The NOLA Heart Novels (Complete Series)

by Maria Luis

  Here’s a little fun fact for you . . . if you scroll back to the early days of this channel, like ten years ago, you may have noticed something. I stuttered. A lot. Don’t worry, I’ll just wait here in case you’re hoping to go stalk me down.

  Oh, you’re back? Great.

  Either you couldn’t make it through a single video (I don’t blame you), or you’re ready for me to keep going with this super odd update. (I expect it to trend, don’t let me down).

  Anyway, there was a definite stutter. In fact, I stuttered quite frequently growing up. I suppose it came as a result of certain things in my upbringing. We won’t get into that here. In any case, it wasn’t until I started creating and uploading videos that the stutter quieted and I could enjoy myself.

  You did that, doll.

  Playing with makeup, however silly it might seem, did that.

  For so many years, this channel was my happy place. It gave me confidence when I had none. It straightened my posture when I slouched and hid in the shadows. It reminded me that we can all be beautiful, no matter the shape of our noses, the height of our cheekbones, the strength of our jawlines.

  And if you don’t like it, you can always contour the hell out of it and be the YOU that you want to be.

  (It should be noted that my writing is atrocious, and there are underlines all over this paper. Sorry for any random stumbling over of sentences.)

  Sometime in the last few years, I lost love sight of all that. I wanted something new, to be something more than just the chick applying makeup. So, naturally, I created a new online identity as if that would solve all my problems! (bahaha, don’t do this. Trust me). To this date, Naked You, my photography business, has half as many followers as ThatMakeupGirl, even if a woman in Boston had the credit for a little while. Spoiler alert! It was me all along.

  It’s been great traipsing (I love this word) around Lousiana Lousianna Louisiana and having new types of adventures.

  Only . . . do you remember that challenge I started without meaning to? The #badboyirredemption one, which is still trending and I honestly don’t understand why? Well, I fell for the bad boy, just like I warned you all not to. Interesting tidbit: he’s not all that much of a bad boy. He’s actually quite noble.

  Too noble.

  I love him anyway.

  I let him charm his way into my life, even though I knew I shouldn’t let down my guard. I let him become my happy place, my rock, my best friend. If I needed a laugh, I called him. If I wanted to go on an adventure, he was the first person I looked to. If I wanted to feel special, wanted, loved, all I had to do was sit in the same room as him and he showed me all of that.

  It wasn’t a lie.

  None of it was.

  And when he broke my heart, I made a startling discovery. I didn’t want my friends, I didn’t particularly want my family either. I love them and all, but what I truly needed was you, doll.

  Sometimes, when we as beauty influencers sit in front of our cameras and film, we think of the viewer. What do you want to see? What can I say to hold your interest? Sometimes, however, YouTube is my personal diary, the timeline of my growth as a woman finding her way, the space in which I retreat when nothing else provides comfort or solace.

  I’m reading this to you today because I have a few things to say (obviously), and I hope that one day, I’ll look back on this video and think, “Oh yeah, that was the day I grew into the next best version of myself.”

  We’re numbering this because I feel like it.

  I didn’t fall for the bad boy. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t be here now. (There is a pile of crumpled up tissues scattered over my desk, and I’m drinking wine at eleven a.m. Don’t worry, this is good progress). No, I fell for the man who tempted me to do wild things, who made me smile and who taught me to never fear the fall, no matter how gross or disgusting the landing. I fell for the man who met me out at a club because I asked him to, and even when I threw up all over him, he made me laugh and pushed me to do more for myself. Which leads me to . . .

  Sometimes you can’t make other people do what you want. You can’t own their shit, you can only own your own. You can choose to be happy or you can decide you want to be miserable. From this day forward, I’m going with the former. Happy is not only better for the skin, it’s also better for my heart and soul. Win-win.

  I’ve missed my makeup. They’ve sat lonely and quiet for the last few weeks, and there is a decent chance I spent my morning in my three-day old pajamas, swirling foundation all over my skin and pretending I looked fabulous. (Confession: I did)

  Thank you for being you, doll. Thank you for listening to me read this letter out loud, and for forgiving me because my stutter is back in full force after nearly ten years of absence. It’s the reason I wrote it all down, you see. I have to accept all that I am, and I encourage you to do so, too.

