CHAPTER 1
CASSIE
July
“I don’t think we should hook up anymore.”
Oh my God.
No.
No no no no no.
See, this is why parties should be banned. I’m not even joking. We need to go back to the prohibition days, except we outlaw social events instead of alcohol. It’s the only way to avoid this level of embarrassment. Or rather, secondhand embarrassment, because I’m not even the one getting dumped.
That honor is bestowed upon the guy with the deep, playful voice, who hasn’t caught up to the fact that his dumper is dead serious. “Is this some weird sort of foreplay? I don’t get it, but, sure, I’m down.”
The girl’s voice is flat, lined with dry humor. “I’m being serious.”
She pauses for a long beat, during which I consider whether I can make a run for it without the couple noticing.
No more than ten feet away from them, I’m sitting against a driftwood log, concealed by shadows. But a clean getaway is difficult because they chose to break up in the worst possible location—right where the beach grass thins and the dunes flatten into a stretch of packed sand. My mind has been Mission: Impossible–ing escape routes since The Dumping commenced. The couple is facing the dark ocean, which means if I attempt to take the beach route back to the party, they’ll see me. But if I try to sneak behind them, they’ll hear me. Have you ever tried walking silently in beach grass? You might as well attach a bell around your neck.
My only option is to remain hidden until it’s over. The conversation and the relationship. Because while nobody wants to get dumped, having it happen in front of an audience is a hundred times worse, so I’m officially trapped here. Held hostage by social etiquette.
Of all the times to wander away from the bonfire and look at the stupid stars.
“I think this has run its course,” the dumper says.
I can’t tell what either of them look like. They’re mere shadows. A tall shadow and a shorter one. I think the short one has long hair; I glimpse wispy strands blowing in the night breeze.
From the other end of the beach, the hum of voices, laughter, and faint hip-hop music travels along the water, triggering the desperate urge to be back at the party. I don’t know a single person there, yet I don’t think I’ve ever longed for the company of total strangers more than I do in this moment. The party is at some local named Luke’s house. I was supposed to meet my friend Joy, who bailed at the last second. I was literally getting out of my car when her text popped up; otherwise, I would’ve just stayed home. But I figured, hey, I’m already here. Might as well mingle, maybe meet some people.
I should’ve hopped right back in the car and escaped when I had the chance.
The guy is finally catching on that this isn’t a joke. “Wait, really? I thought we were still having a good time.”
“Honestly? Not so much lately.”
Ouch. Sorry, bro.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I don’t mean the sex. That’s always good. But we’ve been doing this friends-with-benefits arrangement for almost a year now. Yeah, it’s been on and off, but I think the longer we keep it up, the greater the risk that one of us catches feelings. We said from the start that we didn’t want anything serious, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
The tall shadow lifts a hand and drags it through his hair. Either that, or he’s petting a tiny cat that’s sitting atop his head.
I truly can’t see a damn thing out here.
“I’m not interested in getting into a relationship anytime soon,” she adds. “I don’t want a boyfriend.”
There’s a pause. “What about Wyatt?”
“What about him? Like I keep telling him, he and I are just friends. And I just want to be alone for a while.” She chuckles. “Look, we both know you’ll have no trouble finding a new friend with bennies, Tate. And if you want more than that, you’ll have no trouble finding a girlfriend either. It’s just not going to be me.”
Double ouch.
I appreciate her candor, though. She’s not wasting any time. Not leading this guy around by the nose. I mean, it does sound like this was more of a casual FWB situationship, but that might actually be the worst kind of breakup. Being friends with the person before the sexy stuff and wanting to remain friends after it? That’s a tricky needle to thread.
I haven’t been officially dumped before—that would require being in an actual relationship—but if I were to ever be the recipient of a breakup speech, I’d want it to sound like this one. Quick and to the point. Just snuff out the candle so there’s not even a glimmer of light left. It’s over. Move on.
Granted, I say that now. But considering I bawl at those courier commercials where the lonely grandmother receives a holiday card from her grandkids, I’d probably collapse in a pool of tears at my dumper’s feet and then promptly check myself into a posh wellness facility for melancholia.
“Okay. Cool.” He chuckles too, albeit wryly. “I guess that’s that, then.”
“That’s that,” she echoes. “Are we good?”
“Of course. We’ve known each other since we were thirteen. We’re not going to stop talking just because we’ve stopped banging.”
Copyright © 2023 by Elle Kennedy
