7. Avery
So much fora 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.
“Well, let me know if you want me to post anything,” Brooke says. “Your social media accounts are going crazy, with people leaving comments. I’m trying to delete anything too X-rated, but it’s hard to keep up.”
“Remind me to give you a raise,” I tell her gratefully.
“Count on it!”
I hang up, and grab my bags of pottery and snacks. I thought about bailing on the BBQ altogether and hiding out at the cottage, drowning my sorrows in the rest of that chocolate, but I need the distraction from all the disappointed messages from Max and my team.
Besides, sugar is murder on my complexion. And something tells me, those candid photographers could strike at any time.
I make my way to the front porch, and ring the bell.
“Avery!” Tessa greets me on the doorstep, dressed in a cute pair of denim overalls over her bikini. “You came!”
Her mouth quirks in a grin, and I groan. “Not you, too!”
“Freudian slip, I promise.” She gives me a hug, and ushers me inside. “How are you holding up? I saw the stories,” she adds with a wince.
“You, and fifty million other people,” I reply, trying to sound perky and carefree about the whole thing. “It’s nothing. Just another innocent mishap getting blown out of all proportion. It’s the story of my life, these days.”
“I can’t imagine,” she shakes her head. “Actually, I can. The paparazzi were everywhere, when I started dating Jackson. I was terrified they’d get a picture through my bedroom curtains at night.”
I gulp. “Good point.”
I follow her inside, making a mental note to check which parts of the cottage can be seen from the lane. I wasn’t thinking about security when I booked it, but now, I’m hoping all those brightly-colored drapes don’t turn sheer in direct sunlight.
“Look who made it,” Tessa announces, as we arrive in the kitchen. It’s a hive of activity, with Tessa’s grandfather, Artie, is stirring up some kind of pungent sauce at the stove, while Jackson assembles tableware, and a chic blonde woman sets out drinks. She looks vaguely familiar…
“Hey,” Jackson greets me with a warm bear-hug. He’s let his beard grow in, and is wearing battered denim and a NASA T-shirt, but he’s every inch the off-duty movie star. “Good to see you. Can I get you a drink. We’ve got beer, water, straight vodka, if you need.”
I let out a wry laugh. “Maybe later.”
“You know Artie, and this is Quinn,” he says, introducing the blonde. “Our friend-slash-PR maven.”
“That’s right,” I realize, clocking where I’ve seen her before. She was hanging out on set last summer, guiding Jackson through his own tabloid scandals. “Quinn Michaels Publicity.”
“The one and only,” Quinn gives me a friendly smile, perched at the counter in an elegant halter top and navy pants. “Good to see you looking so well. You know, considering...”
“Why, did something happen?” I make my expression wide-eyed and innocent. “I haven’t been keeping up with the news.”
Jackson snorts with laughter, and hands me a beer. “Atta girl. Although, as compromising positions go, I’ve got to hand it to you guys.”
“It was a snakebite!” I protest loudly. “Duke was just sucking out the venom.”
I take in the row of skeptical expressions. “Really,” I insist. “Come on, do you think I would ever willingly let that insufferable man anywhere near me, if it wasn’t a life or death situation?—”
Someone strolls in the open back door. “Grill’s hot,” Duke announces. His expression is unreadable as he plucks a beer from the counter, grabs a plate of meat, and saunters back out again.
Crap.
I gulp. “Do you think he heard?” I venture in a small voice.
“What? No!” Tessa reassures me – at the same time as Artie and Jackson nod.
“Definitely.”
“For sure.”
Double crap.
“I should, um, go…” I gesture outside.
“Take these.” Tessa shoves a plate of dinner rolls into my hands. I give her a look. “They can’t hurt!”
I venture outside. The Sandpiper has a pretty backyard area, with picnic tables and lawn games for guests. I find Duke tending to meat on the grill, poking authoritatively at the coals in that whole “man make fire” way they like to do. At least he’s clothed today, wearing another one of those flannel shirts with a pair of jeans that hang perfectly off his ass.
Not that I’m looking.
Not at all.
“So…” I begin, snapping my eyes up. Way up. “Have you?—”
“—been swamped with calls from everyone I’ve ever met?” Duke finishes for me. He doesn’t look over, just stabs at the grill with his jaw set. “Yup. My mom, in particular, wanted to know what was going on. My old pastor, too. And Mrs Caruana. She taught me in third grade,” he adds. “You can imagine that was a fun conversation.”
