Nothing Like the Movies

Liz

The federal statute of limitations for music copyright infringement is three years, but there is a circuit split on whether “discovery” is taken into consideration (when the plaintiff becomes aware or reasonably should have become aware of the infringement).

I was trying to read my notes about Arnstein v. Porter at one of the tables in the library, but my eyes didn’t want to stay open. It was dark outside, raining, and the building was pretty empty, which was exactly what I needed for concentration but didn’t exactly help my tiredness. We’d been “imbedded” for a full week now (Clark was all in on being my partner), and tonight he was covering baseball’s study hall by himself so I could get some actual studying done.

Ironically, the study halls that forced the players to keep up with their coursework were taking up every minute of my study time, making me fall behind already. I had a test in the morning over text I’d yet to read, which was never good.

I grabbed my Red Bull, because it was eight thirty but felt like two a.m., and I was taking a drink when I saw him.

Wes.

Immediately, “Everywhere” by Niall Horan cued up in my brain, because it was the only song I could possibly assign to this moment.

Feels like every time I turn a corner

You’re standing right there

Because kill me now, Wes was studying at a table over by the windows. What the hell is he doing here? I liked studying in the music library, as opposed to Powell, because it was small and quiet and lacking in people who might distract me.

But why would he be there? He wasn’t a music student, and I was pretty sure he was a south campus guy (if he was still going for engineering). In addition to that, I knew he was a freshman, so how had he even stumbled upon this spot?

He had on glasses—he only wore those when his eyes got tired—and his blue baseball cap was on backward, making him look… gaaaaah so annoying.

Because what were the odds? And how long had he been there?! I wanted to scream because it was ridiculous. How was it that he’d been entirely absent from my life for almost two years, and now all of a sudden he was popping up every time I went anywhere?

And shouldn’t he be at the baseball study hall right now?

He was looking in my general area, but hopefully he hadn’t noticed me.

Because I still didn’t know how to act around him. Clark was a champ and had been doing most of the filming that was Wes-centered, so I hadn’t had any one-on-one interactions with him since the day he tried running me down with his scooter.

Thank God.

But Lilith wanted me to help her with the intros next week, so I needed to begin the process of reaching out to the players to schedule our meetings. Players that included—sigh—that guy over there in the glasses.

When I wasn’t near him, I was able to think very adulty about the whole thing. Last night I lay in bed thinking things like, it’s been two years, that was a long time ago, and he doesn’t matter to me anymore. We were in the past, and he was simply someone I used to know.

But for some reason, the second he appeared in a room, those thoughts left my head. They disappeared, and all I was left with was the confusing way it felt like I still hated him.

I didn’t care anymore, so why did his face make me want to hurt him?

It could have something to do with the cocky expression he’s always wearing. I mean, yes, it’d been years, and we were both over the mess of us, but shouldn’t he at least look like he felt the tiniest bit guilty when we ran into each other?

I went back to staring at my book, hoping he’d disappear while I read the text.

But I read one paragraph before I heard, “I know you saw me.”

I glanced over and yes—he was talking to me. It would’ve been yelling anywhere else, talking to someone from a few tables over, but in the nearly empty library, he wasn’t even raising his voice.

“How come you aren’t at the study hall?” I asked, my eyes going back to the book.

Don’t look at his face. His glasses were like Medusa’s snakes, capable of turning my already stone heart into something squishy.

Or something.

Shit.

“I needed a break from all the togetherness.” I heard him clear his throat before he asked, “How come you aren’t?”

It’s none of your business was what I felt like screaming, but I politely said, “I needed to study. Clark’s there.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm as I heard him close his book. “Your boyfriend Clark.”

I rolled my eyes and kept reading, not wanting to do this. Or anything. I just wanted him to disappear.

“You said it’s new, right?” he asked. “You and Clark are new?”

I sighed and kept my eyes on the page. “Yes.”

“How new? Are we talking a couple days, a couple weeks…?” His voice trailed off as if he expected me to jump in and answer.

And I was not prepared to do that.

Partially because he didn’t deserve to know anything about my life—the dick—and partially because I had no freaking idea how long my fake boyfriend and I were supposed to have been fake-dating.

Gah.

“I’m not doing this,” I said, raising my eyes and glancing his way. “I need to study.”

God, those glasses.

“Yeah,” he said, slow-nodding as he put his book in his backpack and zipped it up. “So you should maybe just answer quickly. How new?”

“No,” I snapped. How did he think he had any right to ask any question about my life? “My love life is none of your business.”

“Oh, love life?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as his mouth got that old familiar teasing smirk. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and said, “You consider him love life material?”

