Page 18 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

"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.

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