Nothing Like the Movies

Wes

“I think she went outside.”

I followed Wade out the patio door and onto the huge balcony as he tried finding Campbell Someone. Apparently she lived here and he was slightly obsessed with her, so since I had nothing better to do, I accompanied him on his search.

It might prove amusing, watching Brooks drool all over himself.

“Is that her?” I asked, nodding my head in the direction of a tall blonde in a very short dress. There really were a lot of girls at the party; no wonder he’d been foaming at the mouth to get here.

“No,” Wade said, “but maybe Liz knows. Come on.”

I barely had time to register the name “Liz” when I saw her.

Oh. My. God.

There she is.

Libby, holy shit.

She was standing there by herself on the balcony, looking like everything I’d ever wanted. The sights and sounds of the party—of the world—disappeared as my eyes drank her in, desperate and needy after being deprived of the sight of her for way too long.

God, was it weird that I felt a little choked up? My throat was tight as I tried taking a deep breath, but it felt impossible.

Because there she was.

Finally.

She’s here. Liz is within reach, holy shit.

And how was it possible that she’d gotten prettier? It felt like years—and also minutes—since I’d last touched her, and I clenched all ten of my fingers, a little dizzy from the power of my want.

She was wearing a black dress that looked amazing on her, but it didn’t matter. The dress was unnecessary, like her clothes weren’t important anymore, which was a weird thing to think, but they didn’t matter.

Clothes were merely a distraction.

Because her skin—face, arms, perfect legs—had a glow now, like she been in residence with the warm rays of the California sun twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Which makes sense since she hasn’t been home in two years. With her long, loose braid and slick, nude lips, Libby was a summer siren whose magic had nothing to do with what she was wearing.

She fucking glowed, I swear to God, and the words Blake Rose was singing through the speakers as Wade and I approached made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Me and you

We’re supposed to be together—

“Hey, Buxxie, where’s your roomie?” Wade asked, walking right up to her and pulling on her braid.

“What?” Liz blinked and looked confused as she gave him a vague smile, like he’d pulled her back from a million miles away.

And then she saw me.

Her smile disappeared, her cheeks flushed, and she swallowed, looking as shocked as I felt. I swear to God I heard her gasp, but that might’ve been me. Because after haunting my dreams for almost two years, Libby was suddenly standing right in front of me, looking up at me with those long-lashed green eyes.

Looking like everything I’d ever needed.

Am I fucking trembling? I could smell the Chanel No. 5 on her skin, and I wanted to hyperventilate on it because holy shit I was finally close enough to breathe her in.

“Hey, Buxbaum,” I managed, which was ludicrous. There was so much history between us, a million “I love you”s and a thousand stolen kisses, yet the two words I managed to piece together in her presence were the same words I might use to say hi to any random stranger who shared her last name.

You brilliant, charming idiot.

“Wes. Oh my God.” Her voice was scratchy, but I wanted to drop to my knees and beg her to say it ten more times. Slow down and say it again, Lib. She blinked fast and gave me a polite “How are you?”

Cool was impossible. I felt the ridiculousness of my smile as it became my entire personality. I was a clown, grinning from head to toe, but I couldn’t reel it in because it was finally happening. I’d daydreamed (on a daily basis) about running into Liz since the moment I committed to UCLA, and there was just no way for me to disguise my absolute joy in this moment. “Better now.”

Her eyes moved all over my face, like she had a million questions she was trying to work through. “Yeah, um—”

“Focus, Liz,” Wade interrupted, snapping his fingers, oblivious to the reunion happening in front of him. “Where is Campbell?”

She shook her head like he was ridiculous. “Hiding from you, probably.”

“Now, see,” he teased, grinning. “That’s just mean.”

She was flustered, a wrinkle between her brows as she blinked fast, but she teased him back. “And necessary. You go too hard.”

“I tell Campbell that she’s beautiful,” he said, “and she acts like I’ve insulted her. Make it make sense.”

“You tell her she’s beautiful when you remember she exists,” Liz corrected, giving him a smirk that I felt in my knees. “You only think of her when we have a party, and then you follow her around like a puppy for the entire night.”

“Because I’m smitten,” he said, grinning like she’d given him a compliment. “And lovestruck.”

“That’s not actually a thing,” she said, rolling her eyes, and jealousy hit me hard in the gut. I wanted to tease her and to have her tease me back—that was our thing. I think I missed that more than I missed kissing her.

Okay, that’s a lie, but being Liz’s friend was everything.

Wade gave his head a shake. “You’re the most unromantic female I’ve ever met, Bux.”

“Thank you,” she said offhandedly, barely noticing his comment, but I felt lost, like I was in class and missed something in the assignment.

Because Liz Buxbaum, unromantic?

“Not a compliment,” Wade said, laughing.

“And you’re not smitten, you’re just intrigued because you aren’t used to being rejected.” She smiled like he was a mischievous child, absolutely manhandling the wildly overconfident first baseman. “Trust me, Wade, if she treated you like the baseball god that so many foolish people think you are, you’d be over her in a hot min—”

“Ooh, there she is,” he interrupted, and then he just sprinted away from us, running across the balcony and back inside.

“Well,” I said as Liz and I watched him disappear into the apartment. “There he goes.”

The vibe changed in an instant. Liz crossed her arms and chewed on the inside of her cheek, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Her cheeks were flushed, but my face was on fire as her eyes moved to a spot just past my shoulder.

Like she didn’t want to look at me.

I cleared my throat and said, “So. Liz. Hi.”

