by Kate, Jiffy
I went from craving commitment and a future, to having everything I dreamed of and more.
Now, looking back, I’m so glad Trevor didn’t give into my pressure for more. Regardless of his reasons or intentions, I know now it was for good reason. I hope one day a woman sweeps him off his feet and he realizes what he felt for me was never love, not the real kind...the kind that erases every memory of anyone who came before.
It’s a beginning, middle, and end kind of love.
The kind I feel for the man sitting next to me—my first and my last and everything in between.
Epilogue
Georgette
“Come on!” Casey yells, standing in frustration as a call on the field doesn’t go the way she wants. I love her passion for the game and for the man at-bat.
I glance over to see Lola watching intently, not as vocal as her sister, but just as invested, if not more. It’s all in the way she watches the field and her body tenses when Bo swings at the pitches. If she could physically help him knock it out of the park, she would.
“Come on, baby,” she mutters, her knee bouncing.
When the ump calls another strike, Casey is on her feet again, yelling so fast I can’t keep up with what she’s saying. One thing I do notice is she doesn’t ever use profanity. Where Lola is letting a few fucks fly under her breath, Casey is more creative in her verbal barrage.
The game is exciting, though.
Before we started being regulars in Bo Bennett’s—or should I say Lola Carradine’s—box I hadn’t ever been to a professional sporting event.
“That was obviously a ball,” Finn yells, taking off his ball cap and waving it at the field to emphasize his frustration.
“He fits right in with Casey,” Lola says, taking a sip of her drink while Bo walks away from the plate for a second. The count is full, so the pressure is on.
I’m definitely getting better with my baseball knowledge and I appreciate the science of the game. Even though I’m more of a free-thinker, the rules of the sport are fun to learn.
I know one thing for sure, to see someone as well-known and bigger-than-life as Lola Carradine fully-invested in a baseball game—wearing cutoff shorts and a bedazzled Bennett jersey—it’s a sight to behold. Her dark hair is hidden under a purple baseball cap and she’s not wearing much makeup, so far from the rock goddess she’s known to be, but she’s still beautiful, maybe even more so than when she graces the pages of a glossy magazine.
Although, she’s definitely pulled back from the spotlight since she and Bo started dating.
Dating doesn’t even seem like the right word for what they are.
A month or so ago, right after the season started, Bo had a night off and they invited Finley and I over for dinner. I was nervous, at first. But the second we walked in and saw the two of them, along with Lola’s sister, Casey, and the Revelers starting pitcher, Ross Davies, goofing around in the kitchen, I felt completely at ease.
It was like one of those articles you see on TMZ, where they show pictures of famous people grocery shopping and pumping gas, showing the world that they’re just like everyone else.
And then we all sat down to a meal together and conversation flowed about anything and everything. That’s when I really felt like they truly were like anybody else and I understood how Finley became such good friends with them.
Now, I consider them friends too.
Lost in my thoughts, I miss Bo’s swing, but hear the crack of the bat. Lola grabs my arm and slowly stands, her eyes on the field, watching the ball. Collectively, the entire stadium holds its breath as the ball soars into the outfield.
It’s going…going…gone!
When it clears the wall in the outfield, the stadium erupts and Lola is jumping up and down, giving high fives to everyone. Finn’s strong arms envelop me and he laughs triumphantly in my ear. “Did you see that? Walk-off homerun!”
Fireworks explode over the outfield wall as Walkin’ To New Orleans by Buckwheat Zydeco blares over the loudspeaker.
After the celebration dies down, we walk out with Casey and Lola, as far as we can go before we’d need passes. Lola said she’d get us some, but Finn and I decline. The box seats are enough and we want to give them time to celebrate, promising to get together for dinner again soon.
“See y’all later,” Casey says as we turn to walk away.
“We’re going to stop by the gallery soon,” Lola adds.
Turning, I smile and wave. “I’ll see you then!”
