Epilogue
GRAYSON
October
There’s a crispness to the autumn air, warning of shorter days and frigid temperatures ahead. But it does nothing to wick the sweat from my forehead as I haul ass down the basketball court.
With fall in full swing, we’re preparing the farm for winter, which on top of our normal operations has made this week especially grueling.
At this point, my engine’s running in the red.
Doesn’t help that it’s been months since we last played, and all the sprinting and jumping doesn’t come as easily as it did in my teens.
Not that Eliza or JJ give a damn.
Steadying his breaths beside me, Anson’s in the same rickety, tired boat as me. Lala just got over a nasty week-long sickness, and he pulled a few sleepless nights to help her through it.
“C’mon, Uncle JJ!” her little voice shouts from the sideline, where she’s curled up beside Anson’s dog, arms slung around the German Shepherd’s torso.
“Took care of her all damn week, and this is what I get,” Anson grumbles under his breath.
JJ observes his scowl as he dribbles down the court. “Don’t you worry, Miss Lala. We’re kicking their butts.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Anson argues.
JJ pauses at the half-court line, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Hey Lala, remind me of the score?”
She peers at the little notepad splayed on the pavement beside her. “Sixteen to…nine!”
Anson’s jaw hardens, and JJ’s smile only widens. “That’s right. Thanks, honey.”
Eliza arrives, a wash of flower-scented air coming with her as she sets her legs wide, back to me. “You boys need a break?” she goads over her shoulder.
She’s breathing as hard as I am, but she’s bouncing on her feet like a caffeinated bunny. Not that I’m surprised. Nothing—and I mean, nothing—gets her revved up like a good challenge.
And I don’t mind that one bit. Whether I win or lose, I always come out on top, because she’s hotter than the summer sun like this, her chin all stubborn and eyes fiery.
Hell, she’s hot all the time—when she leaves another trinket of hers at my place, or pads around my kitchen wearing nothing but my shirt, or gushes about some new genius marketing strategy she’s developed for Anson.
The only wines I know are reds and whites, but when fancy, multisyllabic words like Zinfandel and Cabernet come out of her sweet mouth, I’m ready to replace that big vocabulary with moans.
A muffled wump yanks me back to the court. Eliza’s got the ball in her hands, already dribbling toward the basket. Fuck.
Before I can take two steps, she pulls back, shoots, and drains it.
“Gray, what the hell are you doing?” Anson yells, eyes bulging as he chases after the ball.
Just obsessing over my girl.
There’s no need to say it. Everyone knows I’m completely, irreversibly gone for Eliza Attleburn.
When she’s in the room, I can’t keep my hands off her.
When people ask how I’m doing, I somehow turn the conversation to how brilliant she is.
I stop by Anson’s office at least three times a week now, when I used to avoid it like the plague.
I’m walking around with big cartoon hearts in my eyes—and I’m happy as goddamn clam about it.
Except right now.
Because I’m objectively sucking ass, and Boston’s starting to get real cocky about it.
Proving my point, she shoots me a cheeky wink and says, “I think he’s just traumatized from last time. Knows he can’t win, so why bother?”
Fuck, I love that mouth of hers.
She runs to the sidelines to give Lala a high five, and Anson comes up next to me, dribbling the ball. “In case you forgot, you’re not on a fucking date. You can do the whole love-blind bullshit later. I need to win fucking something this week.”
“That new neighbor of yours not running away as quickly as you’d hoped?”
“No, but she will. That thing’s not up to code, no matter how hard she tries,” he mutters.
I first heard about her in September—the new owner of the broken-down house on his vineyard. Turns out the elderly owner passed away a few months ago and left it to her granddaughter in the will, hence why Anson’s lawyer’s letters have gone unanswered.
He figured he could buy the new owner out, no bullying necessary. She’s young, and the place needs a shit-ton of work to be livable. But she’s actually staying there, trying to fix it up, despite Anson’s increasing pressure. And it’s driving big brother up a wall.
Doesn’t help that he thinks she’s pretty.
“She made us fucking soup last week,” he mutters.
I cock a brow. “Was it good?”
A tendon snaps in his jaw. “It’s always fucking good.”
“It’s okay to be scared, you know,” JJ taunts up ahead, observing our quiet exchange.
Beside him, Eliza nods, a solemn expression on her face. “I’m proud of you for just showing up today. Facing your fears.”
Alright, that’s it. Time to eat your words, gorgeous.
I glance at Anson. “Blitz,” I tell him.
Then we explode down the court.
JJ comes up to defend Anson, but he whips the basketball to me, and I’m barreling to the basket before Eliza can catch me. In it goes.
“Two points!” I shout at Lala, who scribbles on her notepad.
On JJ and Eliza’s next drive, Anson steals the ball and sinks a three-point shot. Suddenly, they aren’t smiling anymore. But I am.
