Page 168

Across the room, Damon was entertaining my uncles, Dale and Ray, looking relaxed, happy, and distractingly handsome. His white dress shirt was open at the collar, his tie hung loose around his neck, and he'd rolled his sleeves up to reveal forearms that had absolutely no business being that attractive.

Honestly, the man could've at least had the decency to look less appealing while I was trying not to fall for him.

I'd spent the last two years pretending his smile didn't affect me. Turns out, I was a terrible actress. Which was unfortunate, considering my current role required convincing an entire wedding party that Damon and I were madly in love.

"Slow down party girl, you’re making the rest of us look bad."

I turned to find Dean Lockhart beside me, holding two pieces of wedding cake. He offered me one, but I waved it off.

"Try to contain your jealousy, not everyone can rage this hard."

Dean smiled as he followed my gaze toward his brother. "Quite the view you have."

My cheeks heated with embarrassment that Dean caught me ogling Damon. I tried to play it off. "Yeah, unfortunately, your brother's blocking it.”

He laughed around a bite of cake. "He’s been a problem for thirty years."

"And nobody's done anything about him?"

"Believe me, we've tried."

"Clearly not hard enough."

"He's still alive, isn't he?" Dean spotted something over my shoulder and smirked. "Speaking of problems. Good luck."

He walked off before I could respond.

I turned and found six feet plus of cowboy-shaped trouble walking straight towards me. Damon stopped in front of me, close enough for me to catch the familiar scent of his cologne. Cedarwood and leather. It was becoming a problem.

The bad-boy half grin he was wearing didn’t help my current predicament. "Dance with me.”

"I’m good, but thanks."

"That sounds suspiciously like rejection."

"Excellent observation."

He pressed a hand to his chest. "Ouch. Right in the heart."

"You'll recover."

"Debatable. A dance might help."

I shook my head. "I'm tired."

His teasing expression softened slightly. "Tired?"

"Exhausted, actually. My feet hurt, my back hurts, and I've been smiling at people for so many hours I'm pretty sure my face is permanently stuck this way."

He glanced down at my heels. "Those things look like instruments of torture."

"They are. Expensive ones."

"Then why wear them?"

"Because they matched the dress."

He nodded solemnly. "Makes perfect sense.”