Epilogue
Nico Adrian Capo
Two months later…
It’s late April in New Orleans, and every witchy girl in the South is gathered at the fairgrounds to celebrate some pagan holiday, I’m sure would give my devoutly Catholic mother an aneurysm.
But the ladies are looking fine as hell in their gauzy hippy dresses, the music is on point, the food booths are inspired, and Keely has promised me giant bonfires at midnight. And that we will dance around them.
Naked!
Okay, so she didn’t promise the naked part, but we’ve both had two glasses of fairy mead, and the sun only set a few minutes ago.
There are hours to go before the Beltane fires are lit, and I’m determined to help Keely usher in a new era.
An era in which she dances naked, throws caution to the wind, and enjoys the hell out of her life without giving two shits what her evil ex is up to.
Let alone feels compelled to beg a friend to be her fake date to a music festival, so she won’t feel “embarrassed” to be there alone…
Though I guess I can understand why she wanted me here tonight, in particular.
Super Gross Zack—not to be confused with Fun Zack, who works with her in the Voodoo PR department—works for the mayor’s office, and this festival is the mayor’s pet project.
He’s going all out to empower women and fund the domestic violence shelter for another year.
Probably because he got caught fucking a Loyola coed not much older than his daughter and is looking to rehabilitate his image before the election this fall, but whatever. At least he feels shame and is funneling that into something productive and fun.
I can’t fucking wait for the fires to start.
Seriously. Can’t. Wait.
“I want to help with the torches,” I shout near Keely’s ear as Flowers From the Storm, Clover’s new band, shreds their way through the final song in their set. “Do you think they’d let me help? If I go over to the torch tent and ask really nicely?”
Keely laughs and rolls her eyes. “No!”
My lips push into a pout. “Why not? I’m a respected, highly coordinated, professional athlete. Who else should you trust with fire?”
“You want it too much,” she shouts back, her cheeks flushed pink from bouncing to the music.
Combined with her even pinker, multi-tiered sundress, she looks kind of like a flower that got more than its fair share of fertilizer.
There are at least four too many tiers of floof on that dress, but I would never tell her so.
Not right now, anyway. At this stage in her divorce recovery journey, Keely needs confidence boosting, not criticism. Even constructive criticism.
My fashion guidance can wait until next year, when I’m sure some tough fashion love from a friend will land with the Goodwill with which it is intended.
I just want all my friends to look—and smell—beautiful.
And if that’s a crime? Well, slap the cuffs on me.
Seriously, I am dying for someone to slap the cuffs on me…
It’s been way too long since I’ve had normal sex, let alone the kinky bangery I prefer.
Ever since Carrie-Anne ditched me for the sin of inviting my best friend, who happens to be a girl, over for pizza and slasher movies, my bedsheets have been a barren wasteland.
I’ve just been too busy pushing for the playoffs with the rest of the team and wooing Bergdorf into carrying my fragrance line to have any time left for romance.
But I’m glad.
On a normal weekend without a game, I would have already had a date and been unavailable to be Keely’s plus one to this festival of fire and foxy ladies.
Then, I would not only have missed some amazing food and fun with my bestie, but also the moment Clover rushes offstage after her set, hurling herself into Dean’s arms. I would have missed the joy on her face as he, no doubt, tells her that she’s a superstar who’s going to make it big in the witchy punk scene—and be super well-dressed while doing it.
(Clover’s not only an amazing musician, but a talented designer.
She makes all the band’s costumes and is crafting a linen suit for me in the perfect shade of green to match my cologne bottles and hug my disproportionately manly shoulders, ensuring I slay at my photo shoot for the summer ad campaign.)
And, most importantly, I would have missed the moment Dean sinks down on one knee and pulls out a ring, sending Clover’s joy rocketing to impossible heights. Seriously, her eyes and smile both get so big that for a moment, I’m worried she might literally explode.
Instead, she leaps into Dean’s arms again, laughing and nodding her enthusiastic yes, while her bandmates cheer, and Keely and I both “awwww” along with the rest of the crowd on our side of the stage.
“I’m so happy for them,” Keely says with a sniff. “They’re the real deal, and Dean keeps his dick on a short leash. I can tell.”
“Totally,” I agree. “A short and loyal leash. Speaking of leashes, I need another hot dog. You want anything from The Dog Hut?”
