Page 59 of The Breakup Artists

If I thought I was at a loss a second ago, he just upped it. “Wow, Bentley. I don’t know if I think you’re sweet or if I’m really insulted. You said I’m perfect, which isn’t true, but okay. Let’s go with it. If I were perfect, would I ever judge you like that?”

“Probably not,” he admits.

“No probably about it. I’d never think less of you for that, and if I did, you shouldn’t like me at all. So don’t ever underestimate me like that again.”

But instead of apologizing, he smiles.

“What?”

“I just didn’t think you could get any prettier,” he says, and I don’t know if I want to accept his compliment or scowl to get my point across.

“You better be saying that because I’m honest and not because you want to bone me.”

His grin grows. “I’m saying it because you’re confident.”

“Right, well, yeah,” I say. “Thanks.”

Now he laughs. “Do you remember that time when we were seven and Charlie Atkins pinned me to the baseball field and shoved muddy grass down my pants?”

I smile. I had actually forgotten about that. “I kicked him in the balls.”

“You totally did. You told him that if he did it again you were going to drag him by his Batman underwear through the playground.”

I laugh. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“I think half the class had a crush on you that day.”

“Because I swooped in and saved you?” I say, adding humor to his admiration because now it feels more real and I’m not sure what to do with that.

“Exactly.”

“It’s funny, ’cause now Charlie’s three times my size and you guys are best friends,” I say as we start walking down the beach again, this time without the stilted conversation.

“I bet you could still take him, though.” He reaches out and touches my upper arm.

I flex my nonexistent muscles in his grip. “I mean, obviously. You should bench with me.” I look at his perfectly cut arm. “I could teach you a thing or two.”

“Done,” he says, and before I even realize what’s happening, he circles one hand behind my back and one below my knees and picks me up. “You’re lighter than my normal weights, but much prettier.”

I laugh. “You know that isn’t what I meant.”

But he makes no effort to put me down.

“Bentley.”

“Valentine?”

His arm is warm against my back, and I can smell the remnants of his sunscreen and the salt water in his hair. And while I’ve never really thought of myself as someone who was into the whole broad-shoulder thing, Bentley up close is kind of beautiful with his tanned skin and sun-chapped lips.

“Are you planning on just carrying me for the rest of the walk?” I say, secretly enjoying it.

“Nah. I’ll totally put you down,” he says and takes a step into the water.

Without thinking I wrap my arms around his neck. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” He takes another step, so that the water hits him midcalf.

“Bentley Cavendish, I swear I will kill you.”