Censorshipped (Getting Shipped! #4)

by Savannah Scott

Those eyes: green with brown flecks and this orange rim around the iris. Intense, yet playful. Never fully telling you what you want to know about the man behind them, but somehow still drawing you near because he’s so irresistible. Trouble, your name is Duke.

It is when your whole being is made up of seventy-five percent sunshine and twenty-five percent I’m-here-for-the-party.

You know that saying “water off a duck’s back”? That’s Duke. Everything just rolls off him. He’s perpetually flirting with life and every person he comes into contact with. He’s as harmless as a puppy, except my heart feels like his chew toy, shredded from years of wishing he’d see me as something more than Chris’ little sister.

which, to be clear, even if she were wearing snow clothes in the middle of summer, my urge to take her home and kiss her wouldn’t diminish in the least.

Don’t get me started on her lips. Full Shakespearean sonnets could be written about Shannon’s lips. And yes, I may be a small-town mechanic, but I know my way around the bard.

Get real. I ride a Harley, like a man.

I shut my car door, hoist my purse onto my shoulder, and walk toward another day of mediocrity.

Bless his heart. And bless mine while we’re at it.

I’d like to tell you this type of disruption is totally out of character for our town. We all know it isn’t.

It’s like girls’ night, but with a guy. That’s probably not the most inspiring feeling to have on a date, but it’s nice.

Duke lifts his ball cap off his head, runs his hand through his hair and puts the cap back on backwards. No. He. Didn’t. Does he have any idea how completely sexy that is? And why is a backward ball cap so sexy?

Duke’s wearing the equivalent of a ball cap welcome sign. And I want to go shopping. Yes. I. Do.

People will ask me why I’m always wearing my hat and why it’s perpetually backwards. This. This right here is why. Delicious torture? I’m all over that.

The sight of Duke being all paternal caused my ovaries to send off fireworks to rival those over Main Street during Red, White, and Blue, and Corn Too. The rockets red blare had nothing on my urge to jump through the stands and wrap my star spangled self around Duke and show him my flag was still there. But, I obviously do not embrace living in the land of the free and the home of the brave, because my cowardly rear stayed planted in the stands.

How does a guy sweat and work as hard as Duke and end up smelling clean? It’s like a dryer sheet had a tryst with red hot cinnamon candy.

“Get a shirt on and get back to work, Satterson.” “Yes ma’am,” he says with that boyish grin, dimples popping and biceps popping and pecs popping. So much popping. Orville Redenbacher would be jealous.

I’d like to be an anthropologist of Duke. I’d study the heck out of his physiological characteristics, devoting myself to my work.

Red lips, girlfriends. Don’t ever underestimate the power of a well-applied power shade of lipstick.