Page 12 of Falling for Mr. Wrong (The Rules We Break #2)

Chapter Twelve

Lyla

M y 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 silent I’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.

The brush of his skin against mine is quick, but my pulse jumps anyway.

Colton’s watching. Of course he is.

The first half-hour is all polite conversation — Savannah chatting about the renovations she’s doing in their Charlotte condo, Colton asking pointed but harmless questions about Damien’s business.

But under the table, Damien’s hand finds my thigh.

It’s not high enough to be indecent, but it’s steady, warm, and impossible to ignore. Every time I shift, his fingers flex just slightly, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Savannah asks about my podcast, and I explain in careful, neutral terms. Damien listens without interrupting, his thumb drawing lazy circles through the fabric of my dress.

When the waiter refills our drinks, Damien leans in close enough that his shoulder brushes mine. “You’re beautiful when you talk about something you love,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.

I force a smile, knowing Colton is watching, but my chest is tight. Not because it’s an act — but because I’m not sure it is anymore.

Colton leans back, swirling his bourbon. “You two seem… comfortable,” he says, eyes flicking between us. “Guess opposites really do attract.”

Damien’s gaze slides to his brother, calm but edged. “Not as opposite as you think.”

I feel the pressure of his hand increase, just a fraction. My face heats, and I quickly reach for my wine glass to cover it.

Savannah laughs lightly, oblivious to the undercurrent. “Well, whatever it is, it works. You look good together.”

Damien glances at me, and there’s something in his eyes that makes my stomach flip — a silent question I’m not ready to answer.

Colton rests his forearms on the table, eyes locked on Damien. “So… how long’s this been going on?”

It’s light on the surface, but I can feel the bait in it. He’s fishing.

Damien doesn’t blink. “Couple months.”

Colton’s brow lifts slightly. “A couple months and you’re already bringing her to dinner? That’s fast for you.”

“For me?” Damien echoes, his tone low but edged. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track.”

Colton gives a shrug that’s too casual to be real. “Hard not to. You’ve never exactly been the… ‘settle down’ type.”

Damien’s mouth curves, but there’s no humor in it. “And you’ve always been the ‘make it look good for the cameras’ type.”

The air at the table tightens. Savannah glances at me, a polite smile fixed in place, but I can see her eyes dart between them.

Colton leans back, swirling the ice in his glass. “I’m just saying, it’s a surprise. I didn’t think you’d be Lyla’s type.”

Damien’s hand, warm and steady on my thigh under the table, flexes just slightly. “Guess you didn’t know her as well as you thought.”

Colton’s smile sharpens. “Or maybe I knew her exactly. And I know you, too, Damien. You like to pick up things you’re not supposed to touch.”

I hold my breath. Savannah’s smile falters for just a second before she jumps in. “So, Lyla,” she says brightly, “tell me more about your podcast. I think it’s incredible what you’re doing for people.”

Her voice is warm and genuine, but the tension still hums under the table. Damien hasn’t looked away from Colton once, and Colton’s still wearing that perfect, infuriating smile.

The cold night air hits the moment we step outside, the four of us moving toward the curb where Savannah’s car is parked behind ours.

Savannah thanks me for coming, hugging me warmly. “We should get coffee sometime, just the two of us,” she says, and I believe she means it.

Colton gives Damien a look that isn’t quite a smile. “We’ll talk soon,” he says, voice low enough that I almost miss it.

Damien doesn’t answer, just watches as Colton guides Savannah toward the passenger side. They’re halfway to their car when Colton glances over his shoulder at us.

That’s when Damien’s hand slides to my jaw.

There’s no warning — just his mouth on mine, warm and sure, stealing my breath before I can think. His thumb strokes my cheek, tilting my head so the kiss deepens, his other hand finding the small of my back and pulling me against him.

It’s not soft. It’s not polite. It’s claiming.

I can taste the wine on his lips, feel the steady thump of his heart against my chest, and for a dizzying second, I forget that this is supposed to be for show.

When he pulls back, my lips are tingling and my knees feel unsteady. Damien’s eyes stay on mine, but I catch the flicker of something in his expression — satisfaction, maybe — as Colton turns away and gets into his car without another word.

The drive back is quiet, but not empty. Every time I shift in my seat, I can feel the ghost of his hands on me, and I know this isn’t just about selling the lie anymore.