Page 103

Somehow, that made it worse. Because he was acting normal. Comfortable. Like the day after we had sex wasn't something that required an emergency board meeting.

Maybe it didn't. Maybe I was the only one spiraling. Wonderful.

"Head’s up, the overgrown ego with a wandering zipper is headed our way,” my mom deadpanned.

I almost laughed at my mom’s colorful description, but the reality that I was going to have to interact with Kenny sucked all the levity out of the situation. Instead, I braced myself for a visit from Satan and his public relations manager.

Kenny and Annie approached the table. Annie wore a pale pink sundress and a smile that had once fooled me into believing she was my friend. Kenny looked smug. Which was his default setting.

"Morning, everyone," Annie chirped.

She leaned down to kiss my mom’s cheek, but my mom pulled away from her and gave her a look that could strip paint off the wall.

Annie awkwardly withdrew her greeting, then took a seat across from me. "Mikayla. You look tired."

I smiled. "Thanks. You look…rested."

Her smile tightened. Damon's hand remained on my thigh.

Kenny pulled out a chair and lowered down. "Remember when you used to fall asleep at restaurants because you worked so much?"

Oh, we were doing this? I stared at him, he didn’t blink. Apparently, we were.

Annie laughed. "She did do that? Even in school. Studies and work always came first."

I felt Damon's hand still.

Kenny shook his head. "That's our Mikayla. Married to the job."

Our Mikayla? Absolutely not. I opened my mouth to respond, but Annie beat me to it. "Some things never change."

I smiled tightly. "Some things do."

Like friendships. Relationships. My tolerance for nonsense.

Damon shifted beside me. I felt the tension in his body. He'd been relaxed a moment ago. Now he wasn't.

And I had the distinct feeling he was about to say something. Something potentially devastating. Instead, he chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Kenny asked, walking right into what I assumed was a trap.

Everyone looked at him. I turned. Oh, God. What was he doing?

“I was just thinking about yesterday, after the scavenger hunt,” Damon began, a slow smile spreading across his face, “when Mickey decided she was going to win me a stuffed animal.”

“Damon,” I warned, silently reminding him of Section 9, Performance Standards, clause d: Party B will refrain from deliberately embarrassing Party A for personal amusement. I sincerely hoped last night's extracurricular activities hadn't let him to believe entire agreement was null and void.

He ignored me. The man had the self-preservation instincts of a moth in a candle factory.

“We were on the pier, and I offered to win her something, like any decent boyfriend would. But she looked me dead in the eye and informed me that she ran a multinational corporation, and was perfectly capable of winning one little ring-toss game.”

Aunt Beverly burst out laughing. “Oh, that sounds exactly like our girl.”

“Doesn’t it?” Damon grinned. “She marched up to that stand with a confidence that said she was going to dominate. Asked the guy about the rules, studied the bottles, rolled up her sleeves.”

I turned to him. “Please, stop talking.”

“Oh, baby, I'm just getting to the good part.” He winked.