“I am so, so sorry,” I tell him, wincing. “Really. You were only trying to help me! This isn’t your mess.”
“No, it’s not.” Duke finally turns to look at me. His eyes rake over me from head to toe, and suddenly, I feel way overdressed in my matching linen set. “I don’t give a damn about all this tabloid bullshit or social media clicks. You’re the one who needs to stay in the spotlight. Well, congratulations,” he adds. “You’re definitely back there again.”
I blink.
“Wait a minute…” I say, gaping at him in disbelief. “Are you saying…? Do you think I staged that?”
He gives me a look. “It’s a mighty big coincidence, don’t you think? A photographer just happens to show up in the middle of nowhere, when you’ve insisted you just got bit by a snake?—”
“Because I did!” I exclaim. “Or do you think I planned that, too? And somehow telepathically manipulated you into whipping out a knife and cutting my leg open?”
“Everybody knows that’s what you do for a snakebite,” Duke replies, looking scornful.
“Well, clearly I’m not the all-powerful, mind-control bitch goddess you think I am, because I didn’t!” I yell back at him furiously, just as Suze comes out of the house with her arms full of food, and a tall, dark-haired woman in tow.
“Avery,” she says brightly, in a tone of voice that says yes, they absolutely just heard us bickering. “So great to see you again. Have you met my wife, Lori?”
I bite back the insults I was just about to hurl at Duke. My heart is pounding, and I realize that my hands are curled in fists at my sides.
I catch my breath. “Lori, hi! Lovely to meet you!” I give them both a big, friendly smile, fighting to control my emotions. “Is that potato salad you’ve got there? Let me help you with that. Mmm, it looks delicious!”
The restof the group joins us, and soon we’re all sitting around a table, passing delicious platters of grilled veggies and classic hotdog fixings. There’s a steady stream of laughter and conversation, and despite Duke glowering at me from across the table, I’m actually having fun.
Besides, the bigger my smile gets, the more that grumpy asshole glowers. Call me petty, but that’s a win-win all around.
“… but now, I’m getting concerned calls from parents, and I don’t know what to tell them,” Suze is describing her theater camp woes, as we all dig into the spread. “It’s Shakespeare! Of course there’s going to be sex, drugs, and violence. Does he even have any G-rated plays?”
“What’s the one on that island?” Quinn asks, “The Tempest!”
I shake my head. “Magical mind-control.”
I shoot a look at Duke, reminded of his ridiculous accusations. He pointedly ignores me, tearing into a burger instead.
“A Midsummer’s Night Dream?” Artie offers. “Isn’t that about woodland sprites?”
Suze and I burst out laughing. “Nymphs,” she says. “And nympho is the right word.”
“They all get high, and try to have sex with each other,” I agree. “Trust me, Romeo and Juliet is the safest choice around. At least nobody gets hacked up, baked into a pie, and eaten.”
Everybody pauses and looks at the pie in the middle of the table.
“It’s just rhubarb cranberry!” Lori insists, and we all laugh.
“There was a photographer hanging out at the bakery when I was there,” she adds. “He asked directions to your place, Duke, so I sent him halfway to Provincetown instead.”
Duke glowers. “Damn journalists. They’ve been calling and hanging up all day.”
“Hey, at least you’re getting a good write-up.” Jackson kicks back, looking amused with one arm slung around Tessa’s shoulders. “Some photographer got pics of me carrying groceries, and I guess the perspective was all weird, because they launched a whole thing about the size of my hands, and if it meant I also had big?—”
“Feet,” Tessa interrupts, giving a glance at her grandfather.
Jackson chuckles. “Yeah, my feet. So, count yourself lucky, man.”
Duke just spears another burger onto his plate. “This kind of luck, I can do without.”
“There must be some upside,” Tessa urges, looking concerned. “I bet it’ll be great for business. Come Monday morning, your phone will be ringing off the hook.”
“I’m already booked solid,” Duke replies. “I don’t need any cheap publicity stunts to keep my skills in demand.”