Once Finn and I are out of the stadium, we get an Uber to take us home, but change our minds mid-ride and ask the driver to drop us at Jackson Square. When we step out of the car, the vibe is electric, but it’s hot as Hades.
With summer upon us, the intense heat and humidity of New Orleans are on full blast.
“Wanna grab a sno-ball from the French Market?” Finn asks, grabbing my hand as we start down the sidewalk.
“Only if we can get Bahama Mama again,” I tell him, pulling my sunglasses off the top of my head and sliding them back into place. The evening sun is still shining bright.
Finn places an arm in front of me, shielding me from a group passing by. “I was thinking Cake Batter.”
“Half Bahama Mama, half Cake Batter?” I suggest.
This is a typical conversation for us lately. On evenings we don’t have anything to do, we take King out for short walks and usually end up at one of the sno-ball stands around the city. But the one in the French Market is our favorite. Plus, Louisiana Pizza Kitchen is just across the street, and they have a shrimp pizza that’s to die for.
“Whatever you want, baby,” Finn concedes, kissing the top of my head.
When I glance up at him, I notice he’s also wearing shades—an old pair of wayfarers that very well might be the same ones he used to wear in high school, because that’s a very Finley thing to do. With the evening sun hitting him just right, he’s even more beautiful than usual, if that’s possible.
Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, I reach up and pull him down for a searing kiss.
“What was that for?” he asks, giving me a small chuckle, but then leaning in for a kiss of his own, one that makes my toes curl in my shoes.
Dazed for a moment, it takes me a second to answer. “Because you’re beautiful and you’re mine.”
“I don’t know about the beautiful part,” Finn says, as we continue walking. “But the being yours part is true… always have been, always will be.”
Bringing my hand up to his lips, he kisses it and then holds it close to his chest.
After we get our sno-ball—half Bahama Mama, half Cake Batter—we walk back to Jackson Square and find a patch of grass under one of the trees, close to the cathedral. From here, we can hear different musicians playing. Finn leans back against the tree and I lay my head in his lap, accepting bites of sno-ball and soaking in this perfect day.
One of so many, with promises of more to come.
THE END.
Reading Recommendations
We had the BEST time including characters from our previous works into this book! If you’re curious about their origins, we’ve made an easy to follow list:
If you’d like to read more about Dani and Micah, check out Finding Focus and Fighting Fire
If you’d like to read more about Cami and Deacon, check out Chasing Castles
If you’d like to read more about Tucker and Piper, check out Taming Trouble
In those four books, you also get a healthy dose of Annie and Sam Landry!
If you’d like to read more about Carys and Maverick, check out Blue Bayou
If you’d like to read more about Avery and Shaw, check out Come Again
If you’d like to read more about CeCe and Shep, check out Neutral Grounds
Lastly, if you’d like to read more about Lola and Bo, check out The Rookie and The Rockstar
AND if you’re interested in a sneak peek of our next New Orleans Revelers book, The Vet and The Vixen, kee
p reading!
Enjoy a teaser from The Vet and the Vixen
Prologue
Lola
“Did you call him again?” I ask as we walk up to the front door of Ross’s house, trying to peek through the window before knocking.
Bo nudges me, giving me a pointed look. “Stop being a stalker.”
My eyebrows go up in defense. “I’m worried, sue me.”
“You better hope the paps didn’t follow you here,” he says, knocking loudly on the door. “They would have a field day. The Lola Carradine peeking into the window of the Ross Davies… oh, the scandal.” His tone is teasing, but it still ruffles my feathers, and he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Scowling, I place the lasagna I baked earlier down on the wicker chair by the door. It’s a good thing I love him more than life itself. “Whatever,” I say with a huff. “Let them follow me. You know I don’t give two shits about them anymore.”
Which is true. I really don’t care what the paparazzi has to write or say about me anymore. That probably comes from being perfectly content with my life and a lot of that is due to the man giving me the side eye right now.
