Nothing Like the Movies

Wes

I have to find her.

I was listening to AJ, but my eyes were everywhere. I needed to find Liz and win the bet.

“So she’s wearing a long robe, like she’s a wizard or royalty or something. This chick isn’t showing a bit of her body, like I’m not even sure it is a girl—could be a man or a tall child or a short yeti—but Mick looked at her and was like, ‘I’ll be right back.’ ”

“Yeah?” I said, turning my body to look at the people on the other side of the room.

“Yeah. He’s been gone for, like, an hour.” AJ shook his head and said, “So I’m not sure if he’s getting action or getting murdered.”

“I mean, who can really say, right?” I muttered.

“Are you even listening to me?” AJ asked, sounding annoyed behind his mask.

“No.” I glanced toward the kitchen. “I’m trying to find Liz.”

“Buxxie,” he said, grinning and shaking his head. “I love this whole bet thing. You have to find her because I’ll be bored when your adventure ends.”

“So glad I can entertain you.”

“What about that one?” he said, pointing toward the person in the cat costume.

It was a costume Liz would wear (she would know the name of the Cats cat for sure), but as I watched, I just knew it wasn’t her. Not because I’d know the curves of her body in a lineup (come on, but I would) or anything like that, but because of her hands.

Is it weird to love someone’s hands?

The cat had average hands, with long pink fingernails, but they weren’t Liz’s hands. I’d watched her play piano so many times, and I’d always been distracted by the sight of her long, graceful fingers, moving over the keys.

With perfectly clipped and almost-always polished fingernails, her hands were capable of so much.

I’m losing it when her hands make me want to write a haiku, right?

I searched like a man on a mission, but no one was her.

An hour later, I was starting to panic.

What if she wasn’t there? Or what if she was, but I was failing?

I hadn’t even considered the possibility of not winning.

I was stressing out when I went upstairs to look for Mick, and then I found her.

The hallway was full of people, and I was about to give up when I caught a whiff of her perfume. I froze, looking around. There was a person dressed as a Pop-Tart—not Liz—someone wearing a latex Batgirl costume—definitely not Liz—a cupid whose hairy chest totally ruled out the Liz possibility, and Scooby-Doo—whose feet were way too big to belong to Buxbaum.

I was getting very impatient.

I was about to go downstairs when Batgirl turned sideways, talking to the cupid. It was too loud for me to hear her voice, but blue eyes—not green—were looking out from the ski mask.

Her lips, though.

I looked closer, and her slick, wet, shiny red lips were turned up in a smile that I knew better than my own reflection.

Those were Liz’s lips.

Holy balls.

My eyes went back to the costume and I damn-near swallowed my tongue.

Those boots, those legs—dear God.

My gaze traveled up her body—taking its time over black latex that made me weak in the knees—and when it got to her ski mask, I couldn’t believe what I saw.

She was wearing colored contacts—the little shit. I wanted to laugh my ass off at that blue-eyed huckster for being so devious, and I wanted to laugh manically and howl at the moon because, praise Jesus, I’d won.

I’d won, and I was going to have Batgirl all to myself for an evening in the very near future.

I moved through the crowded hallway, and when I was finally behind her—she still hadn’t seen me amongst all the people—I took a hit of her perfume before quietly saying into her ear, “I am a huge jackass.”

I heard the gasp before her head came around and she stared up at me with big blue eyes.

That lipstick.

If her hands drive me to distraction, her mouth drives me to madness.

“I can’t believe you found me,” she said in a breathy voice, her eyes wide with shock.

The cupid leaned closer to Liz and said something into her ear, which took her eyes away from me as she listened.

Who the hell was this guy? He was smallish, but a little too shredded in my opinion.

And standing a little too close to Liz.

“I cry foul on the contacts, by the way,” I said, unwilling to let a damn cupid steal her attention. “You little cheater.”

“It’s part of the costume,” she replied, shrugging.

Which did things that made it difficult to be a gentleman. My eyes definitely wanted to roam, but I kept them trained on red lips and curled black lashes because I wasn’t an asshole. “You’re telling me that Batgirl has blue eyes, Buxbaum? That you know this to be a fact?”