  Never believe you’re not worthy of something or someone.

  You are.

  You’re better.

  Change only because you want to, and not because someone holds that expectation of you.

  Laugh loudly every day.

  And take the risk on love. The heartbreak may come, but you may still learn something along the way.

  I’m signing off as someone else today. Not as ThatMakeupGirl, but as Lizzie, plain old Lizzie from New Orleans, Louisiana, who spent her later teenage years on the Wank, otherwise known as the Best Bank there ever was.

  See you soon, doll. I’ve got more tutorials to tackle, and I swear to God I tried this facial primer the other day and it was like an orgasm and a unicorn came together to birth something magical. Stay tuned.

  Love,

  Lizzie

  30

  “You’re an asshole, Harvey.”

  Nathan Danvers.

  Shit.

  Gage finished spritzing the leather chair with an antibacterial mist, swiped a white towel over the seat so it’d be ready for the next client, and then glanced up.

  Only to meet the beady black eyes of Rocky, Danvers’ K-9 partner.

  The dog’s bottom lip quivered, revealing white teeth that may or may not have made Gage’s balls disappear into his body. Once, when he’d done some surveillance work, the old K-9 officer had mistaken Gage for a criminal and had sent his Malinois over for a little “meet and greet.”

  In other words, the dog’s teeth had both met and greeted Gage’s right forearm.

  He didn’t fear dogs explicitly, but he’d be damned if he ended up with anymore stitches.

  Tucking the spray bottle behind his back, so that the dog didn’t think he was about to get spritzed in the face, Gage glanced up at Lizzie’s brother. “Really? You had to bring the dog?”

  “Seemed like a good idea for intimidation purposes.”

  Yeah, because Nathan Danvers didn’t do a solid job of it on his own. The man was taller than even Gage, and at six-two, it wasn’t often he had to crane his head up to look someone in the eye.

  “I could cite tattoo parlor policies.”

  Danvers gave a short whistle, and the dog jumped off the tattoo table and retreated back to his owner’s side. “You could,” he drawled smugly, “but your brother was the one to let us in.”

  How wonderful.

  “Owen likes to pull pranks,” Gage said.

  “No, I just like to see you happy.”

  His eyes snapped to the right, where his twin emerged from the back room. He ambled toward them, expression somber, eyes rimmed with tired shadows.

  Jesus. “What, is this a circle jerk or something? If so, thanks but no thanks.” Gage didn’t miss the way his brother rolled his eyes, nor the little head dip he gave Danvers. “In all seriousness, an intervention isn’t necessary. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got shit to take care of before the next—”

  “Sit,” Danvers snapped, followed by a very close-up, very loud, ruff! from Rocky.

  Gage’s ass hit the chair he’d just cleaned down.

  “I feel like this might be a
little dramatic? We could do this without the intimidation tactics.”

  “Nope, Rocky likes taking part in the festivities. Don’t you, boy?”

  Ruff! Ruff!

  There was a good chance Gage would be leaving today without an appendage—if he was lucky, it’d be his left arm since he was a righty. If he continued to be plagued with all the bad luck in the world, it’d be his genie lamp.

  Did you really just think that? Say it with me now like a man . . . C-O-C-K.

  Not for the first time in the last two weeks, he thought of Lizzie. He’d hated seeing her tears. Despised the way that, just before she’d slammed the door in his face, her beautiful blue eyes had glittered with disappointment.

  In him.

  He could handle the anger—hell, he’d pushed her to that, purposely acting like as ass with the hope that she’d walk out without a hint of regret. Better that she leave furious now, he’d decided, than for him to take everything she offered and later leave her with nothing.

  One day she’d thank him.

  A breath shuddered across his lips, and Gage steeled himself against the pain and the doubt.

  The pain of not having her beside him.

  The pain of not hearing her voice.

  The creeping doubt that he’d damned himself to a life of misery.