Bo chuckles lightly. “Until they try to insinuate you’re stepping out on me with some unknown local musician.”
“Don’t even get me started,” I hiss, my hackles going up a bit at that recent tabloid garbage. That shit was so contrived and manipulated. I haven’t seen them get so desperate for dirt on me since before Bo and I made it official. I guess it’s understandable why they go to such lengths for a story, I definitely don’t give them much to work with these days.
My life is pretty low-key. I spend the majority of my time in the studio and have taken to writing music for other people. One of these days, when the time is right and I’m ready, I’ll release another album and go on tour. But for now, I’m content to be here in New Orleans, writing songs and playing music.
Poor Finley didn’t know what hit him.
“At least Georgette was a good sport about it,” Bo mutters, knocking on the door one more time, with a little more effort. When there still isn’t an answer, he leans over and cups his hands around his eyes to peer into the window.
I laugh. “Now who’s the stalker?”
“He has to be in there,” he says, frustration and worry mixed in his tone. “No one has seen him at the gym and Mack says he hasn’t shown up for training in over two weeks.”
Stepping back, I look up at the second story to see if there are any lights or noticeable movement. For all we know, he’s up there, hiding away and waiting for us to leave. But that’s when I hear it—the rhythmic thump, thump, thump, like a ball being caught or bouncing off something. “Hear that?” I ask, already walking down the steps and toward the tall privacy fence.
“What are you doing?” Bo asks, looking over his shoulder, like we’re getting ready to get busted by the po-po. If that were the case, I wouldn’t hesitate to pull the Lola Carradine card, so I’m not worried. Besides, we used a code to get into the gate. I think it’s pretty obvious we’re not committing a B&E.
Pointing to the fence, I tell him, “Come give me a boost.”
“Are you crazy?” he asks, following it up with, “Never mind.”
When he leans forward and places his head between my legs, lifting me into the air, I squeal. Now taller than the fence, I’m looking down into the immaculate backyard of Ross Davies’ house and he’s looking back at me.
“Lola?”
Waving awkwardly, I smile. “Hey. We brought lasagna.” That’s the distant relative of I carried a watermelon from Dirty Dancing, equally as mortifying but more delicious.
Thankfully, Ross takes pity on me and motions to the side of the house. “I’ll let you in.”
I can see and hear the reluctance, which only makes the worry I felt on our drive over intensify. Since his shocking divorce six months ago, he’s basically become a recluse and lost all drive and motivation. The last half of the Revelers’ season followed suit. Without their leader and unspoken captain driving them, everyone suffered.
We’re here to stage an intervention.
A few minutes later, Ross opens the door and from this proximity, I can tell he’s seen better days. He always has a little scruff on his jawline, but it’s more of a mountain-man beard today. And there are dark circles under his eyes. But the sheen of sweat tells me he’s been out back throwing balls for a while, so at least he hasn’t completely given up.
“Hey, man,” Bo says stepping in and giving Ross a manly hug. “Haven’t seen you around. Thought we might stop by and drop off some food. I know how much you love Lola’s cooking.”
Ross gives a slight smile, I think. It’s hard to tell behind all that beard. “Thanks.”
He’s obviously reluctant to let us in, which is very unlike him. Before the divorce, we all got together for dinner or drinks on the regular. But now that I think about it, Felicia, his ex-wife, never joined us. She was always conveniently busy with her charity work, which made her sound like a saint, so no one questioned her absence. Besides, it was always comfortable with me, Bo, Ross, and Casey. There was never any weirdness and we all felt comfortable enough to let our hair down.
That’s something special when you live the lives we do—in the spotlight, with recognizable faces. Except for Casey, but she’s kind of well-known by association, thanks to the fucking paps.
When Ross finally steps to the side and makes room for us to walk into the foyer, on first glance everything seems in order, but the further we walk into the house, the more I can tell it’s being neglected.