“Everyone knows that,” the cupid said, and I watched him grin at Liz through his stupid pink ski mask.

That’s a very punchable mouth.

“So we should probably schedule our date,” I said, lightly grabbing her elbow, feeling a jolt as my fingertips slid over soft Lizzie skin.

“Now?” she said, irritation in her tone.

Which irritated me a little.

“Do it later,” Cupid said, waving a hand like it was silliness that could wait, and that irritated me a lot.

Then he reached into his half dress and threw pink dust in my face.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” I said through gritted teeth, looking around for an escape. For somewhere—anywhere—where Liz and I weren’t with the goddamn cupid.

Which was ironic, right? Weren’t cupids supposed to be shooting arrows of love at us? This guy sucked at his job. I reached for the knob on the door beside us and it turned.

Yes.

“Here,” I said, pushing open the end-of-the-hallway door. “Just give me two minutes.”

She was blinking fast as I sort of moved her—gently—toward that door. “Wes—”

“She’ll be right back,” I said to the cupid, who tilted his head but didn’t say a word.

That’s right, Cupid—shut up.

We walked through the door, but as soon as it closed behind us, I couldn’t find a wall switch. And it was dark.

“Wes,” she exclaimed, jerking out of my hands. “What the hell?”

“I just need a minute without Cupid butting in. Where are the lights?” I said under my breath, moving my hand over the surface of the wall.

“Oh, this is perfect,” Liz muttered, and then her phone’s flashlight lit up the darkness. She gasped, “Oh my God!”

“Oh my God, indeed,” I agreed, freezing as my eyes took in all the creepiness of the rickety staircase in front of us, of the boxes of God-only-knows-what that were piled beside the steps.

“You shoved me into an attic?” she said in a whisper-scream, as if she thought someone was in there with us.

“I didn’t know,” I said, reaching for the doorknob. “This is spooky as hell.”

“Understatement of the year,” she agreed.

But the doorknob wouldn’t turn. I applied pressure, but that thing wasn’t budging.

At all.

“Okay, don’t freak out, Buxbaum, but we’re kind of maybe locked in.”

“What?” Her hand covered mine and tried turning the doorknob, but it was very stuck. “Oh my God.”

“It’s okay,” I said calmly, taking off my ski mask. “I’ll text AJ, and he’ll come let us out.”

“I’ll text Campbell, too,” she said, pulling off her ski mask and swiping into messages.

We each sent a text, our screens bright in the creepy darkness, but I wasn’t freaked out. I mean, the party was so loud that no one would hear us if we started knocking, but we had fully charged phones, and I was with Liz.

Even a terrifying dark attic seemed like a perfect place, all of a sudden.

There were butterflies going wild inside me as I stood next to her in the darkness. She’s so close. It was the last thing I should be thinking about, but my body was hyperaware of the smell of her and the way those tall black boots were close enough to touch.

My phone lit up when AJ responded: I’m on my way.

“So is Campbell,” she said as her phone also lit up.

“I’m sorry I dragged you in here.” I wasn’t sorry to be locked in the dark with her—that was a total lie—but I was sorry if she was unhappy to be in the dark attic with me.

I expected a snappy comeback, but all she said was, “Why do college guys even have an attic that looks like this?”

She held out her phone, illuminating the cobweb-covered boxes and blurred shapes that were packed in the small area.

“Because they’re serial killers, obviously,” I said, but my eyes were stuck on the way her hair looked in the darkness, the perfection of her profile in the dim light of the phone.

“Obviously,” she agreed, watching me watch her before quickly looking away.

There was a noise, like someone was messing with the doorknob, but I set my hand on it and it wasn’t turning. At all.

“Powers?” I yelled, putting my mouth next to the door.

I could hear male voices, but there was too much noise for me to make out what they were saying.

My phone lit up. AJ: There’s a tiny problem.

“Uh,” I started to say, but then Liz said, “Campbell said the doorknob isn’t budging. They’re going to find Stark and see if he’s got a key.”

