Epilogue
Nine Months Later
The thing about defending a title is that everyone expects you to be nervous.
I'm not nervous.
I'm annoyed, which is an entirely different emotion. And the source of my annoyance is currently standing fifteen feet away from me on the practice green doing the exact same spine-wringing stretch I told him not to last time.
Nine months, and he's still stretching wrong.
His club is behind his back, his arms are looped over either end, and he's wiggling his ass flagrantly to all who want to see.
I'm going to spank his ass tonight if he doesn't get his shit together.
I head toward him, and when I'm facing him, his eyes are closed and he has this small, satisfied smile on his face.
I don't say a thing. I just cross my arms and stare at him.
“Knew this would get you to come over,” he sings with his eyes still closed. “Missed you this morning.”
“You're going to be tight for the first three holes,” I say monotonously, glancing down at his catfish printed pants. The same print that's on my skirt. At least it's not one giant fish, showing off my holes again.
“Good morning to you too, Coach.” He opens his eyes, his dark eyes sparkling as his grin grows wide. “I'd ask how you slept, but I kind of got the answer when I woke up and you weren't in the apartment.”
I shake my head, ignoring his comment. I wasn't in our apartment when he woke up because I had to do a few interviews before the start of play. Not that it matters right now.
Stepping forward, I rest my hands on his hips, and even though I've done this a thousand times, he still jumps slightly. “I'm being serious. You're rotating without any hip engagement.” I move his hips, trying to prove my point.
“Mhm. You weren't complaining about my hip engagement last night, Coach.” He cocks a brow.
I will not blush.
That's what he wants.
“I think I vaguely remember you calling my name when I thrust—”
I immediately place my hand over his mouth, stopping him from finishing that sentence.
“We are in public, JB. You can't talk dirty to me here. We have to be professional.”
I drop my hand away from his mouth, taking my time just in case he says something else. When all I'm met with is a goofy smile, I place my hands on my hips.
“Good boy. Keep quiet and win and who knows what will happen when we get home.”
“Home. Fuck. Say it again, baby. We're going home together tonight.”
He unloops the club and holds it out like a walking stick before leaning forward and puckering his lips.
I roll my eyes and push past him to my golf clubs. “You're acting like it's a big deal that I've moved in with you.”
“Because it is a big deal.”
“I've pretty much been sleeping there when I'm in town since November.” I pull out one of my clubs, studying it instead of looking at my live-in boyfriend.
“But you didn't take up any of the closet space until last week. You've moved in, Whit.”
I have, but what I don't tell him is that it’s all just physical stuff. I've never cared about that. This move doesn't feel like a huge deal to me because JB's been my home since our golf cart hookup.
“Yeah, well. I still reserve the right to leave if you buy any more catfish-themed clothing.” I look pointedly down at his pants with disdain. Really, I love them because they are an extension of him.
He raises his hands. “Hey! I can't guarantee that. I work for them. As does your father. The Catfish are good people, Whit.”
“Fine, but if I wake up one morning and find catfish curtains in our bedroom, we're gonna have to talk.”
“Our bedroom? Stop with the dirty talk, Whit. It's like you're just trying to get me to re-enact the golf cart.”
My cheeks flush. I hate how infuriatingly hot I find this man.
I poke him with my club in a vain attempt to hide my reddening cheeks.
“Get back to stretching, JB. We need to retain our title.”
“We'll retain it,” he says, waving me off as he sets up for a practice swing.
“How can you be so sure?” I point my thumb over my shoulder. “Just saw Austin and that man's thighs have grown again.”
“Exactly. If you think my hips are stiff, maybe you should look at his.” He pulls out of his pose, and thinks about the implication. “On second thought. Don't do that. I really don't want you helping him with his hips.”
“You've got nothing to worry about,” I say. “Now, swing.”
I step back, watching JB as he positions himself with his driver. He's got better, which isn't surprising since we spent most weekends in the winter playing together. Not that I'd ever tell him that. He'd view it as a marriage proposal.
He swings, and the ball holds its line.
I watch, saying nothing.
When it bounces on the practice green, he looks at me over his shoulder. “Well?”
“Your setup was fine.”
“Just fine?”
“It was good.”
“It was better than good, Coach.”
Moving past him, I take over his practice area and do my swing. We both watch it. JB lets out a low whistle.
“Oh, yeah, we're going to win today. I can feel it.”
“Your confidence is cute,” I say, putting the club back into my bag.
He comes up behind me, plants his hands on my hips and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. I smile the second his lips touch my skin. “It's not confidence. It's facts.”
