Page 20

My throat tightened.

"And Kenny?" Damon's jaw flexed. "Kenny's a selfish, insecure little prick.”

I swallowed. "You don't know him."

"I know he cheated on you."

"That's hardly a complete psychological profile."

"It's enough for me."

I stared at him. "Are you…giving me a pep talk?"

"You're damn right I am."

My brows furrowed. "Should I expect a motivational poster next?"

"Only if you want one. I know a guy."

I laughed. A real laugh this time.

"There she is." His grin returned. "There's my girl."

I knew it was just a turn of phrase, I wasn’t “his girl.” Damon called women “sweetheart” and “darlin'” the way normal people used punctuation. But I had to admit, hearing him say it gave me the warm fuzzies. Two little words managed to do something deeply embarrassing to my insides.

My phone vibrated, saving me from examining that particular disaster. It was my cousin.

Jules: SOS. Uncle Dale and Dad are arguing Yankees vs. Red Sox again. Someone threatened to throw a hot dog.

Jules: Also, who is your new man???

Jules: Details. Now.

“Shit,” I mumbled under my breath.

I’d been so distracted by my panic attack, I forgot that I’d made up an imaginary man. I typed a quick response to Julissa, telling her I was on a call and promising I'd be back in five minutes, then shoved my phone into my pocket.

"That doesn’t sound good," Damon observed.

"It’s not." I pushed against the wall to stand, but Damon was already on his feet, offering me his hand. I took it. Big mistake.

His palm was warm and rough against mine, and he pulled me upright with such effortless strength that my stomach flipped hard enough to qualify as a gymnastics routine.

We ended up practically chest-to-chest. And holy mother of all things inappropriate. The man was built.

Not gym-selfie, protein-shake, look-at-my-abs built. More like actually-used-his-body-for-hard-work built. Solid muscle, broad shoulders, narrow hips, and arms that looked perfectly capable of lifting me without breaking a sweat. Not that I'd imagined him lifting me. Much.

His hand lingered around mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. A tiny touch. Barely anything. My entire nervous system reacted like he'd stripped naked and invited me to climb aboard.

"So," he said, looking down at me with that lazy, devastating smile. "What is it?"

I had no clue what he was referring to. Apparently my brain had officially abandoned its post. All because Damon Lockhart was standing too close and smelled like the male lead in a very expensive cologne commercial.

"What’s what?" I asked.

His grin widened. "The thing that had you cussing at your phone."

"Oh." I blinked. “It's stupid."