  In a hollow voice he hardly recognized, he said, “Are we going to get this over with?”

  Ruff!

  Gage’s dick twitched in apprehension.

  “Harvey, I’m going to do you a huge favor here.” Danvers issued a quiet command and Rocky dropped to his haunches. He undid the dog’s collar, and the Malinois shook himself free.

  Aimed for Gage.

  Pounced.

  And licked the hell out of his face.

  Gage came up for air with handfuls of fur. “Danvers, seriously, you’re fucking insane. You don’t just—”

  The rest of his sentence was swallowed up by dog tongue, and Gage’s stomach twisted in disgust.

  “He’s off duty now,” Danvers said, swatting the leather leash and collar combo against his leg. “Collar on, and my boy is as vicious as they come. He did his job by making you piss yourself in fear.”

  “I didn’t piss my—”

  More tongue. Doggy breath.

  It would probably be the most action Gage ever saw again because the thought of being with any woman but Lizzie left him feeling nauseous and uneasy.

  “Just so you’re aware, the only reason I’m not fucking you up right now is because I’ve been in your position.”

  “You’ve made out with a dog?” Owen said dryly, posted up against the wall with his arms crossed over his plaid shirt. “Shit gets weirder and weirder in the NOPD every year.”

  “Nah, I reserve kissing for my wife.” Danvers dropped his bulk onto the tattoo table, snapped his fingers, and relieved Gage from suffocation by K-9. “I meant that I’ve been where you are, Harvey. Shoving away the woman I love because I’ve got all these ideas in my head that it won’t last, that I’m not good enough. We’ve all been there.”

  Owen raised a hand. “I haven’t been there.”

  “You will,” Danvers vowed, “and when you do, you’re going to realize that you’re a dumbass for letting the woman of your dreams walk away. Or, if you’re like me and frequently say stupid shit, for pushing her away.”

  Thinking that he wasn’t an idiot had never been Gage’s problem. That, he knew. But it still didn’t change one fact . . . “You know the world we live in, Danvers. You know it, you live it every day. Do you really want your sister with a guy like me? Someone who thrives off the rush of a drug bust? Someone who, if we’re honest here, has already been shot once? If I had a sister, I wouldn’t want her dating me. Hell, look at Owen.”

  Gage’s twin straightened from the wall. “What do you mean, ‘look at Owen’? Don’t bring me into this.”

  “Don’t bring you into this?” Gage’s hands moved to his knees to stand, but one sharp look from Rocky had him sitting back down again. “You don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve spent years trying to get me away from the NOPD? You don’t think I haven’t noticed the bonuses you give with each week’s check? You’re as subtle as a bull, Owen.”

  Eyes as black as his own snapped with annoyance. “Am I not allowed to worry about you?” Owen demanded, stepping in close. “You’re the only family I have left. Sue me for wanting you out of a job that can land you in a goddamn casket just like our parents.”

  Silence creaked in the parlor, the only sound Rocky’s happy panting.

  And then, roughly, “Do you know that I pick up every number with a 504-area code? All times of the day and night, Gage. I never stop thinking it’s going to be you they’re calling to tell me about. Injured. Dead. Fuck.”

  Owen twisted away, dragging his hands through his messy hair, and Gage . . .

  Heart beating a mile a minute, Gage struggled to piece together his fractured thoughts. He’d always known that Owen worried about him, but he’d never quite realized quite how much.

  Ignoring Rocky’s growl when he stood, Gage wrapped a hand around his brother’s neck, pulling him close so their foreheads touched—just like when they’d been kids believing that it had the ability to unleash their super awesome twin powers.

  “I’m good, brother,” he said, staring into identical black-hued eyes, “I might be younger than you, but you don’t have to live terrified that I’m going to get hurt. We’re good, you hear me?”

  “Then why is it different for my sister?”

  Gage’s head jerked toward Danvers. “What?”

  Dark brows lowered as the dude’s creepy gray eyes watched him. “I said, why is it different for Lizzie? Let’s be honest, Owen has to put up with your ass. Lizzie does not, which if we listen to reason—that’s me, by the way—then Lizzie doesn’t have to stick around. So, if we go with that, then that means she cares more about you than Owen does. He’s blood, she’s not.” He looked to Owen. “No offense, man.”

