Dean settles a splayed hand on my back and gently presses his fingers there. “Right. Exactly. That’s just what I was going to say. Precisely that.”

Dear Lord, he’s terrible at this. So terrible it’s actually endearing.

Brynn isn’t at all surprised that we’re not interested in their offer, though. “Such a pity, but I understand. Sorry for any misunderstanding. It was great meeting you.”

“Same,” I say, giving her a half-hearted wave. “Hope you and Jaxson get home safely!”

We speed-walk back to the bar, where Brandon’s waiting, his raised brows suggesting he’s eager for a rundown of our fake dating exploits.

“How’d it go?” he asks.

“We got propositioned by a couple of swingers,” I say flatly.

Brandon pumps his fists in the air. “Success!”

Dean barks out a laugh. “I guess you could call it that. Seriously, did that just happen?”

“It’s not unheard of in here.” Brandon peers at Dean more closely. “Are you sure you don’t want anything stronger? Tequila, maybe?”

Dean begs off. “Tequila’s my Kryptonite.” He holds up his glass. “I’ll stick with this to be safe.”

“Fair enough,” Brandon says, glancing at me. “Well, holler if you need anything.” And then he walks off.

“I have another idea,” I say.

“No, no, no,” Dean says, crossing his hands over his chest and lifting his nose in the air. “Moreover, hell no. Whatever it is, I’ll pass. My tender sensibilities can’t handle any more of your ideas.”

I bump his shoulder, secretly loving that he’s loosening up around me. It’ll give what I’m about to say more impact. “Oh, c’mon. Hear me out. You’ll like this one.”

“Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’m listening.”

“Let’s just . . . talk. And ask the burning questions that never made it into our respective dossiers. No faking. No lying. Just realness. How does that sound?”

“You’re being reasonable,” Dean says, giving me a crooked smile. “What’s the catch?”

There is none, really. He’s a good guy, and I’m interested in his story. And if learning more about him helps to make our fake chemistry more convincing, there’s no downside, is there? “No catch or ulterior motive. I’d just like to get to know you.”

He lets out a shaky breath and bumps my shoulder. “I’d like to get to know you too.”

I scoot over to face him, then trace the small scar above his left brow with my index finger. “Let’s start with this beauty. How’d you get it?”

His eyes go wide, and he takes a tiny sip of air.

I drop my hand and pretend not to notice. Because what else is there to do?

“My first pool accident,” he says. “I was twelve.”

“You’re a swimmer.”