Keely wrinkles her nose. “You’ve already had two.” She pauses before adding with a judgmental arch of one pale blond brow, “With extra onions.”
“So? I’m a growing boy who loves onions.” I lean down, closer to her face, before adding in a breathy voice, “Why? Don’t you like getting a whiff of my breath after I’ve eaten my vegetable of choice?”
She makes a gagging sound before pushing me away with a laugh. “Ew. You’re so gross. I can’t believe women literally throw themselves onto the ice for you. And no, thank you. I don’t want a hot dog, but I do want a flower crown. I’m going to go buy one before they sell out.”
I hum my approval. “Awesome, you should. Get me one, too. A big purple one with white flowers. That’s the best one.”
“Okay. Meet you back here?” She giggles again, reminding me that I should grab us both another mead, to better our chances of ending up naked and shameless around the bonfire.
“Back here,” I confirm, setting off through the crowd.
I run into Grammercy and a once-again pregnant Elly on the way—those two haven’t figured out what causes that yet, apparently—and pause to give them the good news about Dean and Clover. Elly dashes off to find them with an excited yip, and Grammercy follows her, grinning like the happy man he is.
Marriage really agrees with some people. Not sure I’m one of them, but I wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend before summer takes hold.
As I get in line for my third hot dog, I scan the crowd for prospects, but as beautiful as these women are, most of them don’t seem interested in flirting.
They’re all in witchy, female empowerment mode, most of them summoned here by the fact that Beatrice, their rock witch queen, is the main event at ten.
It’s an odd thing for a specimen as fine as myself to smile and watch women turn away, but it’s probably for the best. It’s rude to flirt with other women when you’re out on a date, even if it’s a date with a friend.
Still, it stings a little.
I’m busy debating how many of these women are probably gay—and therefore not interested in any man, even the crème de la crème—when I hear Keely’s name uttered in front of me and my ears snap to attention.
I shift closer to the two women ahead, both in clingy orange dresses that display their charms to maximum advantage. The shorter one is a flat-out bombshell brunette with a figure that’s pure Marilyn Monroe, and the taller one is equally foxy, though seriously pregnant.
Still, she’s working what the good lord gave her, and has an ass that won’t fucking quit. I’m respectfully and discreetly admiring said ass when she says, “Yeah, that’s her. That’s Zack’s ex.”
The brunette’s jaw drops. “No way! Oh my god.” She snickers out a mean giggle before adding in a softer voice, “Well, he certainly upgraded with you, didn’t he?”
My eyes snap to her profile, narrowing in instant hatred.
I’m already well on my way to hating the other woman, too, when she says, “I mean, yeah. But seriously, she’s so pathetic it’s embarrassing, you know?
” She fluffs her luscious, perfectly wavy blond hair.
“I have no idea how a nine like Zack didn’t see that he could pull way better than a five like her. ”
Brunette snorts. “Five on a good night. And tonight is not a good night.” She glances toward the great lawn. “Did you see that pink monstrosity she was wearing? She looked like a shredded vagina with hemorrhoids come to life or something.”
They titter—meanly—and then Evil Bitch Who is Clearly the Woman who Fucked Keely’s Ex in Their Bed and is Now Pregnant with Twins, hisses, “Stop. We shouldn’t make fun of her. It isn’t nice to punch down.”
“No, it isn’t,” a small, shattered voice whispers from my right elbow.
I look down, stomach bottoming out as I see Keely beside me, holding two flower crowns. Tears fill her big blue eyes, spilling down her cheeks as the Evil Ones turn to stare down their noses at her.
Neither of them seems truly surprised to see her, though they do a decent job of pretending to be as they murmur, “Oh, hey,” and “Wow, didn’t see you there.”
But they did see her there.
They knew she was here, listening, the entire time, way before I did. They probably knew I was listening, too.
But just in case, I make it clear that I was by saying, “You’re bad people. And dumb as rocks. Vaginas don’t get hemorrhoids. That’s asshole business, you assholes.” I wrap an arm around Keely’s waist. “Come on, pumpkin. Let’s leave these idiots to their idiot business.”
“We said we were sorry,” Brunette calls after us before she and Evil Preggers start laughing again.
“No, they didn’t,” Keely mutters, tears still spilling down her pink cheeks. “They didn’t say they were sorry. And they aren’t sorry. They’re horrible and mean and…right.” She pulls in a shuddery breath, sobbing harder as she adds, “They are. They’re right. I look like a shredded vagina!”
