Page 72 of The Breakup Artists

My phone buzzes again, only this time I break my hand hold with Bentley and reach behind me to grab it off my comforter.

August

Headed over.

A jolt of adrenaline catapults me into a sitting position. I was supposed to go toAugust’s house, not have him come to mine. Did I lose track of time? Did he misinterpret my message? Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bentley sit up, too, registering my discomfort.

“What is it?” he asks.

My heart sinks. Why, oh why, did I make that honesty deal? Idiot with a capitalI. I say the only true thing I can. “I’m super sorry to do this, but August and I actually have to work.”

“So you’re kicking me out?”

I exhale. “Can we reschedule?”

But before Bentley responds, my door opens, and I stand so fast you’d think I’d been goosed.

August stops dead in his tracks, clearly picking up on the tension, not that it’s some feat of perception.

Bentley hesitates, like he’s debating how to navigate this. But all he says is, “See you tomorrow, Valentine,” and he heads for my door. And while I feel massive relief that he’s leaving and I don’t need to try to navigate a conversation with them both, he also said the one thing that will raise alarm bells for August.

“Yeah, okay,” I say, pushing back my hair and lifting my hand in an awkward goodbye.

The door clicks shut behind Bentley, and August and I are silent for a beat.

“What was that about?” he asks, rightfully suspicious.

“Bentley? It’s no big deal.” Which is exactly what people say when somethingisa big deal.

“Want me to tell him to back off?” he asks, and now I’m the one who’s shocked. August isn’t one for confrontation.

I scratch my forehead. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal.”

He assesses me, and it’s hard not to squirm. “Did I miss something? Are you guys...hanging out?”

“What would make you think that?” I say too quickly. I might as well just tattooI have a secreton my forehead.

He looks at me like I have two heads. “’Cause he hasn’t been in your room since we were twelve, and he just said he’s seeing you tomorrow.”

The room spins. “Truth is, um, he needs help with his brother and sister. His mom’s gone a lot. You know what that’s like.” I instantly hate myself for saying it—for the lie and for playing on his sympathy.

“Oh,” he says and considers it. “Sorry.” He plops down on my bed. “Wasn’t trying to go all protective on you.”

I shrug, both relieved that he’s letting it go and kind of wishing he’d call me out. I’m not sure I’m brave enough to flat-out tell him, especially since I’ve made such a big awkward deal of it, and part of me wishes he’d notice and we could clear this up. “I kind of like you protective. Brotherly love and all that.”

“Bentley’s just such a player. And the thought of him playing you made me see red for a second.” He lies back, folding his hands behind his head.

“Totally,” I agree and join him on the bed. And now my denial is complete and I feel like the biggest jerk in New England. But before I can agonize over it, my phone buzzes.

Leah

Party tomorrow night. Justin’s house. Parents are out of town. #getwild

I instantly perk up, turning my phone screen toward August. “This is perfect for our strategy.”

“It is,” August chimes in, but his enthusiasm is lacking.

“What’s crazy is that just earlier this week I’d have said we were in real danger of not completing this case in time.” I snatch my notebook from my bedside table. “But these last few days have been a game changer. You really rallied.”