Chapter 6
SIX
Dean
I wake to a face full of dark hair that smells like coconut and something uniquely Brooke. Sometime during the night, the heat must have driven us both toward the center of the bed seeking the coolest spot, because she's curled against my chest, her back pressed to my front, my arm draped over her waist like it belongs there. It doesn't, not anymore, but my traitorous body doesn't seem to remember that.
For one selfish moment, I don't move. I let myself remember what it was like to wake up with her every morning, to feel her warm and soft against me, to know she was mine. The weight of her head on my bicep, the gentle rhythm of her breathing, the slight curve where her waist meets her hip under my palm—it's all achingly familiar.
Then reality crashes in. She's not mine. She hasn't been for two years. And this—this closeness—is nothing but an accident, the result of a broken air conditioner and a restless night.
I extract myself carefully, trying not to wake her. She stirs slightly, making a small sound of protest as my warmth disappears, but doesn't open her eyes. I stand beside the bed for a moment, watching her sleep, hating myself for still wanting her after everything.
The bathroom provides temporary sanctuary. I splash cold water on my face, trying to wash away the lingering sensation of her body against mine. When I emerge, she's sitting up in bed, looking adorably disoriented, her dark hair a mess of waves around her shoulders.
"Morning," she mumbles, not quite meeting my eyes. "Sorry if I, um…I tend to move around in my sleep."
"No problem." I keep my voice casual, like finding her wrapped around me didn't affect me at all. "The AC's still out."
"Great." She sighs, pushing hair out of her face. "What's on the schedule today?"
"Beach day, I think. Taylor sent a text." I hold up my phone as evidence. "Everyone's meeting downstairs at ten."
Brooke nods, sliding out of bed and gathering her things. "I'll shower first, if that's okay."
"All yours."
She disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower start. I drop onto the edge of the bed, running my hands through my hair. This is even harder than I expected—pretending to be in love with her for her family while pretending not to be affected by her when we're alone. It's exhausting, and we're only on day two.
By the time we make it downstairs, most of the wedding party is already gathered in the lobby, dressed for the beach. Taylor bounces over, resplendent in a flowing cover-up over her bikini, a large straw hat perched on her blonde head.
"There you are!" she exclaims, hugging us both. "We were about to send a search party. Late night?" She winks suggestively.
Brooke blushes. "AC's out in our room."
"Ooh, that's rough." Taylor links her arm through her sister's. "But the beach will be nice and cool. And wait until you see who's here! James invited him as a surprise."
"Who?" Brooke asks, but Taylor is already pulling her toward the group.
I follow more slowly, adjusting the towel slung over my shoulder. I'm not looking forward to a day of playing the doting boyfriend in front of an audience, but at least the ocean will provide some relief from the heat—both actual and metaphorical.
The hotel's private beach is a crescent of white sand bordering clear turquoise water. Palm trees provide patches of shade, and hotel staff have already set up chairs and umbrellas for our group. It would be paradise under different circumstances.
Brooke drops her beach bag on a chair and slips off her cover-up, revealing a blue bikini that sends my brain into temporary shutdown. Two years in New York have been good to her—she's still curved in all the right places, her skin golden in the morning sun. I fight to keep my expression neutral as she bends to rifle through her bag for sunscreen.
"Dean!"
I turn to find James approaching with another man—tall, tanned, with the kind of carefully styled hair and perfect teeth that scream "I try too hard."
"This is Chase Davis," James says, clapping the man on the shoulder. "Old friend from Taylor's hometown. Chase, this is Dean McAllister, Brooke's boyfriend."
Chase's smile falters slightly when James says "boyfriend," but he recovers quickly, extending his hand. "Great to meet you, man. Heard a lot about you."
His grip is too firm, too eager to prove something. I match it, smiling blandly. "Can't say the same."
"Chase!" Brooke's voice, surprised and a little too high. She straightens, her eyes wide. "Oh my God, what are you doing here?"
"Surprise!" Taylor grins, clearly pleased with herself. "James invited him as a groomsman when his brother couldn't make it. Isn't it perfect? Now both my bridesmaids have their high school crushes here!"
Brooke's face flames red. "Taylor!"