“Facts?” I nudge him away with my hip. It's not exactly a secret that we're dating. We literally went public with an Athlete Illustrated spread where I smashed a ball off a tee JB was holding with his teeth. Still, that doesn't mean I need to put on a show here.
He gestures broadly toward the range. “Look around. Who's beating us?”
I follow his gaze. Austin is a threat. He's always a threat. A few others could get hot, and then my gaze lands on Jess and her new partner, Dalton. I take him in, studying his beard, wondering if it will give me any hints of his performance.
“We're just lucky Max isn't playing today,” I say.
“Oh, I didn't tell you. I heard from Grayson this morning,” he says, lining up his next shot.
“You did?”
“Yeah.” He sets up, takes his swing, and watches the ball fly through the air.
Another good shot.
“Something happened with Max and Sienna. He said it was huge.”
“Are you gonna tell me or just leave me hanging?”
He shrugs. “I don't know either. Grayson says he needs to confirm facts before he spreads this around. Apparently it's messy.”
“Oh. Did they finally admit their attraction to one another by getting married in Vegas before the All-Star game?”
JB's eyes widen. His mouth opens and he thinks about it for a second. “Wait, do you think he'd do that?” Then he shakes his head. “Nah. He wouldn't do that to me. I'm too important to him.”
“Well, either way, it's not our business until he makes it our business.”
“I think not being invited to one of my bestie’s weddings makes it my business, don't you think, Coach?”
I laugh. “Stop. You don't know what's happened.”
“You're right. Max has the All-Star game. He's fine. He hasn't gotten married.”
“Good. Let's focus.”
I watch JB set up again.
“You know,” he says mid-waggle, “this time last year I was watching you try to murder a baseball with your wrist.”
“I did not murder it.”
“It bounced, Whit.”
“The release point was compromised.”
“It rolled.” He grins at the fairway, not even looking at me, and I feel the corner of my mouth move against my will. “I caught it though.”
“You did.”
“And then I walked all the way across the field to give it back to you.”
“All I remember is you laughing at me.”
“I was not laughing at you.”
“You were trying not to laugh at me, which is worse.” He finally looks at me, and the grin has softened into something else.
Something that still catches me off guard no matter how many times I see it.
“I was trying not to make it obvious that I was completely gone for you in about thirty seconds flat.”
I hold his gaze for a moment.
“You were not gone for me in thirty seconds.”
“I absolutely was. I love you, Whit Marlow.”
My breath catches at the back of my throat. I wasn't expecting that. It’s the first time he’s officially said them instead of accidentally blurting them out during sex.
“That's why I rejected the All-Star invite this year. I wanted to play with you because I love you more than anything else.”
“The Catfish also wanted to see us reunite,” I say, trying to change the subject.
The serious look on JB's face tells me that he's not going to let me get away with it. Why would he? That's usually his thing.
I look down at the ball, feeling my shoulders relax before I clear my throat and look up at him. “I love you too.”
When the words leave my mouth, it feels like I can finally breathe. I watch his face as he processes the first time I’ve ever said it back to him.
“Y—you do?”
I nod.
“Really? Because once it's out in the universe, there's no taking it back.”
I step in, cup his cheeks, and kiss him quickly. “I love you, Jonathan Brian Callahan. There's no one else I want in this world to be my rat companion but you.”
“Did you just call me your rat companion?”
“Don't make me take it back.”
“No, no.” He catches both my wrists before I can step away. “I'm just trying to process the fact that you love me.”
I roll my eyes.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic.”
“You’re right/ I knew that already.”
That makes me freeze. “You did?”
“Of course.” He shrugs. “You yell at me when I stretch wrong. You make me protein shakes that taste like drywall because they're 'good for recovery.' You moved into my apartment and organized my sock drawer.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You labeled the drawers, Whit.”
“You keep putting golf tees in them.”
“Exactly. That's love.”
He scoops me into his arms and kisses me deeper this time.
“You know, I think we need to get matching shirts,” he says against my lips.
“Oh, no.”
“Rat Companions Forever.”
I pull away and hoist my golf bag over my shoulder.
“Home Is Where The Rat Is.”
Shaking my head, I walk toward the golf cart. He's still following me.
“'Whit loves JB' would also be a strong contender.”
I glance at him from over my shoulder. “Come on, JB. We need to win this tournament and the only way we're going to do that is if we focus.”
“I can focus, Coach,” he says as I place my bag in the back of the golf cart. He puts his right next to mine.
Mr and Mrs.
That's what it looks like, but again, I don't want to set my boyfriend off by saying it.
Straightening my visor, I glance at JB. “Ready?”
“Then let's go defend our title.”
He's already grinning before I finish the sentence. “Right behind you, Coach.”
THE END