Chapter 9
NINE
Brooke
Morning sunshine has never felt so accusatory. It streams through the catamaran's sails, illuminating the impossibly blue Hawaiian waters and my equally impossible situation. Dean sits at the bow, laughing with my father about something I can't hear, looking completely at ease in board shorts and a faded t-shirt, like he didn't turn my world inside out last night. Like he didn't whisper "Who says it isn't?" about marriage, of all things, at breakfast. Meanwhile, I'm huddled under a sun hat the size of a satellite dish, nursing both a mild hangover and the unsettling realization that I might be in way over my head with this fake relationship plan.
"Need some water?" My cousin Melissa appears beside me, offering a bottle. "You look like you're contemplating jumping overboard."
"Is it that obvious?" I accept the water gratefully, taking a long sip.
She laughs, settling beside me on the cushioned bench. "Only to someone who knows you well. What's up? Trouble in paradise?"
If only she knew. "Just tired. Between the time difference and all the activities..."
"Uh-huh." Her knowing smirk makes me blush. "Nothing to do with the way you and Dean couldn't keep your hands off each other on the dance floor last night?"
I choke on my water. "We weren't—it wasn't?—"
"Please. You two were practically devouring each other. Not that I blame you." She fans herself dramatically. "If I had a man who looked at me the way Dean looks at you, I'd never leave the hotel room."
If she only knew about our night in the hotel room. I take another sip of water to hide my flaming cheeks.
"Speaking of men who can't take their eyes off you," Melissa continues, nodding toward the other side of the boat, "Chase hasn't stopped staring since we boarded."
I follow her gaze to where Chase stands with Taylor and James, pretending to be engaged in their conversation while his eyes keep drifting in my direction. When he notices me looking, he smiles and raises his drink in a small toast.
"Great," I mutter. "Just what I need."
"What's the story there? Taylor mentioned you had a thing for him in high school."
"A teenage crush. Ancient history."
"Well, based on the way he's looking at you, he's interested in making some new history."
I shake my head. "I'm with Dean."
The words come out automatically, part of the pretense, but they settle strangely in my chest. After last night, they feel both more true and more false than ever.
"Doesn't seem to be deterring Chase," Melissa observes. "Maybe Dean needs to mark his territory a bit more clearly."
"Dean doesn't need to mark anything," I say, perhaps too sharply. "And I'm perfectly capable of handling Chase myself."
As if summoned by our conversation, Chase makes his way over, his easy confidence evident in every step. He's objectively handsome—tanned skin, perfectly styled hair, white teeth gleaming in a practiced smile—but all I can think is how different he is from Dean, with his work-roughened hands and genuine laugh.
"Ladies," Chase greets us, his gaze lingering on me. "Mind if I join you?"
Melissa stands with suspicious speed. "Actually, I was just going to check out the view from the front. All yours."
She winks at me behind Chase's back before abandoning me to his company. Traitor.
"Having fun?" Chase asks, taking her vacated seat, closer than strictly necessary.
"It's beautiful out here," I reply, gesturing to the horizon where distant islands rise from the mist. "Taylor picked a perfect location."
"She always did have good taste." His eyes don't leave my face. "Though I think you got all the beauty in the family."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the obvious line. "Thanks, but Taylor's the star this week."
"Always the modest one." Chase shifts closer, his knee brushing mine. "That's what I always liked about you, Brooks. No ego, despite being the smartest, prettiest girl in school."
"Chase," I sigh, not bothering to hide my exasperation, "what are you doing?"
He blinks, feigning innocence. "Just catching up with an old friend."
"No, you're flirting with me, and it needs to stop. I'm with Dean."
"Right, the cowboy." His smile doesn't falter, but something flickers in his eyes. "How's that working with you in New York and him in…where was it? Wyoming?"
"Colorado," I correct automatically. "And we make it work."
"Long distance is tough." He shakes his head sympathetically. "Must be lonely in the big city."
Before I can respond, the catamaran's captain announces we're approaching a good snorkeling spot. People begin moving around the boat, gathering equipment, applying sunscreen. I stand, grateful for the interruption.
"I should find Dean," I say, edging away.
Chase catches my arm gently. "Hey, I didn't mean to offend you. I just…I always wondered what might have happened if I'd asked you out instead of Melissa back then."
"Nothing would have happened," I say firmly, removing his hand from my arm. "I'm happy with Dean. I have been for four years."
His eyes narrow slightly, assessing. "If you say so."
Something in his tone—the implication that he knows better than I do about my own relationship—sparks irritation deep in my chest. I move away without another word, scanning the boat for Dean.
I find him helping my father into snorkeling gear near the stern, his easy competence evident in his movements. He looks up as I approach, and something in my expression must telegraph my mood because his smile fades, replaced by concern.
"Everything okay?" he asks as I reach him.
"Fine," I say tightly, then, aware of my father watching, add, "Can I borrow you for a minute, babe?"
Dean raises an eyebrow at the endearment but nods. "Sure. Robert, you good with this for now?"
My father waves us off. "Go on. Young love and all that."
I lead Dean to the opposite side of the boat, where a small alcove offers some privacy from the rest of the group. Once we're out of sight, I release his hand and lean against the railing, letting the sea spray cool my heated face.
"Want to tell me what that was about?" Dean asks, his voice carefully neutral.