“You do not,” I say, pulling her behind the ice cream stand as several passersby arch eyebrows in our direction.
Once we have a bit of privacy, I turn to face her, squeezing her shoulders as I promise, “You don’t.
You look like a boisterous, happy little flower having a fun night. So, don’t let those freaks ruin it.”
“A flower looks like a vagina,” she says, continuing to sniffle. “You basically said the same thing they did, just in a nicer way.”
“I did not,” I insist, though now that I think about it, I can see where she’s coming from, I guess. “But whatever, it doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Who gives a shit what they think?”
“I don’t care what they think,” Keely says, swiping at her tears with the back of her hands. “I care what I think. And I think they’re right. I’m a five, a lousy five, who’s never going to find someone to bang for fun, let alone for love, because I’m a… I’m a dandelion in a rose garden.”
“I like dandelions,” I assure her. “Dandelions are beautiful. And edible. You can eat the leaves and the flowers.”
“Great, I’ll remember that if I’m lost and starving on someone’s front lawn,” she says dryly, making me laugh.
I stop when it becomes clear she’s still down in the depths of despair.
“Seriously,” she adds. “New Orleans is full of drop-dead gorgeous women who know how to dress and hold themselves and take care of themselves. How is a genetically average human being with no fashion sense and a demanding job supposed to keep up, let alone stand out?”
“Hey, stop,” I say, bending until my face is level with hers. “That’s not true. You’re not average. You’re cute as a button.”
And she is, but…
“But,” she insists, reading my mind.
I curse my shitty poker face, but for once, it might be a blessing in disguise.
I mean, I was just thinking how much I’d like to pull a Straight Guy with a Queer Eye on my bestie’s ass.
I was going to hold off mentioning anything until she was more secure in herself, but maybe a makeover is just what she needs to blossom into her new era.
One in which she looks less like a literal blossom…
“But you don’t have a lick of fashion sense,” I say, pushing on before her face can crumple again.
“But luckily, you have a best friend who does, so here’s what we’re going to do.
We’re going to go have fun, dance around the fire, and forget our troubles.
Then, tomorrow, we’re going to have brunch at my place and discuss our makeover strategy. ”
Her brows lift. “Makeover strategy? You? You’re going to give me a makeover?”
“Yes,” I say, indignant. “I’m a very fashionable man, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“No, I’ve noticed,” she says, appeasing me a little before she adds, “but I’m a girl.”
“Duh, Keely,” I say. “I know. And I have two very fashionable sisters, in addition to an embarrassment of brothers, one of whom is super gay and a professional stylist. If I have any trouble dressing you for success, they’ll happily step in.
But they won’t have to. I know you. I know your likes, your dislikes, your cute little personality quirks, and your less cute habits that could scare away Mr. Right before he has a chance to fall in love with your otherwise adorable self.
I’ll help you sort it all out and transform into the best version of you, not some generic Instagram hottie.
All you have to do is trust me. Do you trust me? ”
She studies me for a long beat.
A very long, increasingly uncomfortable beat, before she screws her face up into a pinched pout and says, “No, I don’t.
If you were trustworthy, or a real friend, you would have told me I was a hideous, shredded vagina beast before I embarrassed myself,” and storms off toward the great lawn, leaving me sputtering.
I can’t believe my gracious offer has been refused!
Rebuffed. Rejected, even.
And now I feel sad. Sad on a night when large piles of wood are about to be set on fire, which simply isn’t right or natural.
I have to make this up to Keely. I have to.
I have to convince her that I’m the Henry Higgins to her Eliza Doolittle. Except I’ll treat her way better than that dick in My Fair Lady. I’ll never look down on her or ignore her feedback. I’ll ensure the makeover is a blast for her as well as for myself.
I’m as straight as they come, but fuck…do I love a makeover.
And Keely is the perfect project to keep my mind off my own love troubles until the season is over, and I have time to devote to properly wooing my next lady.
Hell, maybe Keely will be so comfortable in her new swan skin by then, she’ll be ready to hit the town with me.
Bolstered by these wise thoughts—and by the sight of the torch bearers headed toward the first tower of sticks—I hurry after her, ignorant to the fact that I’m about to make the stupidest mistake of my until now, fantastic and un-stupid life.