Page 121 of The Breakup Artists

I jump up from the breakfast table, sending my chair screeching back. And now I do turn on my phone, running to the window and rolling it open as fast as I can.

I click past my million notifications and type out a warning text for Bentley to abort because August is in a foul mood. But he gives no indication that he has his phone on him.

I press my hands and forehead against the window screen. If I go out there, my punishment will likely get extended. If I don’t go out there, they’ll probably bite each other’s heads off like hostile gerbils.

“Hey, man,” I hear Bentley say. “Thanks for returning my phone.”

August sips his coffee, still staring at the water. “Sure.”

Can’t you see he’s brushing you off? Walk away, Bentley. Just slide on out of the danger zone and back to flexing your man muscles.

But Bentley tries again. “Crazy what happened at that party. Sorry about that girl, man.”

August turns, and even in profile I can tell it’s not going to be good. “Cut the shit. If there’s something you came here to ask, just ask,” he says, sounding exhausted.

Bentley momentarily tenses, but he lets it go. “Nah, I get it. Must sting. Valentine says you really like that girl.” I can tell he’s trying to be understanding about August’s bad mood, but it definitely isn’t landing.

August’s eyes shoot to my house, and when he finds me pressed up against my kitchen window like a smushed bug, I know he’s pissed. And I also know why—he thinks I told Bentley his personal business, which I guess I did.

“We done here?” August says, getting up.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll leave you to it, man,” Bentley says, gesturing at the water.

“Good,” August says. “Then move.”

Whatever patience Bentley was utilizing just ran out. “Way to be a dick, dude.”

August’s eyes darken. “Right,” he says. “You’re blowing smoke up my ass, and I’m the dick. Don’t pretend you came here to check on me. Ask what you actually want to ask:Did I see the text?Yes, I did.”

My heart jumps into my throat. What text?

Bentley looks confused. But a second later his expression clears as he obviously catches on to whatever August is talking about. “Wait...you hackedmy phone?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I looked at your front screen, and it took me about two seconds to confirm that you’re exactly who I thought you were.”

Oh no.

I register August’s expression and know that if I don’t get out there, things are going to spiral. I run to the porch door, and for a split second I hesitate.

“Sorry, Dad! Emergency!” I yell to him in the living room and rush outside without bothering to grab my flip-flops.

My bare feet pad onto the wooden dock just as August growls, “Like I said,move.”

Bentley follows it up with an equally Neanderthal, “Make me.”

“Both of you knock it the hell off!” I say with feeling, and two surprised faces turn in my direction.

“I thought you were still housebound—” Bentley starts.

And under his breath August says, “Good thing Cassie was free.”

Which only sets Bentley off again. “What the hell are you implying?”

August gives him a withering look.

I frown. “Cassie?” I say, confused, looking at Bentley for explanation.

But Bentley’s not looking at me. “Just because you can’t get a girl unless you pretend to be someone else doesn’t mean you can take your frustration out on Valentine. No wonder Ella wants nothing to do with you. Who would?”