"Chase won't take a hint." I glance over my shoulder to make sure we're truly alone. "He keeps flirting, implying long distance must be hard, asking what might have happened if he'd asked me out in high school."
Dean's jaw tightens imperceptibly. "And you need me to do what, exactly? Tell him to back off?"
"No!" I shake my head quickly. "God, no. That would just make things awkward for everyone."
"Then what?"
I hesitate, suddenly unsure of my impulse to seek Dean out. What did I expect him to do? What do I want him to do?
The answer comes as Chase appears at the edge of our secluded spot, clearly looking for me. Our eyes meet, and he starts to approach, his confident smile firmly in place.
"Kiss me," I hiss to Dean.
"What?" His eyebrows shoot up.
"Kiss me, now." I grab the front of his t-shirt. "Make it look good."
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by something darker, more predatory. "Trying to make him jealous?"
"Trying to make him back off," I correct, even as my heart rate accelerates at the look in Dean's eyes. "He needs to see I'm serious about you."
Dean's lips curl into a slow smile that sends heat pooling low in my belly. "Well, if it's for the sake of our cover..."
Before I can respond, he backs me against the railing, one hand cupping my face, the other at my waist. His eyes search mine for a moment—giving me a chance to back out—before his mouth descends on mine.
The kiss starts as a performance, calculated and deliberate. But the moment our lips touch, something shifts. Dean's hand slides from my face to the back of my neck, tangling in my hair as he deepens the kiss. My arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer, all thoughts of Chase forgotten as Dean's tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance I eagerly grant.
A small moan escapes me as he presses closer, his body hot and hard against mine, the railing digging into my back. I can taste salt on his lips—from the sea spray or his own sweat, I'm not sure—and something deeper, richer that's uniquely Dean. My fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on as my knees threaten to give way.
This isn't fake. This isn't for show. This is raw and real and overwhelming.
He kisses like he's starving for me, like he's been waiting two years for just this moment. One hand slides down to grip my hip, pulling me more firmly against him, letting me feel exactly what this is doing to him. The evidence of his arousal sends a thrill through me, a matching heat building between my thighs.
I'm dimly aware that we're on a boat full of my family and friends, that anyone could walk by and see us, but I can't seem to make myself care. All that matters is Dean's mouth on mine, his hands on my body, the solid warmth of him pressing me against the railing.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard, his eyes dark with desire that I'm sure is mirrored in my own. For a long moment, we just stare at each other, the pretense completely stripped away.
"Is he gone?" Dean asks finally, his voice rough.
I blink, having completely forgotten the reason for the kiss in the first place. I glance over Dean's shoulder to see Chase nowhere in sight.
"Um, yes," I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathless. "He's gone."
Dean doesn't move away immediately, his body still aligned with mine, his hand still at my hip. "Good."
The single word carries more meaning than I'm ready to unpack. I clear my throat, attempting to regain some composure. "So…that worked."
Dean's hand finally drops from my hip, but he doesn't step back. "Was that all it was? A strategy to shake off your admirer?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications I'm not ready to face. Because the truth is, I didn't just kiss Dean to make Chase jealous. I kissed him because I wanted to. Because last night awakened something I've been trying to bury for two years.
"I..." My voice falters. "I should go check on Taylor. Make sure she's enjoying her day."
Dean catches my wrist as I try to slip past him. "Always running, Brooke."
I meet his eyes, finding challenge and hurt and desire all mingled together. "I'm not running. I'm just..." I trail off, unable to find an excuse that doesn't sound exactly like running.
"Just what?"
"Confused," I admit finally. "This is all happening so fast. You, me, this whole situation."
His expression softens slightly. "We can talk about it later. When we're alone."
The promise of "later" sends a shiver down my spine—equal parts anticipation and apprehension. I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Dean releases my wrist but surprises me by leaning in to place a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Go find your sister. But this conversation isn't over."
I slip away, pausing at the edge of our alcove to glance back at him. He stands where I left him, watching me with an intensity that makes my heart stutter.
"Oops," I murmur, more to myself than to him, acknowledging the mess I've created.
But Dean hears me, and his mouth curves in that slow, devastating smile I remember all too well. "Anytime you want to do that again, let me know."
The worst part? As I rejoin the wedding party, seeking Taylor's familiar blonde head among the crowd, I can't stop thinking about how much I want to do it again. How right it felt to be in Dean's arms, his mouth on mine, the world falling away around us.
This is dangerous. We still have the same problems we had two years ago—my life in New York, his in Colorado. One night of passion and a breathtaking kiss don't change the fundamental incompatibility of our lives.
And yet, as I catch sight of Dean rejoining my father, laughing at something he says, I can't help wondering—what if the problems aren't as insurmountable as I thought? What if, just maybe, there's a way to have both the career I've built and the man I never quite stopped loving?
I push the thought away as quickly as it forms. This is exactly the kind of magical thinking that happens in places like Hawaii, surrounded by romance and family pressure. Once we're back in the real world, the dream will fade, and we'll remember all the reasons we couldn't make it work the first time.
But for now, my lips still tingle from his kiss, and the memory of his hands on my body makes it hard to focus on anything else. One thing's for certain—Chase is no longer on my mind. Instead, it's filled entirely with Dean, and the growing realization that this "fake" relationship might be the most real thing in my life right now.