“Whatever. It was hard to fit in as a junior who transferred from Virginia. I had to make sacrifices. Do you remember this song?”

I snatched the laptop from his hands and played another video. “Roses” by OutKast. Dean burst out laughing, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Do it,” I prompted. It was the time he was the one to dance. And dance he did at Vicious’s party, mimicking the band’s choreography from the video. It was a part of a lost bet—duh—but it was so hilarious, the memory sat in my mind eleven years later, crisp like it was yesterday. I could still smell the alcohol and hormones wafting through the air from that night. “Please, Dean.” I squeezed my palms together. “Deep down in your brain, under all the dead cells courtesy of your weed habit and the porno movies, I’m sure you still remember the dance.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” He jumped off of the hood again and said, “Play it from the start,” pretending to gel his hair and check himself out in an invisible mirror. It was all so surreal, I couldn’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl, which only made his already-huge smile widen.

I hit play, moving my eyes from the original video to Dean’s dancing, the ocean glittering behind him. He did almost everything right, from the part where he slides to his knees at the beginning of the song to the very end, barely messing up the composition. My stomach hurt from laughing, but his face was serious. And when the song ended, he stalked toward me, grabbing the laptop.

“My turn.”

I checked the time on my cell phone. “Okay, but then we have to go. It’s getting late and we need to get ready for the rehearsal.”

It was already four. I couldn’t believe we spent so much time together without even noticing. Dangerous chemistry, the words settled in my brain like thick dust. Be careful, Rosie.

“Yeah, yeah, Princess Saint and Prince Dickhead will have us right on time. Don’t worry.” He waved me off, his gaze fixated on the screen. “Drops of Jupiter” by Train started playing. My smile faded.

“I don’t remember listening to this song together.” I swallowed. He moved between my legs, his waist in a perfect position for me to wrap myself around it, but I didn’t, my eyes desperately staring at his lips. We were always a breath away from a kiss.

“We didn’t. You listened to it one time when you thought you were alone at home. I dropped by to give Millie her textbook back. The song kind of stuck in my head after that, because I kept wondering what the fuck you were looking for. I couldn’t figure you out, Rosie. When I saw other guys hitting on you, it killed me. Because whatever it was you needed, I didn’t want you to find it in them.”

Shamefully, the feeling was mutual. Every time he brushed Millie off and cancelled on her, my heart swelled a little. She is not the one, I convinced myself. I am.

“You had no right to be jealous.” I looked down at my black flip-flops. He shook his head no.

“Never claimed any differently. And you had no right to be jealous, either. Yet here we are.”

There we were.

I moved quickly, bypassing any attempt he may have had to kiss me. Hopping in the Volvo, I buckled in and pulled my knees to my chest, burying my face between them, praying like hell Dean couldn’t read my mind. The drive back to the house was wordless. The fact he hadn’t tried to sleep with me again proved that maybe Dean was a man of his word.

Then, when his tires screeched to a halt and we both got out, I said, “I think we should stop this.”

“I think we should not,” he retorted, his voice dry and resolute.

“We’re playing a risky game.” I swallowed. He opened the door for me and smirked. “Then it’s a good thing I’m the best fucking player in town.”

I wore a deep purple maxi dress Millie had gifted me to the rehearsal party, sitting pretty, sandwiched between Mama and Daddy. They, too, wore fancy clothes. The rehearsal dinner was scheduled way before the actual wedding, because half the people who were invited had an actual wedding to attend the day before. Todos Santos was small, and everyone was a someone you wanted to mingle with. Keeping up appearances was crucial.

The venue where Vicious and Millie were set to get married was in a vineyard resort that had suffered a serious identity crisis. The outside area had a Hawaiian setting, with palm trees, lush grass, and colorful flower arrangements everywhere. There was a dinner hall the size of a ballroom, swans, fountains, and other things that made it look like a cross between heaven and a Disney movie. Then we got inside and the place looked totally antique. We sat at a ripped-from-sixteenth-century-Europe type of fancy dining table under chandeliers the size of Mumbai.

Mama was nagging me about New York again, threatening to pull the plug on Vicious’s assistance with my health care. The urge to burn my bra and march the streets before she took my right to vote was strong that day.

Daddy was raving, probably to make me feel uncomfortable. Something about how Millie was such a thoughtful child. Subtle as a drunk elephant, as you can see.