I closed my book and shoved it into my bag. Stood, because I needed to get out of there. “I’m going to go study. Have a great night.”

I grabbed my backpack and took one step before he ran over and grabbed my arm. “Wait, Liz. I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t take a deep breath as he looked down at me, so close, as his fingers burned their impressions into the skin he was touching. He smelled the same—how does he smell the same—and my heart started racing.

Dark eyes slid over my face, making me feel weak—weak too weak oh God—before he said in a deep, quiet voice, “It’s none of my business, and I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”

I breathed in through my nose, hating the way my heart raced as I smelled the Altoids on his breath. “Okay.”

“You ready, Lizard?”

I gasped, jerked out of the moment by Clark, who had somehow appeared out of thin air.

“Y-yes,” I said, hating the way my voice wavered as Wes dropped his hand, and I stepped away from him and closer to Clark.

“Ross was pissed you skipped study hall, bro,” Clark said, grinning at Wes like they were besties as water literally dripped from his long hair. “He was all ‘where the hell is Bennett?’ ”

“I texted him—we’re good,” Wes said, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“That’s great news, because now that we’re on your jock twenty-four seven, I don’t want you to get suspended and ruin the fun.” Ever since I’d told him that it was fine for him to like Wes—that it wouldn’t bother me in the least if he fanboyed over my ex (as long as he kept up our charade), because I was totally over him—Clark was an absolute goof. His baseball obsession made him behave like an adolescent superfan. “Are you going to In-N-Out?”

“What?” Wes asked, looking from Clark to me as if he was confused. I imagine it seemed a little bonkers that my “boyfriend” was a Wes stan and not the least bit jealous of our past.

But then our eyes met and held for a second, and I wondered if Wes was remembering how we once called the In-N-Out closest to campus our In-N-Out.

Doubtful, I thought, turning my gaze toward Clark.

“Some of the guys are going to get food,” he explained, “so I was going to grab Liz and head that way, since I drove here. You can catch a ride with us.”

Noooooooo. No! I said, “I kind of wanted to go home now, so… maybe…”

“You want me to drop you off?” Clark asked, totally missing my attempt for us to ditch Wes.

“Yeah, if you’re too tired, you should absolutely go home,” Wes said, nodding and looking like he definitely didn’t want me to go. He seemed downright smug when he said, “It’s just burgers and fries, Buxbaum. You won’t miss any exciting moments.”

You’d like that, wouldn’t you?

“Actually, I am a little hungry,” I said, not at all interested in going but very definitely interested in not letting Wes Bennett dictate what I was doing. I lifted my chin and said, “I guess we could go for a little bit.”

“Awesome,” Clark said, beaming, oblivious to the way Wes smirked at me like he knew what I was thinking, and the way I glared back at him like I was trying to make him spontaneously combust with the heat of my hatred. “Let’s go, kids.”

As he turned and headed for the door without waiting for me, obviously forgetting I was his fake girlfriend, I made the mistake of glancing at Wes.

Who was looking at me with a wow, nice boyfriend half smile on his face that made me want to elbow him.

“I can’t believe you’re getting the truck so I don’t have to walk through the rain, hon,” I said in a sweet voice, trying to imply that my boyfriend did thoughtful things like this for me all the time. “Thank you.”

I swear to God I heard Wes mockingly mutter “hon” just before Clark stopped and turned around. He was the worst actor, because I watched confusion cross his face—ugh—before a bell went off in his brain and he nodded. “Of course, baby girl.”

Baby girl. Ewwwww. Such a gross pet name, one I was positive Wes would be laughing at if I were to look at him.

Don’t look at him.

I inhaled through my nose and calmly said, “I love the way you’re so thoughtful. I’ll just wait at the door while you go get the truck.”

“Yeah, me too,” Wes said.

That made my head whip toward him in shock. “What?”

He shrugged and looked positively pleased with himself. “I forgot my umbrella.”

“You’re good, Bennett. No need for more than one person to get drenched,” Clark said, pushing open the door. “I’ll be right back, guys.”

I clutched the shoulder strap of my backpack and stared straight ahead, looking out at the rain while wishing the guy to my right would disappear. This is unbelievable. What were the odds he wouldn’t talk? Was there a shot that he’d just stand there and look at his phone like a normal human whose presence wasn’t welcome?

“So does he know about us?”

Yeah, I didn’t think so. I sighed and tilted my head, trying to crack my very tense neck. I didn’t want to look at him, so I kept my eyes on the door when I said, “What?”

