Page 11 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

By the time we make our way back to our suite, the moon is high over the ocean, casting a silver path across the water. Brooke walks slightly ahead of me, her arms wrapped around herself despite the warm night.

"That went well," I say to her back as she unlocks our door.

She doesn't answer until we're inside, the door safely closed behind us. Then she turns to me, her expression guarded.

"You didn't have to kiss me like that."

"Like what?" I lean against the wall, arms crossed.

"Like you meant it."

I hold her gaze steadily. "I was playing the part. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Something flickers in her eyes—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. Then she nods curtly and turns away.

"Right. Of course. Good job, then."

She disappears into the bathroom with her pajamas, and I exhale slowly, unclenching fists I didn't realize I'd made. The memory of her lips under mine, her body pressing close, threatens to undo my carefully maintained composure.

It was just a kiss. Just part of the act.

So why does it feel like so much more?

I grab a pillow and extra blanket from the closet and make up the couch while she's in the bathroom. By the time she emerges in silk shorts and a tank top that reveals more skin than it covers, I'm stretched out with my arm over my eyes, pretending to be halfway to sleep.

"Goodnight, Dean," she says softly.

"Night," I reply, not looking at her.

I listen to her settle into the bed, the rustle of sheets, the soft sigh as she gets comfortable. The rhythmic sound of her breathing eventually slows and deepens, telling me she's asleep.

Only then do I allow myself to look at her, moonlight spilling across her face, her dark hair spread across the pillow. She looks younger in sleep, more like the Brooke I fell in love with—the one before New York, before ambition pulled her away from me.

I turn away, facing the back of the couch, and try to convince myself the ache in my chest is just from the uncomfortable makeshift bed.

Across the room, Brooke stirs in her sleep, making a small sound that could be a sigh or a moan. I clench my jaw and close my eyes, willing myself to sleep.

It's going to be a very long night.

* * *

Brooke

In my dreams, I’m back in his arms.

Dean’s mouth is hot against my neck, his hands sliding beneath my tank top to cup my breasts. “Still a mistake, sweetheart?” he murmurs against my skin, and I arch into his touch.

“Yes,” I gasp as his thumbs brush my nipples. “The best kind.”

The dream shifts, and we’re on the beach, waves lapping at our feet as he presses me into the sand. His weight above me is perfect, familiar, his hips grinding against mine in a rhythm that makes me moan.

“Tell me you want me,” dream-Dean demands, his gray eyes dark with desire.

“I want you,” I admit, the truth coming easily in sleep when I can’t speak it awake. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He smiles then, that slow, devastating smile that’s only ever been for me, and slides his hand between us, under the waistband of my shorts. His fingers find me wet and ready, and I cry out at the first touch.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he encourages as I rock against his hand. “Let go for me.”

---