JJ passes the ball to Eliza, and I crowd her right side, forcing her to dribble with her weak left hand. She tries to skirt around me, but she runs straight into my body with an oof. A little growl escapes her throat as I force her to retreat.
The ball fumbles in her hand.
“Sorry, baby,” I apologize. Then, like a shameless bastard, I swoop in, steal the ball, and sink another basket.
16 to 18.
Lala groans in despair on the sideline, while Eliza shoots daggers with her eyes. I wink right back, then watch as she and JJ conspire at the end of the court. He argues against something she says, but she persists. She isn’t taking no for an answer.
“Get ready,” Anson murmurs.
JJ dribbles up to him, deceptively slow, then starts to move. Eliza darts past him, forcing Anson and I to switch defense. I see their next play form before it sets in motion. Remember it well from our game in June, when I’d run Eliza over.
She’s about to set a pick.
Considering how badly I’d laid her out last time, it’s no wonder JJ resisted her plan. Stubborn woman.
Feigning ignorance, I chase JJ as he moves. In my periphery, Eliza stops in my path, bracing for impact.
And I give it to her.
Ducking low, I scoop her up and over my shoulder without breaking stride.
“Grayson!” she yells, hands scrambling for purchase on my back. I lunge as JJ shoots, going for the block with my free hand.
An epic play—if I actually made it. But the ball brushes just past my hands, swooshing into the basket. JJ throws his hands up in victory, hollering like he’s won the NBA finals as Lala cheers and storms the court.
“Grayson, put me down!” Eliza shouts, legs jerking against me. Instead, I secure my grip on her thighs. “JJ, help!”
But her teammate’s occupied down the court, hefting Lala up on his shoulders. A second later, they’re running victory laps around the court, her wild giggles filling the air as she holds onto JJ’s head.
Anson watches them, shaking his head in annoyed disappointment—but I catch the quirk to his lips. It broadens into a smile when JJ speeds up, sending Lala into a fit of squeals.
Eliza must be appreciating the scene too, because she stops struggling against me.
I jostle her once, then start for the parking lot.
“Hey!” she says, wiggling again. “The game’s done.”
“Sure is.”
“So let me down!”
“No can do, Boston. You need a lesson about self-preservation.”
She snorts, falling limp again. “What are you going to do? Just cart me around? That’s fine. My legs are tired from whooping your ass.”
I don’t bother replying to her sass.
Instead, I step up to my truck, turn around, and gently press her torso between my back and the metal, effectively trapping her.
Realizing her predicament, she tenses. “Grayson?”
A giant grin on my face, I tighten my grip on her so she doesn’t fall.
Then I start tickling the backs of her legs.
Immediately, she’s a fish out of water, flopping against me as she squeals. “No no no!” Trapped as she is, her efforts don’t do much, and I pick up the pace, gleeful as Dave when he catches a worm.
Discovering that she’s ticklish might be one of my favorite revelations from the last two months.
“This isn’t fair!” she pants out, trying to shove us away from the truck. But I’m too heavy to budge.
“With all that chirping you did on the court? This is definitely fair play, baby.”
She tries tickling me back, but my nerve endings don’t work that way. “This—this is—” she squeals as I tickle her inner thighs— “bullying!”
I snort. “Bullying implies I’ve got power over you, but everyone knows it’s the other way around.”
“Grayson! Please!”
My fingers stop, drifting up to her ass as I hum to myself. “That’s a nice word, Boston.”
“You’re insufferable.”
My fingers return to her legs in warning. “Now, that’s not a nice word.”
Her body shakes against me, a laugh bubbling out of her. “Put me down.”
“Ask nicely.”
She huffs, and it’s an effort to stem my chuckle. “Please put me down.”
“There. That wasn’t so hard.” I step away from the truck, open the back door, and swing her down, careful her head doesn’t hit the doorway as I place her gently on the seat.
Her face is flushed red from being upside down, hair all over her cheeks, lips twisted in a scowl, but her eyes are bright and lively.
Happy.
It’s a familiar sight, but it still hits me in the sternum every time—seeing her glow, watching her thrive. Knowing I contribute to it.
I reach out, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You might not care about getting yourself run over for a casual basketball game. But I do.”
She half-heartedly rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t have run me over.”
“Did you forget what happened last time?”
She leans her cheek against my hand, nestling in. “No. But back then, you didn’t know what I was capable of. You also hated my guts.”
“You’re half-right.”
“Which half?”
I sweep my thumb over her cheekbone. “That I didn’t know what you were capable of.
I didn’t know you’d steal my heart.” I slide my hand to the back of her head, tangling it in her soft hair.
“But I didn’t hate you, then. Couldn’t have, because you were already wiggling your way into my heart, even if I didn’t know it yet. ”
A smile spreads over her lips, warm as honey.
Ducking into the cab, I say, “Now you’re there to stay.”
Then I kiss the hell out of the woman I love.