Chase laughs, stepping forward to hug Brooke. "Good to see you, Brooks. It's been, what, ten years?"
"Something like that," she agrees, her smile tight as she returns his hug.
High school crush? I look between them, something ugly stirring in my gut. The way he's looking at her—appreciative, familiar, like he's mentally cataloging all the ways she's changed since high school—makes me want to step between them.
Instead, I move to Brooke's side, sliding my arm around her waist in a gesture that's both possessive and perfectly in character for her boyfriend. "Babe, you need help with that sunscreen?"
Brooke blinks up at me, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. "Sure, that would be great."
Chase steps back, his smile dimming slightly. "So, how long have you two been together?"
"Four years," I say smoothly, taking the sunscreen bottle from Brooke's hand. "But it feels like forever, doesn't it, sweetheart?"
She nods, leaning into me slightly. "Dean's practically part of the family now."
"Lucky man," Chase says, his eyes still lingering on Brooke. "Well, I should go help set up the volleyball net. Catch up with you later, Brooks."
As he walks away, Brooke exhales slowly. "Sorry about that. I had no idea he'd be here."
"Your high school crush?" I can't keep the edge from my voice.
She rolls her eyes. "I was sixteen, Dean. And nothing ever happened—he was dating the head cheerleader."
"But you wanted it to." It's not a question.
"Again, I was sixteen." She takes the sunscreen back from my hand. "It was a lifetime ago."
I want to press further, to ask if she still finds him attractive, if she regrets nothing ever happening between them. But I have no right to those questions—no right to feel this knot of jealousy twisting in my stomach.
"Let me get your back," I say instead, taking the bottle back.
Brooke hesitates, then turns, sweeping her hair over one shoulder. I squeeze sunscreen onto my palm and begin spreading it across her shoulders, her smooth skin warm under my hands. She shivers slightly at my touch, and I slow my movements, taking more time than necessary on the task.
"You missed a spot," I murmur, my fingers trailing down her spine to the small of her back, just above the bikini bottoms.
"Dean," she warns quietly, but doesn't pull away.
I finish reluctantly, handing the bottle back. "All done."
She turns to face me, her eyes dark and unreadable. "Thanks."
Before she can say anything else, Taylor calls everyone together for beach games, and the moment is broken. The next few hours pass in a blur of volleyball, swimming, and elaborate sandcastle competitions. I keep one eye on Brooke at all times, painfully aware of Chase doing the same.
He's not subtle about his interest. He positions himself on her team for volleyball, their hands brushing as they high-five after scoring. He sits next to her during lunch, leaning in too close to "hear over the waves." He offers to grab her drinks, compliments her sandcastle technique, laughs too hard at her jokes.
And Brooke—she's not exactly discouraging him. She smiles at his stories, playfully shoves his shoulder when he teases her, seems genuinely interested in hearing about his life in California. It shouldn't bother me. We're not really together. She's free to flirt with whoever she wants.
But it does bother me. It bothers me more than I want to admit.
By mid-afternoon, I've had enough. I'm sitting under an umbrella, watching Brooke wade in the shallows with Chase, their heads bent close in conversation, when Taylor drops into the chair beside me.
"Having fun?" she asks, adjusting her oversized sunglasses.
"Time of my life," I reply dryly.
She follows my gaze to where Brooke is laughing at something Chase said. "Ah. Feeling a little jealous?"
"Of what?" I scoff, though we both know it's transparent.
"Chase has always had a thing for Brooke," Taylor says casually. "Even in high school when he was dating Melissa. He used to find excuses to come over to our house, ask about her in class."
"Fascinating," I mutter, taking a swig of my beer.
Taylor nudges me with her elbow. "Don't worry. Brooke only has eyes for you. Anyone can see that."
If only she knew the truth. I force a smile. "Not worried."
"Good." She stands, brushing sand from her legs. "Because they're just friends. And you're the one sharing her bed tonight."
With that, she saunters off to join James, leaving me with the uncomfortable reminder that I am indeed sharing Brooke's bed—but not in the way Taylor assumes.
I watch as Brooke and Chase emerge from the water, laughing about something. Chase's hand rests briefly on her lower back as they walk up the beach, and my jaw clenches involuntarily.