“A key?” I bent my knees and raised my phone so I could see the knob. “I don’t see a lock on this side at all.”

“This is freaking great,” she said, sounding annoyed.

“I’m sure he’s got a key,” I said, trying to reassure her.

“You said yourself that it doesn’t look like there’s a lock,” she snapped, her voice thick with frustration.

“Relax, Buxbaum, it’s going to be okay,” I said, wondering if this was about the closet or if it was about me. “Are you claustrophobic?”

“No,” she bit out. “I just don’t want to be here.”

So it was about me.

“They’re probably going to find our bloated, spider-bitten corpses when they finally get in,” she said, and it reminded me so much of Little Liz that the disappointment took a back seat to amusement.

“Christ. That’s a little dark.”

“Well, something made all of these webs, right?”

“I choose not to think about it.” I turned my head and said, “I wonder what it’s like up the stairs.”

“A graveyard of demented dolls and mannequins, I would guess.”

I heard Liz’s phone buzz, saw the screen light up, and she said, “It’s Campbell.”

I watched her as she read the message.

“Nononono,” she whined, looking up at me. Her face was illuminated by the phone, that slick mouth all lit up, and something about it made my pulse speed up. “Look.”

She held out the phone so I could read the message. Apparently Nick’s landlord had a key, but the guy was thirty minutes away. Campbell and Leo were going to go get it, but we’d have to wait until they returned.

I knew I shouldn’t be happy, especially when it was obvious Liz wasn’t, but how could I not be? I’d just been given the gift of thirty uninterrupted minutes with Liz. I was going to make the most of this situation and try to nudge us past this place we were stuck in.

“I know exactly what we can do while we wait,” I said.

Her expression was priceless, like she seriously thought I was suggesting we get after it in the creepy attic full of spiderwebs. I was half laughing when I said, “Get your mind out of the gutter, Buxbaum. I only meant that we can play twenty questions and get to know each other.”

“I thought you already know me better than anyone,” she said in a mocking voice.

“Well, then, now’s my chance to prove it,” I said, wondering if it were possible to hyperventilate on someone’s perfume.

Because I could never quite stop myself from taking little sipping sniffs whenever I was near her.

“But let’s see what’s up the stairs first.”

“Are you kidding me?” she said in a high-pitched voice. “No way am I going up those rickety steps.”

“Oh, come on, Lib,” I said, turning on my flashlight and stepping closer to the stairs. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“That’s what the next victim says in every horror movie.”

She wasn’t wrong, but as I put my foot on the bottom step, I saw it. “There’s a window up here.”

“So Chucky can push us to our deaths?” she quipped, sounding hesitant.

“Grab the back of my shirt,” I said, “and follow me. I will slay any villains who come for you; I promise.”

“Yeah, but what if you’re the villain?”

“Luring you to the creepy attic after making sure there’s no key to the door?” I asked, wanting to grunt in satisfaction when I felt her fingers grab on to the bottom of my shirt. “Then I’d say I’m really incredibly brilliant.”

“Yeah, and I know you’re not that,” she teased, and it felt like a win. Teasing was one of the ways we’d always communicated, so it felt closer to “right” with us when she forgot herself and mocked me.

I started up the stairs, and she fisted the back of my shirt, following. I honestly hadn’t expected her to do it, to touch me, so I was kind of in no hurry to get those stairs climbed.

And when we got to the top, it was surprisingly… empty.

“Where’s all the stuff?” I shined the light around, and the big open attic was almost completely vacant of things, aside from a few random small boxes and a rocking chair. The antithesis of the area down the steps.

“The ghosts have to live up here,” Liz said, her hands still on my lower back. “So they Marie Kondo’ed the space.”

“Makes sense,” I said, walking over to the window.

I tried sliding it open, and after a moment of sticking, it came free and, hell yes, I saw exactly what I’d been hoping for.

“Come on,” I said, unwilling to turn around because I didn’t want her to let go of my shirt. “This is perfect.”

