Page 19 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

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.

SEVEN

Brooke

I'm tryingon my third outfit when I finally admit to myself that I'm dressing for Dean. Not for the luau, not for the wedding photos that will inevitably be taken, but for the man who just told me he doesn't like seeing another man's hands on me. The man who looked at me in the ocean like he was drowning and I was both the water and the air he needed to breathe. I settle on a white sundress with thin straps that cross in the back, the fabric light enough for the evening heat but elegant enough for the sunset ceremony we'll be attending. It's not the most revealing thing I packed, but something about the way it flows when I move makes me feel both beautiful and untouchable—exactly what I need to be around Dean tonight.

The bathroom door opens, releasing a cloud of steam along with Dean, a towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets cling to his broad shoulders, tracing paths down his chest that my eyes follow helplessly.

"Bathroom's free," he says, then stops when he sees me, his gaze traveling slowly from my bare feet up the length of my dress. "You look..."

He doesn't finish the sentence, but his eyes say enough. I resist the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.

"Thanks," I say, slipping past him into the bathroom, careful not to brush against his damp skin. "I'll just be a minute with my makeup."

I close the door behind me and lean against it, taking deep breaths to steady my racing heart. What is wrong with me? This is Dean—my ex, the man I left behind for a reason. Though for the life of me I can’t remember what that reason was right now. I wanted my career in New York?

I’m not supposed to care what he thinks of my dress. I'm not supposed to notice the way water droplets cling to his skin or how his eyes darken when they look at me.

Yet here I am, heart pounding like I'm twenty-four again and falling for him all over.

I apply my makeup with careful precision, giving myself a stern talking-to in the mirror. This is just proximity and nostalgia playing tricks on me. That, and the stress of maintaining this charade for my family. Once the wedding is over and we go back to our separate lives, these feelings will fade. They have to.

When I emerge, Dean is dressed in khaki pants and a button-down shirt in a deep blue that brings out the gray in his eyes. He's rolled the sleeves to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms that I used to trace with my fingertips in lazy Sunday mornings.

"Ready?" he asks, holding the door open for me.

I nod, grabbing my clutch and brushing past him, hyperaware of the scant inches between our bodies.

The walk to the beach is silent, both of us lost in our own thoughts. The resort has transformed the shoreline for tonight's event—tiki torches form a path to a large open-air pavilion where tables are arranged around a central performance area. Beyond, the sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink that reflect on the calm ocean surface.

It would be painfully romantic if I were here with anyone else. With Dean beside me, it's almost too much to bear.

"Drink?" he offers as we approach the bar set up at the entrance.

"Please," I say with more enthusiasm than I intend. "Something strong."

He raises an eyebrow but orders two mai tais, handing one to me. The sweet, rum-heavy cocktail is exactly what I need to take the edge off the nervous energy thrumming through my veins.

"Pace yourself," Dean murmurs as I take a large gulp. "Long night ahead."

---