He shoots me an arrogant smirk, but I just smile right back at him. If he thinks he’s going to get a rise out of me…
A bread roll hits Duke in the forehead– and I’m not the one who threw it. Suze laughs at him. “Thought you needed help, mopping up all that ego,” she grins, and tosses another– which Duke catches this time. “Ignore him,” Suze tells me. “Clearly, the historical society folks have been blowing smoke up his ass for too long.”
“Some people know the value of good craftsmanship,” Duke shoots back, but he’s got an amused look on his face.
In fact, that handsome face of his is looking way too self-satisfied.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m used to big egos in Hollywood,” I say breezily, taking a sip of my drink. “In my experience, they’re usually just trying to compensate for their other… shortcomings.”
Quinn hoots with laughter. “Amen to that,” she says, raising her glass.
Duke glowers some more.
“It’ll all blow over soon though,” Jackson reassures him. “I’ve been through it, too. Remember all that drama last summer, when Tessa and I got together? It’ll be forgotten soon enough.”
Maybe for him.
I bite my lip, and don’t say anything. I know male actors have pressure too, but it’s always been different for guys. They don’t have headlines running about how they’re past their sell-by-date: childless and alone. They don’t get TikTok videos of plastic surgeons talking about all the work they’d do to “fix” their face, or have to sit through meetings with bigwig producers musing over what costumes will make them fuckable enough.
And trust me, nobody’s out there judging Duke for our supposed-hookup. Hell, they’ll be congratulating him. Throwing a damn parade. Way to go, man. Banging the movie star.
I’m the only one getting called a desperate, fame-hungry whore.
I suddenly realize there are tears suddenly stinging the back of my throat.
Dammit.
“I think we’re out of ice,” I declare brightly, bouncing to my feet. “Anyone need anything from the kitchen? No? Be right back!”
I head inside, to where it’s quiet and cool – and I can pull myself the hell together. I run the cold faucet, and stick my wrists under the icy water: a little behind-the-scenes trick I learned to calm down fast.
Outside the window, I can see Jackson and Tessa snuggled together, enjoying the sunshine and the lazy afternoon.
I feel a lonely pang echo, deep in my chest.
It really is different for him.
When Jackson had that gossip explode last summer, he had a whole team in his corner: agents, publicists, close family and friends. And, oh yeah, the love of his life right there at his side. They all helped steer the story, protect Tessa, and keep his career on-track. Everyone was invested in his bright, A-list future.
But me? I’m out here on my own. My agent, Max, was already ducking my calls, and the whole reason I’ve been avoiding my messages is that I’m afraid he’s going to cut me loose completely.
“How are you holding up?”
I turn. Quinn’s followed me in, making a beeline for the makeshift bar area with bottles of seltzer and iced tea. “Oh, I’m fine,” I tell her immediately, pasting on another big smile. “Like Jackson said, it’ll all blow over soon!”
Quinn gives me a skeptical look. “Come on, we’re both professionals here. And I don’t know what your team is doing, but you need new people, because they’re blowing this for you.”
My heart sinks. Talk about confirming my worst fears.
“The runaway bride thing, and those bad stock photos were bad enough,” Quinn continues briskly. “But now this? You’ve lost control of the narrative. Right now, you’re just a flighty bimbo, and that’s not a reputation you can shake off so easily, not once it sticks.”
“So what can I do?” I ask, feeling hopeless. “I don’t exactly have the editor of US Weekly on speed-dial here.”
“Give them a new story,” Quinn replies immediately. “Something to root for. Romance. True love! They ate up the Jackson/Tessa stuff because it’s the fairytale everyone dreams about: our ordinary Cinderella, falling for the hunky movie star.” She pauses. “You’re too famous to play Cinderella, but the same rules apply.”
“A new story,” I echo, wondering where on earth I’d even start.
Quinn nods. “And if I was doing your publicity, I’d run exactly the same playbook. Give them a wholesome small-town romance, with you and Mister Blue-Collar Craftsman out there. Holding hands at the drive-in, sharing a milkshake in the town square. Long enough to turn this all around and land your next big role, at least.”
I blink in disbelief. “You mean… fake a relationship with Duke?”
“He’ll do it!”
We turn. Suze is standing in the doorway, looking delighted…
… and Duke is right there alongside her. Not looking delighted.
Not at all.
“Over my dead body.”