Page 26 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

Then he pulls away and spits my blood unceremoniously into the undergrowth with a growl of distaste.

“Don’t say I never do anything for you, princess,” he scowls, getting to his feet again. He makes a face, hacks, and spits again. “You’re going to want to disinfect that ASAP.”

“I… thanks,” I mumble, still thrown. My heart is racing, and I stumble back. “I should, umm, go. Take that swim….”

Cool off.

But Duke looks at me like I’m an idiot. “You’re going in water, with an open wound?” he asks.

“Right. Of course.” I stumble in the other direction. “Home then.”

“And if you see any swelling, or start foaming at the mouth, see a real doctor, OK?” Duke backs up, like he can’t wait to get away from me either.

“Will do. Thanks! For the whole, saving my life thing!” I blurt, and then take off blindly in the direction I came, walking fast to avoid any more snake encounters.

This time, I really will stay away from Duke, I vow.

And I really mean it, too…

… until I wake up the next morning to forty-seven missed calls, a million voicemails, and photos of our venom-sucking encounter plastered all over the internet for the whole world to see.

7

AVERY

So much for a quiet summer away from scandal.

“Are you sure he wasn’t going down on you?” Brooke asks, laughing down the line. I’m driving over to Tessa’s BBQ the next afternoon, and although I can’t bring myself to listen to any one of the hundred-plus voicemails now cluttering up my inbox, she’s the one call I’ll always take.

“No!” I wail, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I swear!”

“Hey, there’s no shame if he was, you deserve it,” Brooke replies merrily. “You certainly look like you’re having a good time, thrown back against the tree like that, with your eyes closed in passion…”

“They were closed in panic, due to the whole near-death-by-snake-bite incident,” I correct her, but of course, it doesn’t matter. The only thing anyone cares about now is the photos spreading like wildfire across every tabloid and gossip blog around:

Duke, shirtless, on his knees, his broad, tanned shoulders rippling with muscle in the midday sun.

Me, with my head thrown back and my hands tangled in his hair.

The two of us, caught in the heat of the moment as he buries his face between my thighs.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Well, this one screams it from the rooftops. Never mind that I’m still fully-clothed in my tank top and cut-off shorts – the whole scene looks positively pornographic.

“I knew someone was following me!” I exclaim, frustrated. “I could just feel it.”

The paparazzo must have been stationed all the way across the field, out of sight. But with all the high-tech, long-range camera lenses they use these days, the photos are crystal clear, as if he’d been close enough to give us a high-five.

Or hand me a band-aid.

“Have you heard from Duke?” Brooke asks, as I pull over outside the Sandpiper and park.

“No. And I haven’t called, either,” I say, guilty. “I mean, what am I going to say, ‘sorry for making the entire world think you gave me head in the woods that time’?”

“Great head,” Brooke corrects me, laughing.

“Well gee, that’ll make all the difference.” I sigh, just imagining how mad Duke must be right now. “There’s probably a horde of paparazzi already on their way to find us. I’ll warn him. I will.”

Just maybe after I’ve had a plateful of barbecued ribs and a few drinks for courage.

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