Page 32 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

She does, spectacularly, her body clenching around me as waves of pleasure wash over her. The sight of her coming apart in my arms sends me over the edge, my own release crashing through me with an intensity that leaves me momentarily blind.

For long moments afterward, we remain locked together, her legs still around my waist, my forehead resting against hers as we catch our breath. The water, which now feels almost warm in comparison to our cooling bodies, continues to fall gently over us.

Finally, I ease her down, making sure she's steady on her feet before releasing her. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair plastered to her neck, her lips swollen from my kisses. She's never looked more beautiful.

"That was..." she starts, then shakes her head, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Yeah," I agree, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. "It was."

We finish our shower in relative silence, the air between us charged but no longer tense. There's a new understanding here, something that goes beyond the physical release we just shared. Whether Brooke is ready to acknowledge it is another matter entirely.

As we step out, wrapping ourselves in the hotel's plush towels, I can't resist asking the question that's been on my mind since she first called our night together a mistake.

"Still a mistake, sweetheart?"

She looks up at me, water droplets clinging to her eyelashes, her expression unguarded for once. The smile that curves her lips is small but genuine.

"Maybe some mistakes are worth making twice."

It's not a declaration of love. It's not even an admission that this is more than physical attraction and convenience. But as she turns away to dry her hair, I can't help feeling something shift between us—something that feels dangerously like hope.

ELEVEN

Brooke

The morningafter our shower encounter, I wake early and slip out of bed, careful not to disturb Dean's sleeping form. The room is cool now, the air conditioning having kicked back on sometime during the night, but there's a different kind of heat burning inside me—a confusion that no amount of cold air can soothe. I stand on the balcony, watching the sunrise paint the ocean in shades of gold and pink, wondering when exactly this charade stopped being pretend for me. Or if it ever was.

Three days in Hawaii. Three days of playing Dean's girlfriend, of his hands on me, his lips against mine. Three days of remembering what it felt like to be loved by him, body and soul. And with each passing hour, the line between performance and reality blurs further, leaving me unsteady, uncertain.

What terrifies me most isn't that we've fallen back into physical intimacy so easily—it's how right it feels. How natural. Like the two years apart were nothing but a brief intermission in the ongoing story of us.

Behind me, I hear the sheets rustle as Dean shifts in his sleep. I don't turn around, afraid of what I might do if I see him there, vulnerable and warm in the morning light. Afraid I might crawl back into bed and curl against him, press my lips to his chest, whisper all the things I've been afraid to admit even to myself.

That I've missed him every day.

That no one in New York has ever made me feel the way he does.

That leaving him might have been the biggest mistake of my life.

But admitting those things means facing the same impossible choice I ran from two years ago—my career or the man I love. Because nothing has changed, not really. I still live in New York. He still has his ranch in Colorado. I still can't see how we fit those pieces together without one of us sacrificing everything.

So I stay on the balcony, watching the day begin, gathering my defenses for another day of pretending that pretending is all we're doing.

* * *

The rehearsal dinner is tonight, which means today is filled with last-minute preparations. I throw myself into helping Taylor, grateful for the distraction from my tangled emotions. Dean is dragged off with the groomsmen for what James calls "important wedding business," which I suspect involves cigars and expensive whiskey.

The separation gives me space to breathe, to remind myself why boundaries are necessary. By the time we reunite at lunch—a casual affair on the resort's terrace—I've reconstructed some of my walls, enough to smile naturally when he drops a kiss on my cheek in full view of my watching family.

"Miss me?" he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

"It's been three hours," I reply, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

His eyes say he knows exactly what I'm doing, but he plays along, keeping his hand at the small of my back as we join the others at the table. The conversation flows around us—wedding details, family gossip, plans for tomorrow's ceremony. Dean participates easily, charming my aunts, talking sports with my male cousins, seamlessly fitting into the family dynamics like he never left.

That's the problem. He fits so well—too well—making it easy to forget this isn't real. That we're not really picking up where we left off.

After lunch, Taylor steals me away for bridesmaid dress final fittings, while Dean joins my father for a round of golf. The day passes in a flurry of activities, allowing me to postpone any serious conversation about what's happening between us.

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