Hi—it was absurd. Maybe better than hey, Buxbaum, but still one casual syllable, like we were lab partners who’d seen each other earlier that day and not two people who’d seen each other—

“Hi, Wes.” She put her hands in her pockets, and the smile she’d had for Wade was long gone. Her face was all tension as she said, “I, um, I had no idea you were in LA. Are you here visiting someone, or…?”

She trailed off, and it was obvious she hadn’t even considered the idea that I might be a student.

“I’m back, actually,” I said, wondering how that week together in LA when we were incoming freshman could feel like two lifetimes ago. “I’m restarting the whole freshman-year-at-UCLA thing.”

If she were drinking, she would’ve done a spit-take. Her eyes widened and her perfectly arched brows went all the way up. “You’re a student? Here?”

I nodded. “And I’m back on the team.”

Her eyebrows went down and crinkled together, and she sounded like she couldn’t believe it when she said, “You’re playing baseball again?”

Yeah, I can hardly believe it myself. After my dad died, I couldn’t even look at a baseball, so of course this didn’t make sense to her. She’d been there—well, on the other end of the phone—when I freaked out at the thought of ever pitching again. “I am.”

“Oh. Um, that’s really great.” She nodded but her eyebrows remained scrunched together. “So you are a student athlete here, at UCLA. This year. Right now.”

It would’ve been funny, the difficulty she was having wrapping her mind around it, but the fact that she looked the opposite of happy took any humor out of the situation. Her face left no question that she didn’t want to have this conversation—or any conversation—with me.

I remembered the last thing she’d said to me, New Year’s Day two years ago—God, I hate you—as I confirmed, “That’s correct.”

“Well, that’s really fantastic,” she said loudly, smiling politely, looking over my shoulder like she was searching for an escape. “How’s Sarah? And your mom?”

“Good,” I replied, hating that she was turning to we’re strangers small talk. I knew what kind of shampoo she used, I knew the color-coding of her book annotations, and I knew the exact spot on her neck where a kiss would wreak havoc on her ability to breathe, goddamnit.

It was wrong to pretend we used to sort of know each other and that this moment between us wasn’t huge.

“And Otis?”

“You’re seriously asking about my dog?” I leaned my head a little closer to hers, needing to mess with her and coax the Libby out of her. “I think that’s as far on the small-talk scale as you can go, Buxbaum.”

“You’re probably right,” she said, her green eyes flashing in irritation. “I guess that means we’ve reached the end of our conversation.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, reaching out to take my turn tugging on her braid. “I was referring to your very boring questions. Maybe try spicing things up a little, like asking how my—”

“But I don’t care,” she snapped, smacking my hand. “About how your anything is.”

“Ouch.” I couldn’t help it; I was grinning again. God, I’d missed this so much. I stepped a little closer and said, “No need to get snarky, Lib.”

“And don’t call me that,” she said, her teeth gritted.

“My bad,” I said, putting up my hands. It felt good to get under her skin, so I said, “Maybe we should go somewhere and catch up.”

“Lizard!” A huge dude with a ponytail who looked a lot like a bleach-blond Aquaman appeared beside Liz, and it took me a half second to realize it was Clark, the guy who’d been filming at practice.

And who lived there. He said, “Are you ever coming back?”

He was standing close to her, close enough that they were clearly friends.

Or… more?

No.

Probably no.

Please no.

Who the hell was this guy to her?

“I just needed some fresh air,” Liz said, pasting a huge smile on her face as she looked at the dude.

But it was so fake.

Wasn’t it? She wasn’t really that happy to see the giant, was she?

“This is Wes Bennett, my old next-door neighbor,” Liz said, waving a hand in my direction like I didn’t matter. Like I’d just been some kid in her neighborhood, not the guy who had a tattoo on his arm that perfectly matched the one on her shoulder.

Shit. Had she gotten it removed?

She wouldn’t have, would she? I mean, that sort of thing was expensive, wasn’t it?

It was insane, that I was focusing on that of all things, but it’d break my whole fucking heart if that tattoo was no longer there.

“We were childhood buddies,” she explained, her mouth smiling at me while her eyes did the opposite.

I tilted my head. “Is that what we were?”

I hadn’t thought it was possible, but her cheeks got even redder as she met my gaze and bit out, “Yup.”

Damn, but I need to kiss her.

“And this,” she said to me as she pointed to the guy, “is Clark.”

Just Clark? No explanatory title, like “my friend” or “a jackass” or “my bodyguard”? Who was Clark to her?

“Nice to officially meet you, man,” he said, reaching out and shaking my hand. “Impressive throwing today.”

“Thanks,” I said, unsure how to behave when this question mark of a person was being annoyingly nice.

“There’s a lot of buzz around the whole number-one-recruiting-class-in-the-country thing,” he said. “And I myself am hard-core ready to fanboy all over that exhibition game in a couple weeks, so consider yourself warned.”

Exhibition game. I swallowed around what felt like a razor when he uttered those two words, and I lied, “Yeah, really looking forward to it.”

“I watched film from summer league, and your fastball is money.”

“Thanks.” I looked back at Liz, and she was watching us with her eyes narrowed, either in irritation or confusion. Maybe both.

So I said to her, “So did you want to get out of here?”

“Oh, I don’t think Clark would like that,” she said, going big on that frozen grin again.

Now my eyes narrowed, because she had that conniving Little Liz look on her face.

“Why not?” I asked, at the exact second Clark looked at her and asked, “Why not?”

Liz blinked fast and said to me, while wrapping her arms around the dude’s stupid enormous bicep, “Because my boyfriend gets very jealous.”