Page 91 of The Breakup Artists

Momentarily, I’m taken aback. And I make light of it again. “So I guess this is a bad time to tell you I’m just in it for the hookup?”

But he doesn’t laugh. He looks away.

“It was a joke.” I suddenly feel like we’ve switched places and I’m him in his kitchen on our first date, advocating a sense of humor in the most obtuse way.

“And just to clarify, I do have ambition. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

I wince. Hearing him respond to the insulting sentence I never finished makes me feel sick. “I didn’t mean that.”

He studies me.

“Seriously, I didn’t. You’re lots of things, Bentley Cavendish, and I have no doubt that ambitious is one of them. Would you accept an ice cream apology, maybe a little groveling?” I say, feeling lousy and leaning back against his truck door.

“Now you’re trying to hijack my date idea? No way.”

“I really am sorry,” I say, taking his warm palm in mine.

“No worries,” he replies, rubbing his thumb along the back of my hand.

“You should at least be a little mad.”

He cracks a smile. “You’ll just have to live with the guilt.”

I take a good look at Bentley, who not only went out of his way to look up my school but is also being way more gracious than I would if the situation were reversed. “You know what. I think you might be more than a good person; you might even be a great one.”

He places his hand on his heart. “You had doubts?”

“I mean, I’m starting to think that too-cool shtick you have going is just a big fat lie.” I tug on his hand a little, pulling him toward me, and he puts up no resistance.

“How dare you attack my reputation like that,” he replies with a small smile, so close that my body tingles with anticipation.

“I’m serious,” I reply. “You should let this Bentley out more. I really like him.”

“Really...as in totally infatuated?” he says, moving his hands to my waist. His woodsy scent fills my nose.

“Truth? Kinda, yeah.”

He breaks into a grin that makes my insides warm.

I lift my hands around his neck, tugging him toward me until his body is flush with mine. He bends to kiss me, and I feel his smile against my lips and the cool metal of his truck against my back. He gently bites my bottom lip, goose bumps forming on my arms and my breath shortening. And when he lifts his mouth from mine, I pull him back.

“Damn,” he says like he can’t believe I’m real.

I laugh, opening the passenger door behind me. He hoists me onto the seat, and I pull him in after me, because as much as I want ice cream, I want to kiss him more.

45

valentine

Five days. Screw this. I’m not doing this anymore. I place my glass of orange juice on the kitchen counter with a clang and march over to August’s house. A travel mug of coffee in hand and my chin held high. I climb right through his window.

He’s sleeping and I unapologetically shake the shit out of him.

“Wake up, August Mariani. You wake up and talk to me.”

For a few seconds, he looks at me like he has no idea who I am or where we are. Swee blinks, too, the hair disheveled on the top of his flat head. I shove the travel mug at August, and even though he lifts a wary eyebrow, he accepts it.

“You and me,” I say, pointing at him. “We’re not fighting any more. We aredone.”