Page 21 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

About us. About what we were. About what we could have been if I hadn't left.

"Nothing important," I lie.

Dean's hand splays across my lower back, pulling me closer. Our bodies fit together perfectly, muscle memory taking over as we sway to the music. Over his shoulder, I can see other couples dancing—my parents, Taylor and James, various relatives—all lost in their own worlds.

"I miss this," I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Dean stiffens slightly. "Dancing?"

I should say yes. I should take the easy way out. But the rum has loosened my tongue and lowered my defenses.

"You," I admit softly. "I miss you sometimes."

His step falters, almost imperceptibly, before he recovers. "You're drunk, Brooke."

"A little," I agree. "But that doesn't make it less true."

We dance in silence for a long moment, the admission hanging between us. I can hear his heartbeat under my ear, slightly faster than the rhythm of the music.

"Why did you leave?" he finally asks, his voice so quiet I almost don't hear it over the band.

I lift my head to look at him, finding his eyes dark and unreadable in the torch-lit darkness. "I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of how much I loved you." The words tumble out, alcohol and proximity breaking down the walls I've carefully constructed. "Of disappearing into us. Of giving up my dreams for yours."

His jaw tightens. "I never asked you to give up anything."

"I know." I look away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "That was my fear, not your fault."

Dean's hand comes up to cup my face, turning it back to his. "Look at me, Brooke."

I do, and what I see there makes my breath catch. Anger, yes, but beneath it something rawer, more vulnerable.

"I never stopped wanting you," he says, each word precise and deliberate. "Not for one goddamn day since you walked out."

The world seems to stop around us, the music fading to background noise. There's just Dean, his eyes fixed on mine, his confession vibrating in the air between us.

"Dean..." I breathe, not sure what I'm going to say next.

Before I can figure it out, Taylor appears beside us, her face flushed with happiness and champagne. "There you are! Mom's looking for you—something about the bridal shower gifts."

The moment shatters. Dean releases me immediately, stepping back with a neutral expression that reveals nothing of what just passed between us.

"I should go see what she needs," I say, my voice unsteady.

"I'll get us more drinks," Dean offers, already turning toward the bar.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. I help my mother sort out some confusion with the gifts, pose for photos with various relatives, and try to avoid both Dean and Chase. The alcohol in my system makes everything slightly fuzzy around the edges, but one thing remains crystal clear: Dean's confession.

I never stopped wanting you.

By the time we make our way back to our suite, it's nearly midnight. The walk is silent, tension thick between us. Dean keeps a careful distance, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

The room is marginally cooler than it was earlier—the resort must have fixed the air conditioning while we were out. Still, a sticky warmth permeates the space, or maybe that's just the heat building inside me every time I look at Dean.

"You should drink some water," he says, closing the door behind us. "You had a lot tonight."

---