Nothing Like the Movies
: Chapter 38

Liz

“Is he looking?”

I glanced toward the valet, my abs seriously sore from laughing so hard. “Oh, yeah. He wants to kill us.”

“Perfect.” Wes grinned and climbed on top of the trunk beside me.

On top of the red-and-white plastic tablecloth that he’d draped over the trunk.

When I’d said the words “plan B” to Wes, he got that twinkle in his eye, and then it was on. Wes Bennett was supercharged in a way that only Wes became supercharged. He clicked into his DoorDash app, placed a few orders, and now, a mere twenty minutes later, we were having a trunktop candlelit dinner.

The tablecloth, candle, and battery-operated disco ball were from CVS, the food from McDonald’s. We were sitting there, eating Big Macs on top of the trunk, while Mick’s car stereo blared the song “Fuck You” by Lily Allen.

On repeat.

“Nice musical selection, Buxbaum,” he said, lifting his burger to his mouth, and I realized I was having a very hard time looking away from him. It’d been that way since he’d picked me up. Because he’d always been an attractive person, but now he’d become something more.

Bigger, stronger, harder—he was almost too gorgeous to look at.

And the suit amped his gorgeousness to an impossible degree. I’d nearly inhaled my gum when he showed up at my door.

“The Lily Allen version felt somehow classier than CeeLo Green’s,” I said, glad it was too dark for him to notice my cheeks.

“And this is why you’re the expert,” he said, taking a bite. “Unmatched elegance.”

I started laughing again, glad the car had broken down.

Because it felt safer with Wes when we were far removed from our past. Sitting here, eating on the trunk of a car in front of a famous Burbank restaurant, was, like, a different us. It felt like we were two UCLA students on a date, not two exes with a pile of historical baggage.

And I could somehow handle that.

It was almost like our past was too exhausting and confusing to my heart, like a complex algebra equation on a test where it seemed safer to skip it and just move on to the next question. Like, yes, it was an important problem, but how could I finish the exam when I didn’t even know where to start with that question?

It was too overwhelming.

When I’d heard “City of Stars” on the way to the restaurant, I couldn’t stop my brain from remembering the times we’d watched that movie together. Wes used to think it was adorable, the way it was impossible for me to not cry when Mia sees Sebastian at the club, and he used to make it his mission to “kiss the cry out of me.”

So the fact that he got us a reservation at the club from the movie, the one we’d talked about visiting on a date during our first time together at UCLA? God, I’d struggled to keep my eyes from tearing up as he proudly told me his amazingly romantic plan.

Too overwhelming, reconciling all that.

But as I sat there with him on the trunk of the car, it felt different enough that I could relax a little. The part of me that was dying to be with Wes wanted to go that route, to just pretend the past didn’t exist for a night.

It was nonsensical, but it kind of felt like a cheat code.

Like a skip-to-the-good-part card.

“So this internship with Lilith,” he said, picking up his Coke. “How’s that going? I Googled her, and she’s, like, super legit, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, grabbing a fry. “She’s the real deal, and it’s kind of amazing.”

I went off then, because it was impossible not to fangirl over Lilith. I told him all about her work and the ideas she had for my career, and he asked all the right questions.

“So you get a job in music licensing, and you’ve got a nine-to-five with a salary and benefits. But while you do this, your entire job is working with—and helping out—all the people you want to work with as a supervisor? No way, that’s genius.”

“Right?” I said. “And she volunteers all this helpful stuff to me on a daily basis. It’s insane how much I’ve already gotten out of the internship, and it’s still new.”

“Is the constant baseball driving you crazy, though?” He reached out and grabbed my pickle, then paused. “Wait—can I have?”

That made me laugh. “Yeah, I still hate them. Go ahead.”

“Sweet,” he said, tossing it into his mouth.

“And the baseball thing is driving me crazy, but only because it’s hard to replace time to study.” I wiped my fingers on a napkin and said, “I actually really like producing sports content, believe it or not.”

“I forgot to tell you, Lib, the ‘Supermassive Black Hole’ Reel was so good,” he said, grabbing a few fries from his plate. “I think I watched it a hundred times.”

“Only because it showcases your pitching, egomaniac,” I teased, feeling something in the center of my chest turn to hot liquid when he laughed. His eyes were squinty, his dimples popping, and I wanted to stay there on the trunk of the car, laughing with him, forever.

“Okay you did make me look good,” he said, nodding in agreement. “But the song choice, the camera angles, the way you paired my release with the perfect spot in the song—it was like a short film, swear to God.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking down because it was embarrassing how much I liked his praise. I needed to change the subject away from me, so I asked, “What about you? How do you handle all that math and science when your whole life is baseball?”

“Do you want the truth?” he said, giving me that little-boy half smile of his. “Or should I try to sound cool?”

“Truth only,” I said, genuinely curious.

“The truth is that I probably love my math and science classes as much as I love baseball. Finding time is hard,” he said. “But my classes challenge me in a fun way.”

“God, you’re such a nerd,” I teased, shaking my head. “And you’re still doing civil engineering?”

He nodded. “I was going to do architectural until I realized that would only have me designing things like HVAC and lighting, whereas I like to be a little more creative.”

It was weird to think this when we were the same age, but I was so proud of him as he sat there telling me about his career goals. He wanted to go into water engineering, like designing dams and focusing on watershed management (I didn’t even know what that meant), and he was so intent and purposeful that it was a little inspiring.

Wes Bennett had his shit together.

His phone lit up, and Wade’s name popped up on the screen.

“Come on,” he said, grinning as he looked at the message. “Look.”

Wade: Text us a selfie. After much discourse, we no longer believe that Buxxie would go out with you.

“I should say no,” I said, laughing at the thought. “And let your friends think you’re a liar.”

“But you won’t,” he said, leaning closer and holding out his phone. “Smile, Buxbaum.”

He took the picture, and we both shared a stupid smile as we looked at it.

Because it was a great picture of two overdressed people eating fast food on the trunk of a car.

“He’s going to give me so much crap about this fancy dinner,” he said, sending the photo.

“Yeah, he is,” I agreed. “How can he be so obnoxious yet still lovable?”

“It’s his special gift.”

After that, the conversation shifted to Wade and Campbell, which added to my enjoyment because they were friends that had nothing to do with our past. He told me that Wade really did like my roommate, to the point that he was too nervous to ask her out.

“Your tow truck,” Gregor yelled from where he’d been stationed, shooting glares in our direction. “Is here.”

“Thank you. To Gregor!” Wes said loudly, lifting his large McDonald’s Coke.

“To Gregor,” I repeated, tapping my cup against his.

The flashing yellow lights on the tow truck lit up the darkness, and I was honestly a little sad to see it.

Because I was having a great time.