Page 53 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

“A platonic fake double date,” I remind her. “You can’t leave us alone together. I mean it. This heatwave is already steaming up my judgment. The last thing I need is to lose my mind completely, and lunge tongue-first at the man.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tessa reassures me, firing off a quick text. “Jackson’s in!”

“Great,” I exhale, relieved. “And if it looks like I’m about to make a fool of myself… Please, just whack me over the head, and put me out of my misery.”

My fevered, triple-X-rated, late night fantasizing, battery-operated misery.

Tessa gives me a big smile. “Don’t worry,” she says merrily. “Trust me, I know exactly what you need. Tonight is going to be so much fun.”

* * *

I was half-joking about needing a chaperone, but when I walk into The Last Buoy that night and see Duke leaning casually by the bar, chatting to Jackson and Tessa with that baseball cap on and his jeans hanging just right from his hips, I’m glad I’ll have some back-up tonight.

Because this heatwave in my loins isn’t going anywhere. And clearly, I’ve been reading way too many bodice-ripper romances if the word “loins” has even entered the chat.

Time to put my (platonic) game-face on.

“Hi guys,” I chirp, joining them. “Comparing notes on how to tame the paparazzi?”

Duke chuckles, pulling me closer and landing a casual kiss on my cheek. “Actually, yeah,” he says, draping one arm around my shoulder so naturally, every nerve ending in my body comes screaming to life at his touch?—

Before I realize it, the night’s performance is already underway.

Of course, he’s putting on a show. We’re in a crowded room, with a ton of people around: locals and tourists alike enjoying the casual, dive-bar vibes and valiant Bon Jovi cover band– and shooting curious glances in our direction.

The presence of not one, but two Hollywood stars here tonight was always going to turn heads. Duke’s just standing up to his part of the deal.

That’s all.

I try to ignore my pang of disappointment, and focus on the conversation.

“Apparently, I’ve got to watch for—what did you call them?” Duke turns to Jackson.

“Trackers.”

“Oh, them.” I wince. “They’re real low-lives. They’ll trail you around, just yelling offensive things at you so you’ll snap and fight back. Then they get to run stories about your explosive temper, and how you’re way out of control.”

“One of them showed up at the Sandpiper, and started harassing Artie,” Tessa says with a grin. “He chased them off with the garden hose.”

“Duke used a chainsaw,” I tell them, and Tessa hoots.

“No, really? Now, that’s footage I’d love to see!”

The bartender delivers a round of beers – and a Diet Coke. Duke passes it to me without a word, and I blink. With a family history like mine, I try to stay away from booze, but I don’t make a big deal about it, and nobody ever notices, not even some of my closest friends.

But he noticed.

“So, kids, what do you need from the story tonight?” Tessa asks, with that mischievous grin on her face again. She looks back and forth between us. “Wholesome small-town fun or steamy moments in dark corners?”

I choke on my soda.

“You OK?” Duke asks, patting me on the back.

“Uh huh!” I wheeze, shooting Tessa a warning look. “Wholesome fun. Definitely.”

“Then it’s time for Jackson and me to whip your asses at pool,” Tessa beams back.

“No way,” Duke says immediately. “They’re both sharks,” he explains.

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