Not that Ross’s gorgeous mansion could ever look like squatters invaded. It’s just too pretty for that. But there are piles of mail on the once-immaculate dining room table. Dishes are stacked in the sink, but at least they’re rinsed off, so there’s not a stench, yet.
“Hungry?” I ask, holding up the heavy pan. Seriously, this thing weighs at least ten pounds.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Ross says, scratching the back of his head.
Something else I notice is he’s not even trying to make excuses for the disorder, which actually makes me more concerned. The fact he’s not even trying to save face feels a lot like he just doesn’t care anymore.
They say the opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.
Ross is definitely in that category.
“We wanted to,” Bo says, going over to a cabinet and making himself at home. He’s spent more time here than I have. This is only my third or fourth time to step foot in Ross’s home because most of our get-togethers have been at Casa Carradine. “Have a seat at the table. I’ll bring over some plates and silverware.”
Damn, Bo is sexy when he takes charge.
I’ll have to thank him properly when we get home later.
Bo moving in with me was the best thing he’s done since the night he offered me a ride home from that charity event. With our crazy schedules, his more so than mine these days, it’s nice to have that constant—knowing the other will be waiting for us when we get home.
And it’s never felt more like a true home than when I walk in and see Bo’s toothbrush by mine at the bathroom sink or his tennis shoes keeping mine company at the back door. It’s a heady feeling and one I hope I never get over.
I know one thing for sure, I’ll never get over him.
As I sit down at the table, Ross hesitantly taking a seat across from me, I wonder if he felt that way about Felicia and what happened to change it.
I’ve always been one to want to learn from other people’s mistakes. At some point, when I think he’s ready, I’m going to ask him. But for now, I’m going to play it safe. “Ready for Spring Training?” I ask, hoping to see that familiar spark in his eyes.
Avoiding my gaze, he does that thing again where he runs a hand over his hair and then down through his beard. “Yeah,” he finally responds as Ross sets plates and forks down in front of us, then pulls the foil off the dish, letting the ar
oma fill the room. “I mean, sure… ready or not, right?”
The forced smile makes my stomach turn. I hate this for him. As a friend, I wish there was more we could do than bringing food and forcing him to eat with us.
“It’s going to be a great season,” Bo says, sitting at the seat at the head of the table, where Ross should be sitting. This is still his house. The divorce papers decreed it. Actually, his Felicia didn’t want it. She wanted a lump sum payout instead, which Ross didn’t fight. He gave her everything she wanted and she walked away.
Glancing over at Ross as he politely accepts the portion Bo serves up, it’s hard for me to believe anyone could just walk away from Ross Davies. He’s a natural-born leader, kind, considerate, driven. And very handsome.
If I wasn’t completely in love with the man beside me, I’d notice Ross Davies.
“Wine?” Bo asks, uncorking a bottle he must’ve found in the kitchen.
I nod, so does Ross, and we drink and eat. Most of the continuing conversation is about the upcoming Spring Training and what’s been happening over the off-season—trades, salaries, contracts, etc.
According to Mack, Ross hasn’t been to most of their training sessions. They share the same trainer and facility. Ross being a no-show is completely uncharacteristic, which is what prompted our impromptu dinner.
“What can we do?” I finally ask, unable to end this evening without doing something other than cooking a lasagna. Looking around, I see once again the piles of mail. “Is there someone you can call to catch up on stuff you don’t want to tackle? Like open your mail and handle your finances… an assistant or something?”
Ross winces. “That used to be Felicia’s job. She handled all of that… the mail, the bills, the house.” Shaking his head, his eyes kind of glaze over as he stares into the mostly empty wineglass. We finished off one bottle already and are on our way to the bottom of another, which is probably why Ross is finally opening up. “I haven’t taken the time to find someone. It’s hard to know who to trust. I guess I could hire a firm or something, but that feels so impersonal and I have a remodel job that’s starting next week, right before I’m supposed to leave for Spring Training.”