“Not for a construction crew,” April replied. “Good morning, Blue. Coffee and doughnuts downstairs.” Blue rolled over and gave a weak wave. April waved back and disappeared.

“This sucks,” he muttered. And then he yawned. Blue didn’t like that. The least he could do was express a little sexual frustration.

She realized she hadn’t entirely shaken off the aftereffects of her dream. “Pervert.” She threw herself out of bed. She absolutely couldn’t let herself be turned on by this man, not even in her sleep.

“You’re a liar,” he said from behind her.

She looked back. “What are you talking about?”

The covers fell to his waist as he sat up, and sunlight from the bare windows skipped across his biceps, gilding the hair on his chest. He rubbed his bad shoulder. “You told me you had, quote, ‘no boobs.’ Turns out, you were dead wrong about that.”

She wasn’t awake enough for a good comeback, so she glared at him and stalked into the bathroom, where she turned both faucets on full force for privacy. When she emerged, she found him standing in front of an expensive suitcase he’d set on the bed. He was wearing only a pair of navy knit boxers. She stumbled, silently cursed herself, then pretended she’d done it on purpose. “For the love of God, warn me next time. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

He glanced over his shoulder, blasting her with all his stubbled, rumpled glory. “From what?”

“You look like an ad for gay porn.”

“You look like a national disaster.”

“Exactly why I have dibs on that shower.” She headed for her grungy duffel, which he’d deposited in the corner. She unzipped it and rummaged for clean clothes. “I don’t suppose you’d stand guard in the hall while I clean up?”

“Why don’t I just go in there and keep you company?” It sounded more like a threat than a come-on.

“Amazing,” she said. “A superstar like you still willing to help out the little people.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the way I’m made.”

“Forget it.” She grabbed her clothes, a towel, and some toiletries and headed for the bathroom. Once she was absolutely sure he wouldn’t try to join her, she shampooed her hair and shaved her legs. Dean didn’t know his mother wasn’t really dying, but he seemed more belligerent than sorrowful. She didn’t care what April had done to him. That was cold.

She dressed in a pair of clean but faded black bike shorts, a roomy camouflage T-shirt, and flip-flops. After a quick blast with his hair dryer, she pulled her hair up with a red ponytail elastic. The shorter ends refused to cooperate and straggled down her neck. For April’s sake she’d have added lip gloss and mascara if they hadn’t both gone missing three days ago.