,” Teddy says. Except he winks.

  And I smile.

  Lucky me for sure.

  * * *


  Teddy

  “Are you going to be okay?” Jane asks, sitting down next to me on the sofa. I set my guitar aside and pull her onto my lap, loving the way she fits so perfectly with me.

  “I’ll be fine. Things are changing around here. But they aren’t all bad.” I grip her waist and melt a little when she plays with my hair. “You’re here, and you’re a million times better than those guys.” I bury my head in her neck and growl a little. “You smell good.”

  “Well, I did take a shower this morning, so at least I have that going for me.”

  “You have a lot more going for you than that.” She squeals as I pull her across me and flip her on her back, then hover over her. It’s a big sofa; I’ll make it work.

  Growing serious, she slides underneath me and looks up expectantly. If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that you should never disappoint a woman. It’s illegal in forty-seven states.

  She swallows, and I press my mouth lightly against hers. Her lashes lower, and it’s all the permission I need. My teeth catch her bottom lip, and she grips the back of my shirt. My tongue touches hers. Her lips part, taking me in. She tastes like chocolate and spearmint, a combination I’ve quickly grown to love.

  The thought no longer scares me and instead fills me with peace.

  I love Jane. I’ve told her a hundred times, at least.

  Her fingers dance across my back as mine slide upward and over, not too far, but also not far enough. The feel of her skin makes me crazy, but I know how to control myself. It’s what we’ve agreed to for now. I shudder against my own weight and pull back a fraction to look at her.

  “This okay?”

  “Yes,” she says, pulling me down for a longer kiss. This one grows more intense, and I feel myself cursing our little agreement. I can’t think about it for too long. Just as I’m thinking about testing the waters a bit, she says the oddest thing.

  “Something keeps buzzing in your pants.”

  I freeze and then realize what she means. With a sigh, I sit up and pull out my phone. My stupid, stupid phone. It’s Dillon. She left thirty minutes ago. What does she want now?

  Your outfit was waiting on my front porch when I got home. Can’t wait to see you wearing it.

  I grow numb with dread. This can’t be good.

  “Who was it?” Jane says, her legs still tangled with mine.

  “Dillon.” I roll my eyes and show her my phone. Within seconds, she’s laughing.

  “You think this is funny?”

  “Hysterical.” Her laughter grows.

  “Oh yeah? Well, how would you like to be my date for the wedding? You won’t be laughing when your date’s walking around in a dress.”

  She pushes me back on the sofa and slides next to me, one leg draped across mine. “Of course, I’ll be laughing. I’ll be laughing my butt off. And I’d be honored to come. Besides, I wouldn’t miss the sight of you in a dress. Think of all the money I’ll make when I sell the photos to the tabloids.”

  She hovers over me, mere inches from my face. I run my hands across her back and settle them on the top of her hips. “I suppose worse things could happen.”

  “Worse things already have. It’s only up from here.”

  I smile because she’s right. Worse has already happened.

  It is only up from here.

  I pull her head down and kiss her again.

  It’s the only thing on my schedule for the rest of the day.

  THE END

  Please consider leaving a review of The Last Shot on Amazon and Goodreads.

  Other books by Amy Matayo:

  The Aftermath

  The Waves

  Lies We Tell Ourselves

  Christmas at Gate 18

  The Whys Have It

  The Thirteenth Chance

  The End of the World

  A Painted Summer

  In Tune With Love

  Sway

  Love Gone Wild

  The Wedding Game

  Amy Matayo

  amymatayo.com

  Amy Matayo is an award winning author of thirteen books. Her book, The Whys Have It, was a 2018 RITA Award finalist. She graduated with barely passing grades from John Brown University with a degree in Journalism. But don’t feel sorry for her—she’s super proud of that degree and all the ways she hasn’t put it to good use.

  She laughs often, cries easily, feels deeply, and loves hard. She lives in Arkansas with her husband and four kids and is working on her next novel.

  Twitter: @amymatayo

  Instagram: @amymatayo.author

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/amymatayoauthor

  The Aftermath

  by

  Amy Matayo

  Riley Mae

  “Order up, Buttercup.”

