Page 106 of The Breakup Artists

“With whatever’s making your eyebrows furrow like that?” I say.

But still she looks out the window. “You can’t fix it. You’re the problem.”

“Ouch. Way harsh, Tai.”

She turns toward me, a laugh bubbling out of her. “Did you just... quoteClueless?”

For a split second, I internally groan. That was August again, and not the cool broody August, the nerdy holiday-pajama-wearing version. “Would you think less of me if you knew I watched eighties and nineties rom-coms? ’Cause if so, then I definitely don’t.”

A slow smile forms on her face just as I pull to a stop at an intersection.

We make eye contact, and something passes between us, something intangible and delicate, but I can feel it and I know she can, too, because she suddenly looks sad.

“I’m sorry,” I say reflexively.

“For what?”

“I just...” I push my hair back. What am I doing? Why can’t I keep to the script and keep my feelings for this girl in check? I’m supposed to be her friend, nothing more.

“I know,” she says, almost quietly. “That’s the problem.”

And even though she doesn’t name it, everything in me knows what she means.

I exhale, frustrated. Because it doesn’t matter what I feel; I need to be what she needs. And what she needs right now is a friend. So I don’t respond to the thing I know she implied.

She turns toward the open window, but unlike me, she doesn’t drop it. “Hanging out with you has been... confusing.”

And now I can feel my heartbeat throughout my entire body.

“You and I talk... about everything,” she continues. “Something I didn’t realize I was missing.”

I open my mouth and close it again, conflict coursing through me. Which is when my phone buzzes with a text from Tiny, and I catch the preview before I shove it in my pocket.

Tiny

Insanity. Justin and Amber totally slept together. Call me!!!

My already convoluted thoughts tumble over one another. Indignation for Ella. Lack of surprise. Annoyance that Justin doesn’t appreciate the amazing relationship he has. But in the midst of all this, the desperate tether I had on my self-restraint snaps, and I find myself talking when I promised myself I wouldn’t.

“Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. I want you to be happy,” I say.

She looks at me, her forehead scrunched in confusion. “See, that’s the thing,” she continues. “I hate saying this out loud, because I really don’t want to admit it. But talking to you has made me realize Justin kinda doesn’t give a crap about the things I care about? He likes me, don’t get me wrong, but...”

“But he likes himself more?” I suggest, turning into her driveway, wishing the drive were longer.

“Exactly. It’s always about him.”

You have no idea, I think, my frustration once again flaring that her best friend and her boyfriend betrayed her.

I pull to a stop in front of her house, putting the Jeep in park, my whole body buzzing. “If you’re asking me what I think...” I say, unlatching my seat belt, which suddenly feels too confining.

“I am.”

“You deserve to be loved.”

She nods, giving it some thought and unlatching her seat belt, as well. For a second, I think maybe she’s going to leave without responding, that maybe I said too much. “Loved as a jelly bean. Not a sexy teardrop.”

This statement shouldn’t make my stomach drop. But it does. And when she makes eye contact and doesn’t look away, that feeling increases tenfold. God, she’s beautiful, and so smart. For a second, I imagine what it’d be like to hold her hand, her slender fingers laced through mine. I picture trailing kisses down her neck, running my fingers lightly across the smooth skin of her arm, raising goose bumps and then kissing them away. And she’s looking at me the same way, her lips parted and her eyes lingering on my mouth.