Page 90 of Plotting Summer

Tala nudges her elbow into him. “Takes one to know one.”

“Exactly.” Heath reaches out and grabs Tala, pulling her toward his sweat-drenched body while she attempts to push him away, but her laughing doesn’t help, and he plants a big kiss on her.

“Go shower,” she says, swatting at him. “You’re all sweaty and you smell awful.”

“According to your romances, women go feral for this musky smell.” He holds out his saturated shirt and takes a whiff. “Raw manliness.”

Tala shakes her head. “This”—she pinches his shirt between two fingers, her arm straight, and she leans away from him as though repulsed—“is not that.”

Footsteps echo in the hallway before Tristan reemerges, and he glances at each of our amused expressions. “What’d I miss?”

“Tala was just appreciating my musky scent.” Heath slings an arm around her shoulder. “She can’t get enough of it.”

“Clearly,” Tala says, dryly, turning her head away from him. “So what did Beau say?”

Tristan’s gaze settles on me, and I can tell he isn’t thrilled by the news. “Basically, that as long as they remain on public property, in this case the sidewalk, and don’t heckle or harass anyone, they’re allowed to be here.”

Tala lets out a breath. “Maybe I should send Heath out there to see if he can get a few to heckle him.”

We all laugh, but Heath nods his head. “You know I’m game.”

Tristan moves to where I’m standing, and it’s only then I realize I’m still in pajamas with no makeup on and my hair in a falling-out pile on top of my head. “Good morning, by the way,” he says, leaning down for a kiss.

I offer him my cheek so I don’t kill him with my morning breath. I have enough working against me right now with the whole reporters-standing-outside-our-door. I don’t need anything else to weaken his desire to be with me.

“Too musky for you?” he asks with a laugh.

I wrap my arms around him, inhaling his wonderful, salty, sweaty self. “No, I just need to brush my teeth. And I should probably go get ready.”

He pulls me closer. “No way. You look absolutely gorgeous.”

“See,” Heath says, pointing at Tristan. “Love is blind.”

My lips part in feigned offense. “Is that how you’re going to treat me after we babysat your kids for you Friday night?” I’m glad Heath’s here to lighten the heaviness of the moment, even if he just playfully mentioned that Tristan loves me in front of him.

“You look beautiful,” he says, and once again, he’s the ten-year-old little boy being forced to apologize.

“That’s what I thought.” My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down at it. “It’s Maven.” I click accept, and with how intently everyone’s watching me, I put it on speaker so they can all hear. “Hey, Maven!”

“Capri, I’m not sure if you’re aware yet or not, but your name was leaked on social media. Your actual name—Capri Collins.”

“Yeah, we figured as much. We have a few reporters outside, and my neighbor texted to say there are reporters at my house in Naples.”

“I worried that might be the case. I’ve been bombarded with calls and emails all morning asking if I can verify the source. Which I haven’t done since I wanted to talk to you first. I did try to call you several times earlier, but it went directly to voicemail.”

“I’m sorry. My phone was on airplane mode.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. It gave me time to figure out exactly what we’re dealing with, and I managed to find the original post⁠—”

“Do you know who posted it?” I ask, nervous for my assumption to be confirmed.

“Yeah … a Kathy Lance.”

I stare at the phone. “Kathy Lance?” I repeat, positive I’ve never heard that name.

“Sandra’s sister,” Tala whispers. “She was there last night.”

I give a slow nod, trying to make sense of the fact that it wasn’t Bridget. How many times can I make her out to be the villain before I learn my lesson? I mean, she did call me out in front of a roomful of people, but honestly, who wouldn’t have? Especially after seeing their name as the antagonist in a fictionalized story with their ex as the love interest. A New York Times best-selling story at that. Again, the reminder gives me that uncomfortable feeling as if my insides are itching.