  “Riley Mae, I wish you would stop talking like that. The customers will think they’re eating in a truck stop instead of a bakery. If you want to make franchising this place a thing, you need to act more like a professional and less like someone circling want ads in the back of the newspaper.” My grandmother, God rest her soul, is the queen of lectures. She’s also not dead. A good thing considering she is my only family, friend, and general person I can depend on for practically anything. Including regular lectures. The best news? I can give them back. I learned from the best.

  “Two things about that,” I say, slipping a potholder off my hand. “One, have you ever eaten in a truck stop before? Best food around, so don’t knock it before you try it. Two, they don’t even make newspapers anymore. Or if they do, no one reads them.” This might not be true, but I don’t have time for technicalities. “And there’s nothing wrong with circling want ads. Lest you forget, I spent my entire senior year of high school doing exactly that.”

  “It’s hard to get hired when you tell every manager in town that minimum wage is the unacceptable equivalent of child labor.”

  “That might have been a bit dramatic…”

  “A bit? People saw you coming and locked up for the day. Mr. O’Dell at the grocery store still brings up that time Ron’s Shake Shack closed before noon because you’d rattled the employees too badly.”

  “All I asked for was a tiny bit more money than he offered.”

  “You asked for thirty dollars an hour and called him a cheapskate when he said no. In front of the whole restaurant.”

  Why is my past always used against me to make a point? “He deserved it. Do you know what high-schoolers make working fast food? It’s shameful.”

  “They make what the rest of the country makes when they’re sixteen and have no resume. Minimum wage.”

  “See? Child labor.” Point for me. “Besides, I have my own business now, so I don’t need anyone else to hire me. The American Dream in the flesh, who would have thought? Order up.”

  “Living the American dream while throwing people off with that accent.” Paul, our behind-the-counter-boy with, coincidently, a great behind, grins at me as he swipes the plate off the counter and delivers it to table four. I watch him walk with a slightly guilty conscience because he’s twenty and about nine years too young for me. Not that it should matter; I’ve even caught my grandmother checking him out a time or two. But it does matter, and I’m slightly bitter about what-might-have-been if God had created me a decade past my time. It’s one of the first things I’ll ask about when I get to heaven, assuming He lets me in.

  “Stop checking out my backside, boss,” Paul calls over his shoulder, and the whole restaurant laughs, mainly because they’re all checking him out too. “Anyone else would sue you for sexual harassment. You’re lucky I’m not just anyone, and that you’re practically like my mom.”

  “You really know how to hurt a girl, don’t you?” I call. “I’m only twenty-nine, in case you forgot.”

  He props an elbow on the counter and leans close to my face, making an effort to look smoldery and hot. It isn’t that difficult. “So you’re saying you would go out with me if I asked? You know I’m a sucker for the wa
y you talk.”

  For a second I hold his stare and think about the possibility—he’s so ridiculously good looking that GQ would wilt if he ever appeared on its cover. He’s also attentive in the way college guys with one thing on their minds are attentive, except he’s nice. So, what’s the problem? Paul is my grandmother’s best friend’s grandson, if you can keep up with that, and I’ve known him since infancy. I might have even helped change his diaper a time or two. I would find him hotter if that gross memory didn’t plague me.

  So, it’s with a small sigh of longing that I pick up a clean towel and smash it in his face. Paul backs up and laughs, and I thank God once again that he agreed to work for me. Still, I have to correct something he said.

  “For your information, I barely have an accent anymore. And second, no, I wouldn’t go out with you. Besides, have you already forgotten about Amanda? Any minute now she’ll walk in, and then you’ll know why I’ve been talking about her so much.”

  Paul picks up the towel and tosses it on the counter, then reaches for another plate ready for table six. “If she’s so pretty, maybe you should go out with her.”

  I shrug. “She’s not my type. I go more for the young, male, college-age crowd. Especially the ones with dark hair and way too much confidence.”

  Paul laughs, his nearly black hair shaking with the motion, and darn it if I’m not once-again cursing the heavens at our unfortunate age difference. Nine years isn’t that unheard of, is it? Celebrities do it. Lord knows presidents do it. I sigh. Loneliness is seriously messing with my mind. If the heavens could do something like, you know, send me a sign that I won’t be alone forever, that would be great.

  Instead, He sends me a customer waving a finger in the air like he needs help. I snatch an order pad off the counter and wander over to his table.