I stepped through the window opening and out onto the roof, which, thankfully, was the perfect kind of roof to sit on. It didn’t have a crazy pitch, and there was a flat area just outside the window, as if the space was created especially for midnights under the stars.

“I’m not sure we should go on the roof,” she said, following me through the window, and then I heard her breathe a startled “Oh.”

I did look back at her then, and she smiled.

“Right?” I said, and she let go of my shirt. “Not too bad for being locked in an attic.”

“Those Dollanganger kids would’ve loved this.”

“Sit,” I said, pointing to the flat spot just outside the window that had a wooden ledge instead of shingles. “And who the hell are the Dollanganger kids?”

“From Flowers in the Attic…?” She looked at me like she thought that would make sense as she tucked her dress—Good God that dress—underneath her and sat down on the roof. “The book?”

“Never heard of it,” I said, sitting down beside her.

“Probably for the best—it doesn’t hold up well to analysis.” She looked out at the night sky and said, “This is a little incredible.”

“Wow,” I said, resting my arms on my knees and looking down. Not only could we see stars, but we had a nice vantage point over the streets of the neighborhood. I hadn’t planned to get locked in an attic with Liz, but this was a spectacular setup. “So question number one.”

“I never agreed to twenty questions,” she said. “For the record.”

“Let the record show Miss Buxbaum is answering under duress. Question number one—what is your current favorite food, and why did you pretend Clark was your boyfriend?”

She looked surprised that I knew about the fake-dating thing (Clark, overcome with guilt, had confessed the first time I saw him in LA after the Omaha trip) but not upset. She shrugged and said, “I panicked when I saw you, and it just happened. And I’ve been all about the tacos lately. The street-taco scene in LA is ridiculous.”

“Interesting,” I said, thinking yet again how much she’d changed. “I haven’t actually had a taco in LA yet.”

She was looking out at the city when she asked, “What are you waiting for, Bennett?”

“For them to be free,” I admitted. “On-campus food costs me nothing, so basically B-Plate and Rendezvous are my new favorite restaurants.”

“Smart,” she said, looking over at me, and I wondered what she was thinking. Somehow I knew her brain was drilling into that, into the reality of my financial situation. “So my question number one, asked under duress, is where the hell is Otis living these days?”

That made me laugh, because she’d always pretended to find my dog annoying while sneaking him table food through the backyard fence when I wasn’t looking. “He is now the adopted son of one Michael Young.”

“Shut up,” she said with wide eyes, forgetting all about the way she didn’t know how to act around me. “Really?”

I nodded and said, “Sarah and I couldn’t bring him with us to school, and I was afraid he’d be ignored if he lived with my mom. So Michael is now his father, and we have FaceTime visitations once a week.”

“No way,” she said, smiling in spite of herself.

“You were absolutely right when Michael moved back and you thought he walked on water,” I said, nudging her shoulder with mine. “He does, I swear to God.”

“I’m glad I was right,” she said, nudging back, and I knew she was acknowledging the way he’d helped me last year. “Question two, asked under duress, of course.”

“It’s my turn,” I said, scowling at her while wanting to do a goddamn happy dance because she’d leaned her shoulder into mine.

And she wanted to ask me questions.

Please, God, don’t let this be a dream.

“Don’t care,” she replied. “Question two. How did you recognize me? I must’ve forgotten some tiny detail and I need to know what it was.”

Was there a way to answer that wasn’t a verbal vomit of my obsession with her? I was looking for your perfect fingernails was psycho enough to require a restraining order.

Still, what was the point of lying? I didn’t want to lie to her anymore.

“Your smell,” I said, and of course my voice cracked like I was a lovesick teenager. “I smelled your perfume, and then I saw your mouth.”

“My mouth?” she repeated, scoffing like it was a silly accident.

“Libby, I don’t know if you know this, but I am obsessed with your mouth,” I admitted, knowing I should back off, but I felt bold as she started fast-blinking. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as the way your lips slide into a smile, so that slick red lipstick served as, like, a matador’s cape—”

“Please don’t call yourself a bull,” she interrupted.

“To this bull right here,” I said, unable to look at anything but her mouth.