  Owen held up his hands. “None taken.”

  Gage’s head felt ready to burst. “That is straight up the most convoluted, shittiest reasoning I’ve ever heard.”

  “This is coming to you free of charge, Harvey. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

  The hand that fed him? “Do you hear yourself?”

  Danvers folded his hands behind his head, clasping his neck. “My wife says that to me at least four times per week.”

  Gage clenched his hands to keep from throwing them up in the air.

  “You might not know this, Harvey, but my wife works for Crime Lab—or rather she did until a few weeks ago. We’re about to have a baby girl named Elizabeth, officially. Anyway, she worked Crime Lab and I worked in homicide. Her dad was the police chief of Miami until he retired last year.” As if sensing his owner needed him, Rocky dropped his chin to Danvers’ thigh. In a low voice, Lizzie’s brother said, “You don’t think my wife worried about me every day? You don’t think I didn’t freak out when I’d call and she wouldn’t pick up? Hell, she nearly died—” He broke off, eyes slamming shut. “I worry every goddamn day, and you know what? I wouldn’t trade my life with her for anything else. She’s my best friend, my lover, the mother of our future baby girl. I would lay down my life for that woman, even if I knew something might cut my life short. Because any years with her are better than none.”

  It was suddenly hard to breathe. Gage opened his mouth, seeking air, life, and yet he could only hear Danvers’ words: any years with her are better than none.

  “Do you feel that way about my sister?”

  Yes.

  The word reverberated in his chest, pounding at his ribs as though demanding freedom, demanding exit.

  It wasn’t until he heard Danvers say, “damn right you do,” that Gage realized he’d spoken at all.

  “I don’t want to let her down,” he rasped, “that’s my biggest fear. That I’ll drop the ball and she’ll wake up one day and realize
that she’s lived a life she’s hated. That would . . . that would kill me.”

  “Easy, then don’t let her down.”

  Easy. I choose to be happy.

  A rough laugh broke free from his chest. Maybe he needed to take his girl’s advice—finally.

  “What do I do?”

  “Well, you’re in luck, Harvey, because you just so happen to know a guy who’s pulled off some epic couple reunions in the last few years.”

  Gage dropped his eyes to the dog. “You talkin’ about Rocky?”

  Danvers rolled his eyes. “Me, asshole. You have me.”

  God help them all.

  31

  Lizzie knew she was exhausted when staring at images of hot guys just didn’t cut it for her anymore.

  Leaning back in her desk chair, she stared at the photos she’d planned to edit earlier in the week for New Orleans’s new version of the Chippendales. Ripped abs. Muscled thighs. Shaved chests.

  Yawn.

  The photoshoot had been equally as boring. Nothing against the guys, of course. They’d all been pleasant and respectful, but none of them were him, Gage Harvey.

  “Stop thinking about him, Liz,” she whispered to herself, even as her traitorous fingers clicked the mouse over her photo catalogue and brought up the set from the NOPD cop calendar.

  She flicked through photos of Timms, Luke O’Connor, Cardeaux. Felt her heart flutter when she finally reached the batch with Gage.

  Dark eyes.

  Dark hair.

  Sexy, inked body.

  Yum.

  It wasn’t healthy to constantly think about him, but Lizzie never claimed to be a health nut who refused coffee, donuts, and cheese. Nope, she was the girl who enjoyed every last dessert, and Gage was the most satisfying—when he wasn’t being an idiot.

  With a little sigh, she clicked out of the catalogue and pulled up her calendar. In the last few weeks, her schedule had skyrocketed. Between setting aside time for new photoshoots, and also uploading videos regularly to YouTube, her energy level was at an all-time low—and yet she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

  Her read-aloud letter had taken YouTube by storm, and within days Lizzie had found her face plastered on the local newspapers as well as on national ones online. Everyone wanted to voice their own take on the encouraging words she’d given young girls and boys everywhere.