Page 87 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

“See, you’re right on trend,” I tease Duke, delighted.

He gives me a look. “His boots were polished,” he complains, “and what was with that damn mustache?”

I laugh. “Good question.”

We drive out to Malibu, and wind up strolling by the water as the sun sets. The day’s heat has cooled off, and I’m wrapped up in one of Duke’s sweaters, watching the waves – and trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.

This time, though, it doesn’t seem so terrifying because I have Duke’s hand intertwined with mine.

“What do you want, really?” he asks me as we walk.

I sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” Duke gives me a smirk. “You always know exactly what you want. So tell me. It doesn’t matter how crazy it seems, we’ll figure out that part later.”

We.

I feel a glow, and squeeze his hand tighter. “Well, for starters, I want to stop caring what they say about me in all those stupid gossip magazines,” I say slowly. “You’re right, it’s a game I can’t win, and I don’t want to keep playing. If they want to write lies and bitchy headlines… Then I’m going to have to learn to deal with it.”

“Sounds good to me,” he agrees. “So… I shouldn’t go yell at the guy who’s been following us for the past half-mile?”

“What?” I turn. Sure enough, there’s a figure trailing us down the beach, with a telltale long-range camera in his hands.

I gulp, panicking about my hair, and make-up, and?—

“You’re not playing,” Duke reminds me with a gentle smile.

“Right.” I exhale. I guess my crash course in tuning out the tabloid noise starts now. If he gets a photo of me with hair in my eyes and my face screwed up because I’m laughing so hard at Duke’s impression of an east LA hipster…

I can live with that.

We keep walking. “What else?” Duke prompts me. “In the grand plan of Avery Lawrence, what’s next?”

“I want to work on better projects,” I continue, feeling clearer now. “Interesting characters, with people I actually respect. But it’s going to take a while, to find new agents, and win them all over, and prove I have the talent,” I add, bracing myself for another endless round of auditions and meetings.

“So, you’ve got time,” Duke says, like it’s not even a problem. God, I love this man’s faith in me. “And like I said, once I’m done with this construction, I can be out here with you.”

I pause, glancing over. “But what about the beach estate? All your rebuilding plans...”

Duke gives an easy shrug. “It’s just a house. Not even much of one, right now. I’m sure some other developer can take it off my hands.”

“No!” I protest, stopping. “You can’t sell! You love that place– and I do, too. At least, I will, once it has floors and a roof,” I add, before adding shyly. “Besides… I can see the two of us in that house.”

The two of us… for now.

“There is plenty of room…” he agrees, smiling widely.

“For that indoor basketball court. And… I don’t know, maybe a nursery?” I venture. Since I’m supposed to be brave about saying what I want, and all. “One day,” I add quickly, in case he’s about to freak out. “In the future. The very distant future.”

“Or, not so distant…” Duke meets my eyes, and it’s like the future is flashing between us: a vision of something joyful, and thrilling, and safe.

I pull him closer, kissing him deeply, too happy for words. So, when my skirt blows up in a sudden gust of ocean breeze, and the photos of my bright red panties wind up all over the internet and spark some big debate about thong underwear vs boy-shorts, and what it means for modern feminism?

Well, I’m too busy loving him to care.

23

AVERY

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