“The big guy from your ‘love life’ out there,” he said with mockery in his voice. “Does he know about our past?”

I did look at him then, and I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t sincerity.

Yet there he stood, in those damn glasses and his blue Bruins Baseball cap, looking at me like he was genuinely curious as to whether or not Clark knew about our relationship.

“Of course he does,” I said breezily, not really knowing what I was going for when I added, “I tell him everything. He absolutely knows that we dated for a few months in high school.”

His face lost its softness, his mouth flattening into a serious line as his jaw flexed. “Is that seriously how you think of it?”

For a second, it all came back. I stared at his face and felt faint as everything that had ever happened between us rushed at me. Ketchup hearts and raindrop kisses, Gracie Abrams and tear-soaked goodbyes.

Noah Kahan on repeat for months.

My breath was stuck in my chest as the past hit me like a wave.

“I don’t think of it,” I said, shrugging and doing an incredible job of sounding absolutely unaffected.

Because I wasn’t affected. Dammit. I said, “It’s ancient history.”

His jaw flexed again, but his demeanor changed. Like he had an idea, God help me. His eyes got a teasing glint and he said, “So it’s totally water under the bridge now?”

I saw the truck pulling up and said, “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s been years.”

“Well, that is excellent news,” I heard him say as I pushed open the door.

I took a step outside, ready to be drenched by the rain, but the second I exited the building, Wes’s backpack was over my head. I looked to my right, and he was holding it over my hair with one hand, his eyes in front of him like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

He was keeping me dry on autopilot.

“Don’t overthink it, Buxbaum,” he said, still not looking at me while reading my mind. “I’d do it for anyone.”

I ignored that—and my stupid fluttery stomach—as I pulled open the passenger door of Clark’s old Dodge truck.

But as soon as I looked inside, I sighed yet again.

Because his truck had a bench seat, which meant I’d be squished in the middle of a Wes-and-Clark front-seat sandwich. I’d ridden in his vehicle many times, but I’d never paid attention to the logistics of the decades-old Dodge.

Until now.

“Need a boost?” I heard from behind me.

“No, thank you,” I said through gritted teeth as I climbed into the truck.

I scooched as close as I could get to Clark without getting between him and the stick shift on the floor, but it wasn’t enough. When Wes’s big body slid in beside me and he closed the door, his thigh was touching mine.

His outer left was touching my outer right, his soft Nike sweatpants touching my black leggings.

I could feel the heat of his leg through the fabric, I swear to God.

I looked down and reached for the lap belt, very aware of how close my fingers were to his waist. Not only that, but his lowered head while he buckled his seat belt had our faces way too close together—Altoids—and his hands very nearly touching my waist as he clicked his buckle into place.

I almost headbutted him in my jerking attempt to back away from him.

He gave me a little smile, and I knew I looked like a skittish animal, like one of those cats overreacting to the presence of a damn cucumber.

I could see in those dark eyes that he was fully aware of my internal chaos.

“Cool truck,” he said, his deep voice startling me (I was a freaking cat, dear Lord) in the quiet truck cab.

“Thanks, man,” Clark said, putting the truck in gear and letting out the parking brake. “It w—”

“Speaking of cool,” Wes interrupted, and I looked away from him to stare at the back-and-forth of the windshield wipers. I couldn’t look at him anymore. “I think it’s really cool that you’re cool about Liz and me. About our history.”

My mouth fell open for a split second, because I couldn’t believe he was bringing this up to the guy he thought was my new boyfriend, but I quickly shut it before he knew his assholery had gotten to me. I couldn’t stop myself from muttering, “You just said ‘cool’ three times in one sentence.”

“Cool,” he muttered back, so quiet that I wasn’t even sure he’d said it.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Clark asked, shrugging and leaning forward to turn up the defroster. The windshield was completely fogged over. “I mean, if Liz says it’s ancient history, then I’m totally cool. Jesus Christ, it’s gonna be a minute—this bitch is impossible to see through.”

Wes turned his body a little, so he was facing us just the tiniest degree, and he said, “It’s cool.”

Stop saying “cool”!

“I’m in no hurry,” Wes went on to say, “so I’m cool with waiting it out.”

The raindrops were loud on the truck roof, and I felt completely and utterly trapped between Nike sweatpants, my lies, and the past.

I reached out and cranked up the volume on the radio, so loud that conversation was impossible, and I swear to God, I heard Wes laugh.

But I couldn’t be sure.

Things didn’t get any better when we got to the restaurant.