"Water's perfect," Brooke says, dropping onto the chair next to mine and reaching for her towel. "You should go in."
"Maybe later." I hand her a bottle of water from the cooler, deliberately casual. "Having fun catching up with your friend?"
She eyes me over the rim of the bottle as she drinks. "Chase? Yeah, it's been forever. He's a pediatrician now in San Francisco."
"Fascinating," I say again.
Brooke's eyes narrow slightly. "He's just an old friend, Dean."
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to." She lowers her voice. "You're acting like a jealous boyfriend."
"I'm playing the part," I remind her, though we both know it's more than that. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
Before she can respond, Chase reappears with three fresh drinks. "Mojito for the lady," he says, handing one to Brooke. "And beer for the man." He offers me the second bottle.
"Thanks," I say, not meaning it.
Chase settles on the sand in front of our chairs, angled toward Brooke. "So I was telling Brooke about this medical mission I did in Guatemala last year. Amazing experience."
Of course he did missionary work. Probably rescues puppies in his spare time too.
I tune out as Chase launches into a story about saving a child with a rare condition, focusing instead on the way Brooke leans forward, engaged and impressed. The way her hair falls over one shoulder as she tilts her head. The way the sun catches the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.
She used to look at me like that.
"Brooks, you've got some sand," Chase says suddenly, reaching out to brush his fingers along her collarbone. His touch lingers longer than necessary, and something in me snaps.
"I think she's got it," I say, my voice harder than intended.
Brooke glances at me, surprised by my tone. "It's fine, Dean."
"Yeah, Dean, it's just sand," Chase agrees, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
I stand abruptly. "I'm going for a swim. Coming, babe?" I emphasize the endearment, extending my hand to Brooke.
She hesitates, looking between us, clearly sensing the tension. "Sure," she says finally, taking my hand. "Be right back, Chase."
I lead her down to the water, not releasing her hand even when we're out of Chase's sight. The ocean is warm, waves lapping gently at our legs as we wade in.
"What was that about?" Brooke demands once we're waist-deep in the water.
"What was what about?" I ask innocently.
"You know exactly what. The territorial display back there."
I turn to face her, water swirling around us, creating a small bubble of privacy. "He was touching you."
"He was brushing off sand!" she exclaims, exasperated.
"He's been finding excuses to touch you all day." My voice is low, controlled despite the anger simmering beneath. "And you've been letting him."
"I have not—" she starts, then stops, shaking her head. "Even if I was, it's none of your business, Dean. We're not really together, remember?"
The reminder stings more than it should. "Trust me, I remember."
We glare at each other, the tension between us having nothing to do with our fake relationship and everything to do with the real feelings we're both pretending don't exist.
Brooke breaks first, looking away. "This was a mistake. This whole charade."
"Probably," I agree, softer now. "But we're committed to it for the week."
"Right." She sighs, pushing wet hair from her face. "For Taylor."
The sun is starting to lower toward the horizon, casting golden light across the water. Around us, the wedding party is beginning to pack up, the day's activities winding down. In a few hours, we'll be back in our shared room, sharing a bed again, pretending this doesn't affect us.
"I don't like him touching you," I say suddenly, the words escaping before I can stop them.
Brooke's eyes snap back to mine, wide with surprise. "What?"
I step closer, the water pushing us together. "I said, I don't like him touching you."
Something flashes in her eyes—confusion, maybe anger, but something else too. Something that makes my heart race.
"Dean..." she starts, but doesn't finish the thought.
For a moment, I think I might kiss her—not for show, not for her family, but because I want to. Because even after two years, even after she broke my heart, I still want her more than I've ever wanted anyone.
Instead, I step back, putting safe distance between us. "We should head in. Dinner's in an hour."
Brooke nods, clearly relieved by the reprieve. "Right. Dinner."
We wade back to shore in silence, but something has shifted between us. A line has been crossed, an admission made that we can't take back.
I don't like him touching you.
It's the most honest thing I've said since agreeing to this charade, and judging by the way Brooke keeps stealing glances at me as we gather our things, it's not something either of us will forget anytime soon.