“God save me,” she sighed, her voice light as a breath. “From a boy who refers to himself as a dangerous bovine.”

“Dangerous bovine?” I looked into her eyes, so close, and didn’t even know what we were talking about because her lips were so close to my lips. “You really know how to make a guy feel uncool.”

She shrugged. “Any guy comparing himself to a raging bull is uncool.”

“So mean.” I shook my head, and my eyes were back on her mouth, on those slick lips. “I can’t keep my eyes off of your mouth for real, though.”

She swallowed but didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign.

“Can I ask you a question?” I said, my gaze on hers as an invisible string pulled me closer.

“That’s the game,” she said, but it came out as almost a whisper.

“If you and I were just a random Batman and Batgirl at a Halloween party, with zero history, and we were locked in an attic and taking refuge on the roof,” I managed, feeling like I was drugged as she watched me with interest in those eyes.

“Yeah?” she replied, and it was a whisper this time.

“And I did this,” I said, lowering my head and sipping at her breath with my own. “Would you let me kiss you?”

“In that scenario,” she said, her lips almost touching mine. “Probably yes.”

My head exploded.

“That’s not who we are, though,” she whispered, her eyes heavy-lidded.

“But.” I ran my knuckle over her cheekbone, my hand shaking as she watched me, as she didn’t pull back. “What if we pretend?”

She swallowed and said nothing.

But she still didn’t pull back.

It felt like we were both leaning toward each other, hovering, waiting for the decision to be made for us.

So I lowered my head and played the part of a random Batman. “C’mon, Batgirl.”

“Um,” she whispered, then slid her fingers through the sides of my hair, pulling my mouth to hers.

Time shifted, because everything went slow motion at first as I felt her hands on me, as my mouth met those slick lips. Every nerve ending in my body crackled, every hair stood on end, as the awareness of Liz overwhelmed my senses.

And then it detonated.

And sped out of control.

Suddenly my mouth was opening her mouth, my palms sliding up the smooth skin of her face as I held her in place. I felt weak when she angled her head and opened her lips underneath mine, her fingers flexing in my hair as her tongue slid inside my mouth. It was outrageously hot, the way she licked into me, and everything in my head exploded as she made a noise in her throat—impatience—that left all indecision behind.

I forgot everything—where we were, how to be chill—and devoured her mouth, desperately taking every kiss she was willing to feed me. Liz was in control, her teeth driving me wild while her busy tongue warmed me with its hunger, and it felt like my chest was too tight.

Am I having a heart attack?

She’d always kissed like some sort of a mythological sex goddess, demanding everything while delivering more, and—holy shit praise the lord—that hadn’t changed a bit.

My heart was racing as one thought—this is Liz this is Liz—yelled through my mind. My hands found her waist and pulled her closer to me on that roof, wrapping around her and squeezing her body tighter against mine—home home home home—as I ate at her sweet mouth like it was a delicacy I’d begged for and knew I’d never get again. I wanted to hold her there and never let her go. I consumed her, dipping into everything I could get as I felt her arms snake around my shoulders, taking everything she was willing to give and pulling it deep inside me.

Her breathing was erratic, and I loved it, because it mirrored my own. I could hear noises from the street below, but I didn’t care about anything other than Liz Buxbaum. A stadium full of priests watching wouldn’t have stopped me at that moment.

Literally.

They wouldn’t.

Feast your eyes on this, Fathers.

I opened my eyes, somehow needing confirmation that it was actually Liz and that she was actually back in my arms, and her bright eyes fluttered open at the same moment. Something was exchanged in the look—questions, maybe—but we didn’t stop kissing. Our mouths turned slow and languid, tracing tongues and nipping teeth, and it was somehow even hotter than the wild, hungry kisses.

It felt like so many other times, stolen kisses in quiet moments—her dorm room, my dorm room, the beach at sunset—back before I lost my mind and lost her completely.

She blinked, blinked again, and a tiny crinkle formed between her eyebrows. I lifted my mouth and whispered against her lips. “You okay, Lib?”