Because as Clark stood beside the big table, filming the guys over there (mostly seniors) and laughing at their antics, I was attempting to take quality stills and keep it together in spite of the fact that the conversation at the smaller table turned toward me.

The smaller table that consisted of Wade, AJ, Mickey, Eli, and Wes.

“How bad was the hangover after your party, Bux?” Mick asked, his mouth full of food. “You were pretty sloshed when we left.”

“Shut up, I’m working,” I said, pasting a smile onto my face as I kept taking photos.

The last thing I needed was for Wes to think that my drunkenness had anything to do with his appearance in my house.

“Wait—Buxbaum was hammied?” he asked, a smile in his voice. “The Little Liz I used to know was not a drinker.”

“Obviously I’m no longer ‘Little’ Liz,” I snapped, keeping my eyes on AJ through the lens as I took photos of him shoving French fries into his mouth and grinning like a child.

“Obviously,” Wade agreed, which made me flip him off.

“And no one says ‘hammied’ here, Bennett,” I added grumpily, sounding like a pouty child.

But something about the stupid word everyone in our high school used to use for partying irritated me. I’d been gone for years—hadn’t even returned for breaks—so the last thing I wanted was to be reminded of those silly little Omaha details.

Gaaah why does he always make me revert to Little Liz?

“I’m gonna start, though,” AJ said. “I like it. I am gonna get fucking hammied next weekend.”

“I was hammied as shit last Friday,” Wade declared, grinning proudly.

Mick was laughing when he opened his big mouth and shared, “I don’t know if I’d say she was hammied, but she was screaming along to every word of ‘Sabotage.’ It was very impressive.”

“Not doing this,” I said, lowering to my knees to get a shot from below the table, thankful the camera was in front of my hot face.

Because “Sabotage.” There was no way Wes was missing that reference, dammit.

I loved that song my senior year and used to crank it in Wes’s car all the time. We used to sing-yell along to every word with all the windows down.

So yes, I’d been absolutely hammied at my party while I’d screamed the lyrics in an attempt to exorcise old demons.

“I want to hear more about ‘Little’ Liz,” Eli said, taking off the lid to his cup before raising it to his mouth. “What was Buxxie like in high school?”

I held my breath and waited, wanting to disappear. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole as I waited for Wes Bennett to mess with what I had here, to poke his finger into the relationships and reputation I’d built for myself in California.

“Liz was always,” he said, pausing like he was searching for the right words. Since he was sitting beside Mick, I was able to see his face through my camera without him seeing me watching.

And suddenly my heart was in my throat because he wasn’t wearing the I-live-to-mess-with-you expression anymore. His mouth was relaxed in a soft smile when he grabbed a fry and said, “Her own person. She was that girl who didn’t follow the crowd unless they were going to the same place she was already planning to go. She did her own thing.”

Wade looked directly at me—through the camera—and teased, “But she had braces and glasses, right? I bet Bux rocked a retainer in her yearbook photo.”

I coughed out a little laugh. “I only wore my retainer at night, asshole.”

That made everyone laugh, but suddenly Wes’s eyes were on mine. We were both smiling, remembering the night on our road trip when he’d discovered I slept in a retainer, and my throat felt impossibly tight.

“If she was that cool,” Eli said, “then why’d she date you, Bennett?”

It felt like he was talking directly to me when he shrugged and said, “I have no idea.”

“Looks like they’re done,” AJ said, breaking the moment, and I was a little shaky as I turned my camera to get shots of the guys at the other table as they stood and started cleaning up their stuff.

Dinner was apparently over.

Thank God.

But hours later, when I was finally miles away from Wes and in my comfy pajama pants, I was still frazzled. I’d been parked on the couch with my laptop since getting home from In-N-Out, working on a Reel, and I was pretty sure I was finally done.

I hit play, watching it one final time.

Frank Ocean was the perfect backdrop for the BRUINS BASEBALL WEEK TWO piece (I would never not be moved by “Pink + White”), and I knew it was good as I saved the file.

Lilith was going to love it.

But how was it fair that I’d just spent hours—hours—mining film that had a good amount of Wes Bennett content in it? Talk about torture. It was obscene that anyone should have to spend hundreds of minutes staring at photos—and videos—of their ex-boyfriend looking hot, right?

It was as if the cosmos hated me and was like, Y’know what’d be funny? Let’s make her watch him working out and wearing a baseball uniform. Oh—and let’s be sure she has to stare at shots of him wearing his glasses and studying too; that shit will kill her.

I sent the file to Lilith and cc’d Clark, and then I shut down and went to bed.

But sleep was elusive.

Because what the hell, Universe?

It just wasn’t fair.