“And you’re saying you aren’t that girl?”

I snorted. “I once went to Ireland as a kid and spent nearly the whole trip in our hotel room reading books. Why, you ask? Because I was too scared I wouldn’t be able to understand people’s accent and I’d make a fool of myself. I’m practically allergic to adventure. Fun gives me a rash.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been with the kind of girl you’re talking about. Sure. But all of those relationships ended in flames. Maybe I’m curious what it would be like to date the girl who gets a rash from fun.”

“Date?” I nearly choked on the wine I was sipping. “Earlier, you were just talking about casual sex.”

“I’m not allowed to be curious?”

“I’m just trying to figure out which it is. Are you hoping to casually sleep with me so you can get me out of your system, or are you hoping to date me? Because I’m getting mixed signals.”

“Maybe that’s a decision I would make in the heat of the moment. Or maybe I’m just exploring possibilities I never plan to act on.”

I was blushing hard when the server came by our table with a little metal scraper she used to scoop crumbs from the tablecloth. I smiled tightly, waiting for her to finish.

“Who says there will be a hot moment for you to make that decision?” I asked. I was flirting now. I felt it through my entire body–from the tingle of heat in my belly, which was spreading dangerously downward, to the buzz in my head. Flirting when I’d sworn off men was like a vegetarian sniffing a sizzling prime rib. It was stupid. But I couldn’t stop myself. There was something in the moment. Something in his eyes. Something in the kindness he’d shown me and the electric crackle that seemed to thicken the air every time we were around each other.

“Hmm.” Dean plucked off another chunk of bread, dipped it, and took a bite. He sat back in his chair, chewing and watching me with a growing smile. “Well, I’d say my chances are decent. I know I’ve already got you down on the schedule to share my bed tonight and…” he pretended to check his watch. “Five more days until this conference is over. And if our benevolent boss setting us up with a shared room for the work conference is any indication, I’m guessing we’ll be bunking together in Fairhope, too. What do you think?”

I hadn’t thought of that. “It’s possible,” I said slowly.

“Our hot moment, or bunking in Colorado?”

I gave him a dirty look. “Bunking in Colorado.”

“Ah, I see.” He lifted his wine glass, swirled and sipped. “So we’re still playing hard-to-get.”

“Actually, I think we’re supposed to be playing fake relationship. Or did you forget the plan?”

“Plans change, Pearl. And people break vows all the time. Not that I’m suggesting I’m one of those people, mind you. I’m only suggesting that no plan should ever be immune to changing if the situation calls for it. My uncle Chester was divorced four times before he finally settled down with a nice retired man he used to serve with in the army. What’s a vow if you’ve been lying to yourself, after all?”