Page 129 of The Heartbreaker for Hire

Damon Lockhart appeared to be holding a fan club meeting. Membership was growing at an alarming rate. There were three women surrounding Damon as he waited at the bar. Three. Not that I was counting. Okay, fine. I was counting. But only because I had eyes, and those eyes were currently witnessing The Bachelor: Cowboy Edition.

The blonde was touching his arm. The brunette was laughing at something he'd said. And the redhead was standing close enough to identify his deodorant.

Not that he needed deodorant. The man smelled like cedarwood, sunshine, and temptation. I knew this because I'd spent an alarming amount of time pressed against him over the past two days.

Fake relationships required convincing physical proximity. I didn’t make the rules, I just enthusiastically followed them. Actually, no I did make the rules. We just hadn’t followed them.

I sipped my second margarita as the blonde threw her head back laughing. Whatever he'd said couldn't possibly be that funny. Or interesting. The trio of women were hanging on his every word as if he’d announced he was secretly a billionaire looking for a wife.

It did not escape me that my jealousy was ridiculous. Damon wasn't my boyfriend. He was my fake boyfriend.

A distinction that became increasingly difficult to remember when he tucked my hair behind my ear, kissed my forehead for no reason, and looked at me like I was the only woman on earth.

Although, that last one seemed to have an expiration date. And that expiration date was three women with excellent cleavage.

"Mikayla."

I turned and immediately wished I hadn't.

Annie stood clutching a nearly empty margarita and wearing the unmistakable expression of someone who'd consumed enough tequila to mistake a terrible idea for a brilliant one.

This was the cherry on top of a shit sundae.

The rehearsal dinner hadn’t been what I would classify as smooth or uneventful. It seemed my family was incapable of behaving themselves. In the span of two hours, I’d witnessed a food fight over the last piece of smoked salmon, a passionate debate about the Oxford comma that nearly ended in bloodshed, and a very public display of affection between two retirees that was either adorable or a cry for help, depending on your worldview. But none of that compared to the confrontation between Kenny and Damon.

My ex-boyfriend and fake-boyfriend exchanged words. Heated ones. And if I hadn't stepped in when I did, I had no doubt things would've gotten physical. Which was the absolute last thing I needed.

It didn’t surprise me that Kenny was being an ass. What surprised me was Damon. He was always so cool, calm, and collected. Nothing affected him. Leave it to Kenny to not only find his buttons, but to push them.

That hadn’t surprised me, but what did come as a shock was that before I had a chance to address the interaction, Damon apologized. It wasn't some halfhearted apology offered just to smooth things over. He appeared genuinely upset with himself and contrite.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I was out of line. I let him get under my skin, and I shouldn't have. You don't deserve to be put in that position, and I’m sorry I didn’t think about that, about you, before running my mouth. It was immature and unacceptable."

There was no defensiveness in his voice. No excuses. He didn't try to justify what had happened or suggest that Kenny had deserved it, even if we both knew he'd deliberately provoked him.

Instead, Damon looked me in the eye and took responsibility for his actions. He wasn't apologizing because he'd been caught. He apologized for doing something that upset me, period. He didn’t offer up excuses or rationalizations. He just owned it.

And somehow, that meant more than the words themselves.