Page 29 of Falling for Mr. Wrong
Whatever Colton wants, I’m not ready to deal with it tonight.
Chapter Twelve
Lyla
My phone buzzes against the counter while I’m making tea. I almost ignore it, expecting another spam call, but the preview lights up with a name I haven’t seen in years.
Colton.
I stare at the screen for a full five seconds before sliding it open.
Dinner tonight. Bring Damien.
No punctuation. No smiley face. No “hope you’re well.” Just an order, like he’s still the one calling the shots.
I set the phone down, pressing my fingers to my temple. There’s no scenario where this ends well. If I say no, it looks suspicious. If I say yes, I’ll have to spend two hours pretending not to hate the man across the table — while pretending I’m in love with the man sitting next to me.
Still, my thumbs move on autopilot.
Sure.
I hit send before I can think better of it, then immediately regret it.
When I tell Damien, I expect him to groan, refuse, or maybe laugh at how obvious the setup is. But he doesn’t.
“What time?” he asks, not looking up from the piece of molding he’s measuring.
“You’re agreeing to this?” I demand.
He glances at me, one brow raised. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s dinner with Colton. And his fiancée. You know he’s going to… poke at you.”
“Let him,” Damien says simply, marking the wood with his pencil. “If we’re supposed to be dating, we can’t exactly hide from him.”
I fold my arms. “You sound almost eager.”
He smirks faintly. “Maybe I am.”
The restaurant is one of the newer ones in Mariner’s Bluff, all reclaimed wood tables and warm golden light that makes everything — and everyone — look better than they probably deserve. It’s also small enough that there’s no way to slip in unnoticed.
Damien holds the door for me, his hand settling low on my back as we step inside. It’s light, casual enough that no one else would notice, but the heat of it makes my skin prickle.
We spot them right away. Colton’s back is to us, but I’d know that broad-shouldered frame anywhere. He’s leaning in toward the woman across from him — Savannah, I assume — who has a smile like sunlight and a glass of white wine in her hand.
“Here we go,” I murmur under my breath.
Damien hears me. I feel it in the way his hand presses just slightly more firmly against my back, like a silentI’ve got you.
Colton turns at the sound of our footsteps. His smile spreads instantly — too perfect, too polished — as he stands to greet us. “Lyla. Damien.”
Savannah rises too, her smile genuine as she extends a hand. “You must be Lyla. And you’re Damien. I’ve heard a lot about both of you.”
“All lies, I’m sure,” Damien says, shaking her hand. His voice is easy, but there’s a thread of something sharper underneath.
We sit — Damien beside me, Colton across from him — and I can feel the weight of my ex’s gaze, taking in every glance, every shift of my body toward Damien.
When the waiter comes for drink orders, Damien reaches over, brushing his fingers along my wrist as he takes my menu. “She’ll have the Pinot,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to order for me.
