The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3)

“Out.”

“Thank you for the ambiguous answer. That really helps me, Bennett.”

He strides over to Elle’s closet and rifles through it. “Here, wear this.” He thrusts a black garment at me. I hold the dress out, looking it over. It has a high collar—pretty much a turtleneck—but the modesty ends there. It’s sleeveless with one of the highest slits I’ve ever seen.

“No. No way.” I shake my head.

He holds out another dress. “It’s this or that.”

I gasp. The other dress he holds has a million cutouts all over it, like someone attacked it with scissors. Something tells me Elle’s exactly the type to do just that.

“I’ll go with this one,” I squeak, clutching the first dress he gave me a little tighter for fear that he might snatch it out of my hands. “Leave so I can change.” I wave my hand at the door.

He puts the other dress away and crosses his arms over his chest. “We’ve technically been dating, what? A month now? I’m pretty sure everyone assumes we’ve seen each other naked. It’d be weird for me to wait outside.”

I stare at him open-mouthed. Is he for real?

“We’re fake dating,” I remind him. “Now get out. Don’t you need to change anyway?”

He looks down at what he wears. “Eh, you’re probably right,” he agrees. “I’ll meet you on your dorm steps in thirty minutes.”

“Make it an hour. I have to do my makeup and hair.”

“Right. An hour. Don’t flake on me, Wentworth.”

“Don’t make me regret this, James.”

He grins at me over his shoulder, reaching for the door. “You’re the one that wanted to be bad, remember?”

Before I can respond, he leaves.

I shake my head at the closed door. Something tells me I’m not ready for what he has planned.

An hour later, I meet Bennett outside. He sits on the stairs leading up to my dorm, speaking furiously into his phone.

“I understand,” he hisses. “Fuck you, you insolent prick. I’m not the one in the wrong here. Don’t forget what I know.” He clicks the phone off and looks up to find me. He rubs tiredly at his eyes. “How much did you hear?”

“Not much,” I whisper softly. “What was that about?”

“Nothing.” He looks away from me, his jaw tense. I want to argue, because something is definitely going on here, but I keep my mouth shut. Bennett and I aren’t really boyfriend and girlfriend, and I’m not even sure if we’re really friends. I mean, I think we are, we spend enough time together, but … He stands and smiles at me, but his eyes are still

haunted. “You look nice. Beautiful.”

“Thanks.” I smile back. I’d spent a while on my makeup, getting the smoky eye just right—don’t even get me started on winged eyeliner, that takes for-freaking-ever. On my lips I’d done a daring red—not my norm, but I figured I might as well—and for my hair, I straightened it and pulled it back into a sleek ponytail. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“I know.” He winks.

Bennett’s dressed nicer than I’ve ever seen him in a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tucked into gray dress pants. The shirt and pants cling to his muscles, and I’d have to be dead not to notice. His reddish-blonde hair has grown longer since the first time I saw him and falls just the slightest bit over his forehead. He’s hot—really hot—but unfortunately, he knows it and his cockiness grates on my nerves.

Bennett holds my hand as we walk over to the garage where he parks his car. It’s all part of the ruse that we’re really a couple. He does it every time we’re in public. The disgusted looks I get from other girls are beyond annoying. They hate me because they think I bagged one of the most eligible bachelors in the state. They don’t realize it’s fake, but even if it wasn’t, I don’t know why women have to be so petty and jealous. We should have each other’s backs, not be clawing at each other’s throats. But it’s the way things are, and I doubt they’ll change.

We reach the garage, and Bennett unlocks his car, opening the passenger door for me. I bend, careful not to step on the longer part of the dress with my heels. That would end in disaster. When I’m inside, he closes the door and jogs around the front. He slides in and starts the car. The dashboard lights up, reminding me of the inside of a cockpit. Not that I really know what that looks like, but I imagine it would be similar to this.

Bennett pulls out of the garage and I look out the window at the setting sun—a promise that another day is soon to come.

I’m itching to ask Bennett where he’s taking me, but I keep quiet because a large part of me is scared of what he might say. This whole pushing myself out of my element thing is harder than I thought it would be and I haven’t even done anything yet.

The hour-long car ride is fairly silent between us, with only the sound of the radio filling the small space between us. Usually, Bennett never shuts up, or so I’ve come to learn.