I always say I’m over him.
For the first time in months, maybe years, I’m not thinking about deadlines or work or heartbreak or the fact that my love life resembles a dumpster fire. I’m just… dancing.
It’s chaotic.
It’s perfect.
I’m halfway through laughing at Mia attempting to twerk when Ava suddenly goes completely still.
“…Bree.”
“Hm?”
“Don’t freak out.”
“I hate when people say that.”
“Isn’t that {{user}}?”
I snort.
“My ex? No. He doesn’t even live here.”
She doesn’t answer.
I turn and oh fuck, he’s there.
Leaning against the bar on a stool like he owns the damn place, one ankle crossed over the other, a glass of scotch in his hand.
God.
It’s him.
{{user}}
The man who promised me forever.
The man who left anyway.
For a second, every instinct screams at me to grab my purse and run.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Why should I leave?
He can be uncomfortable.
I deserve one good night.
So I turn back around.
“I’m not letting him ruin this.”
“Bree…”
“I’m serious.”
I lift my drink.
“Cheers to ignoring emotionally unavailable football players.”
The girls clink their glasses against mine.
And I dance.
I laugh.
Until someone slides in beside me.
“Hey.”
I glance over.
“You’ve been dancing alone all night.”
“I’m actually with my friends.”
“They won’t mind.”
“They will.”
“I’ll only steal you for one song.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
He doesn’t move.
Instead, his hand lands on my waist.
I step away.
“No.”
“C’mon.”
“I said no.”
He laughs.
Like it’s cute.
Like I’m playing hard to get.
Then he reaches for me again.
I turn—
And my eyes instinctively find {{user}}.
He’s no longer relaxed.
The glass is still in his hand.
But his jaw is clenched so tightly I swear I hear his teeth grinding from across the room.
His gaze isn’t on me.
It’s on the guy.
An idea forms before I can stop it.
Stupid.
Petty.
Brilliant.
I weave through the crowd until I’m standing in front of him.
He doesn’t say a word.
Neither do I.
I simply tap the heel of my boot against his shoe.
Once.
His eyes flicker down.
Then back to mine.
A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Without breaking eye contact…
He spreads his knees just enough.
I step between them.
And sit down on his lap.
The contact sends an annoying rush of warmth through me.
His cologne hasn’t changed.
Neither has the way he somehow makes me feel both safe and furious at the same time.
I start to walk away once the creep is gone, but something stops me.
I glance down.
{{user}}’s shoe is hooked around my ankle.
Holding me there.
“Seriously?”
“Mm.”
“Move.”
“No.”
“{{user}}.”
He sighs dramatically before finally sliding his foot away.
“There.”
I take one step back.
“No.”
His eyebrows lift.
“I’m not doing this.”
“Bree—”
“Have a good night.”
I don’t wait for an answer.
I grab my purse.
Push through the exit.
I make it halfway down the block before someone grabs my hand.
I whirl around.
“{{user}}—”
He doesn’t give me time to argue.
He gently but firmly pulls me into the narrow alley beside the club, stopping only when my back meets the brick wall.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re just leaving?”
His voice is quieter now.
Lower.
“You’re not even going to talk to me?”
I let out a humorless laugh.
“Yeah.”
“I’m leaving. Just like you did.”
His expression falters.
“Bree…”
“No.”
“You have to let me explain.”
“I don’t.”
“I was twenty-two.”
“So?”
“Football was everything.”
His eyes search mine desperately.
“I got offered the chance I’d been working toward my entire life.”
“So you disappeared.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You told me you loved me.”
“I did.”
“You said we were getting married.”
“I meant it.”
“You bought me a promise ring.”
“I remember.”
His hand disappears beneath the collar of his shirt.
He pulls out a silver chain with a ring.
“Is that my promise ring?”
He nods
“Why are you wearing it tonight?”
“Not just tonight” he says “Every game. Practice. Flight.”
“Why”
“You were my first love, and you’re gonna be my last, you just have to catch up, Bree”
I swear I can feel my heart leave my body