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.
