Page 97 of The Breakup Artists

I brush back his silky hair from his forehead, enjoying the way it slides through my fingers. “Wellll, you know how everyone thinks August and I work for my dad?”

Bentley leans into my touch. “Seriously? You don’t?”

I shake my head. “It’s kinda tangled. See, while everyone at school thinks we work for my dad, my parents actually think we’re caterers? And I need them to keep thinking that. I’d be in serious shit if they found out I’ve been lying.”

“Okay, now I need to know what’s so crazy secretive that you made up not one but two fake professions.” He eyes me. “You’re not drug dealers, are you?”

I can’t help but laugh. “We would literally be the worst drug dealers of all time.”

“So then?”

It’s weird talking about Summer Love. It’s been just mine and August’s for so long. “We have a company...” I pause. “Where we break people up.”

He takes a second, like maybe he didn’t hear me correctly. “Hang on... You do what now?”

“We break people up—”

“For money?”

“Yeah.”

His expression shifts from disbelief to confusion and back again. “No way.”

“I swear. Parents and friends hire us to break up their loved ones’ bad relationships. We create whole other personas and make complicated strategies, and then August does most of the maneuvering.”

He eyes me like I’m pranking him. “You’re telling me that August has a secret life where he actually socializes?”

“Way more than that. He ousts jerk-off boyfriends, and some of the cases even wind up falling for him in the process... not that that is ever a goal,” I say. “He’s basically a modern-day Romeo.”

For a second Bentley’s silent, like he’s trying to process what I’m saying.

I examine his face. “I know you guys aren’t exactly the biggest fans of each other. But I need you to promise me that you’ll try to get along with him at my dad’s party. He’s really a wonderful guy. Like, the best. And also, my parents would kill me if I created a scene there.”

“Not a problem,” Bentley says, and I want to believe him that we can all hang out without it being uncomfortable.

I spot my opportunity, a way to make August more relatable and for Bentley to understand the awesome August I know. So I tell him a little bit about Des, about why we started the company in the first place, and why this case in particular is so important.

But when I’m done, all he says is, “Okay.”

“That’s it?” I say, looking down at him. “After all that, you say one word?”

“What do you want me to say?” he replies, but he looks a little glum.

It takes me a beat to sort out why. “Hang on... You’re not jealous of August, are you?”

“It’s just nice,” he says, “the way you talk about him. He’s a lucky dude.”

And I realize that maybe there is a little jealousy, but not the kind I imagined. Maybe Bentley doesn’t actually have anyone in his life who praises him. I know that besides me, August doesn’t. Maybe they have more in common than they know.

Bentley looks away, recognizing that I see more than he wants me to.

I give him a mischievous smile, pushing my fingers back through his hair, the thrill never ceasing that it’s mine to touch. “So basically what you’re saying is that you want me to admire you?” I inch forward until there’s no space between us, and he wraps his arms around my back. “I feel likemaybeI could do that.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs to lift me up and roll me onto the bed.

I squeal as my back hits the comforter. “Wow, Bentley Caven-Hunk. Look at those muscles,” I say in an overly affected voice. “You must lift weights shirtless in your backyard... like, a lot.”

He leans over me, propped up on one elbow. “I do it for the view,” he says with a grin. “Turns out I’ve got this really beautiful neighbor, whose attention I’ve been trying to get for a long time.”