My sister and Vicious sat next to each other, holding hands. He kept rubbing her back, as if consoling her. She did look a little green and a lot sick. Perhaps it was the nerves. I’d be nervous, too, if I was about to marry Satan’s spawn. Maybe I was just extending the disloyalty of Daddy to Emilia, but I suspected her, too.

If she really was pregnant, that meant everyone in her immediate environment knew. Everyone but me.

Dean waltzed in ten minutes late, accompanied by Jaime and his family—Melody and their daughter, Daria—and Trent Rexroth. Against my best intentions, my eyes clung to Dean desperately before scanning the rest. Trent looked busy with his phone, and Dean’s eyes scanned the room—looking for me, I assumed, and also foolishly hoped—so when he finally found me, my heart tumbled and stopped.

I looked away.

He turned around and greeted a man I didn’t know.

The spell was gone.

A hostess showed him to his seat, grinning way too wide for my liking and checking his left hand for a wedding band.

Since Dean sat at the far end of the table, I had to concentrate on not glancing his way all the time. Luckily, Gladys and Sydney sat opposite from me. Sydney filled me in on what happened in Todos Santos while Millie and I were gone and Gladys told us her favorite L.A. tales. We were two starters and one entrée in when the event coordinator had decided to have us start making toasts.

Daddy made the first toast to the happy couple. He raised his champagne glass to his eye level and talked about what an amazing couple Millie and Vicious were, leaving out the part where he couldn’t stand his soon-to-be son-in-law up until the moment the latter slipped a ring with a diamond the size of his mansion on his daughter’s finger. Then Vicious raised a toast, followed by the leading best man—Jaime—who toasted the bride. When it was my time to toast the groom, I stood and smiled, clutching the champagne glass in a death grip. My knuckles were snow-white.

“Don’t mess it up,” Mama gritted through a toothy smile. My grin didn’t falter, but something snapped inside me. Another petal fell down in my heart. Millie’s eyes shone as she looked at me, and my heart picked up speed.

Screw them. This is for Millie. I will not let her down.

“Those of you who know me know that I’m a huge fan of my sister. She’s my rock, my soul mate, and the reason that I’m still standing here, alive and well. When her heart beats for someone, mine falls in line and thumps for them too. Baron, there’s one thing I cannot take from you—you make her happy. Glowing, even.” I scanned his face for a reaction, but there was none. Maybe my sister wasn’t pregnant. Maybe I was losing my goddamn mind. “Some loves are old, and sure, others are new and frantic. Yours is both, and that’s what made your feelings toward one another outsoar everything. Even the past.” I swallowed, realizing that I, too, wanted to erase my past with a brand new future. “I wish you joy, freedom, health, and wealth, though I think you’re all covered with the last one,” I trailed off, and the room burst out laughing. A few people clapped. I suppressed a desperate cough before I continued. “So I guess I would like to make a toast to two of my favorite people. To the woman I love more than life itself, and to the man who spends his life making her happy. Baron and Millie, you don’t need my words to make it work. You have this thing covered. But just in case, I wish you everything you wish for yourself and more. Now down these glasses and have some fun.”

Taking a sip from my drink, my eyes wandered to Dean for reassurance. Some people cheered me on, but it was Dean I wanted to impress. He raised his glass to his lips, staring at me from across the room, and I shook my head, the gesture almost invisible. No drinking.

He put his drink down and licked his lower lip, his eyes saying, but yes to fucking.

I was going to take care of him. The thought was as irrational as the idea itself. Why would I want to, and why would he let me? But at the same time, I couldn’t see him throw his health away like this. Not when I truly knew what health meant.

Sitting back down, Mama flung an arm over my shoulder and squeezed me into her chest in half-a-hug I was quick to return. I was melting back into my former, happy self before she whispered into my ear, “Thank you for not ruining this, sweetheart. Daddy and I were worried.”

Pale, I sank into the silky chair, my throat paper-dry. My phone flashed with a text, and I grabbed it like it was my lifeline.

Dean

I need to kiss you again.

Rosie

You can’t kiss me again.

Dean

It’s all I fucking think about.

It’s all I think about too, I wanted to scream.

Rosie

Tell me something interesting. Something about stars.

Dean

Mars is covered with rust, and your tits will soon be covered with my cum. Tell me something about music.

Rosie

Slash once auditioned for the band Poison but didn’t want to join them because they wanted him to wear makeup.

Dean

This game sucks. I still want to kiss you.