Page 14 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

"It's not that bad," Dean says, but he's already pulled off his outer shirt, leaving him in just a thin undershirt that does nothing to hide the definition of his chest. "We could go down to the pool if you want to cool off before the luau."

The thought of Dean in swim trunks, water droplets trailing down his chest, is absolutely the last thing I need right now.

"I think I'll just take a cool shower," I say, standing abruptly. "You can go ahead."

He looks like he might argue, but just nods. "Suit yourself."

The shower helps marginally, but by the time I've dried my hair and applied makeup for the evening luau, I'm sweating again. I emerge from the bathroom in a sundress that's as light as I could manage while still being appropriate for a family event, to find Dean has opened all the balcony doors, trying to coax a breeze.

"No fans?" I ask.

"All out." He's changed into a button-down shirt in a light fabric, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms. "But the sun's starting to set. Should cool down soon."

We head down to the luau together, maintaining our couple façade with practiced ease. The beach provides some relief with its ocean breeze, and the swaying palm trees offer patches of shade. Tiki torches mark a large area where tables have been set up around a central stage for the traditional performances.

"There you two are!" Taylor waves us over to a table near the front. "We saved you seats."

Dinner is a traditional Hawaiian spread—kalua pig roasted in an underground oven, poi, lomi salmon, and platters of tropical fruit. The dancers are mesmerizing, their movements telling ancient stories of gods and heroes.

Under normal circumstances, it would be magical. But with Dean beside me, his thigh occasionally brushing mine, his arm around the back of my chair, I can't focus on anything but his proximity and the memory of that dream.

By the time we make our way back to our suite, night has fallen, but the room is still uncomfortably warm. Dean immediately opens all the windows and doors again, letting in what little breeze there is.

"It's like a sauna in here," I complain, fanning myself with a room service menu.

"You should change," Dean suggests, not looking at me. "Something cooler."

I grab my lightest pajamas from my suitcase and retreat to the bathroom. When I return in silk shorts and a tank top, Dean has changed too—into just a pair of basketball shorts, his chest bare and gleaming with a light sheen of sweat.

I avert my eyes, though not before I've taken in the sight of him—more muscular than he was two years ago, his shoulders broader, abs more defined. Ranch work clearly agrees with him.

"I'll take the couch," I say quickly, grabbing a pillow from the bed.

Dean looks at me like I've lost my mind. "In this heat? With no AC? You'll be miserable."

"I'll be fine." I start arranging the couch cushions. "You take the bed."

"Brooke." His voice has that tone—the one that always meant he wasn't going to back down. "You're not sleeping on that couch. It's too small for me, and it's definitely too hot for either of us to be cramped up like that."

I turn to face him, pillow clutched to my chest like a shield. “You take the bed. I'm not letting you sleep on the couch again. I’m shorter. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

"Like hell you are." He crosses his arms over his chest, drawing my attention to the defined muscles there. "I'm not taking the bed while you suffer on the couch."

We stare at each other in stubborn silence, a standoff neither of us seems willing to break. Finally, Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"The bed's big enough for both of us," he says, his tone carefully neutral. "We're adults. We can share it without making things weird."

My heart stutters in my chest. "Share the bed?"

"It's king-sized. We can stay on opposite sides." He shrugs like he's suggesting we share a taxi, not spend the night inches apart. "Unless you're afraid you can't keep your hands off me."

The teasing glint in his eyes is so familiar, so Dean, that I almost smile despite myself. Instead, I roll my eyes and toss the pillow back onto the bed.

"In your dreams, McAllister."

More like inmydreams, but he doesn't need to know that.

"So that's a yes?" he presses.

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