Page 12 of Nothing Like the Movies

I took a drink of my Captain Morgan and Coke as a couple more guys came in behind them, a short blond and a tall—

Oh my God.

Oh my God!

I gasped, coughing on my drink as my hand clutched my chest. I squinted and stared, unable to believe my eyes as I tried to geta better look. Everything in my body—my breath, my heart, the movement of the blood in my veins—came to a complete and total stop. I was paralyzed, entirely frozen, as I watched him laugh at something the blond guy said.

Dear God, it was Wes.

Wes Bennett was in my apartment.

I was instantly lightheaded as I tried to process his presence, the power ofWes-in-the-fleshoverwhelming after two years of watered-down, diluted memories.

I think I’m going to faint.

This was impossible. How was he there? Why was he there? Was he visiting someone?

This can’t be happening.My stomach felt like a huge knot, a huge knot that was surrounded by a plague of wing-flapping moths, as I watched Wes Bennett enter my living room.

Dear God, Wes is in my house.

I took a deep breath and tried my hardest to remain calm, to not feel like I was about to pass out or throw up, but my heart was beating too fast. He was grinning and talking to Wade and the blond—his smile is exactly the same—and I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath.

I might be having a heart attack.

I’d forgotten how tall he was—maybe I hadn’t—but he looked even bigger now. His shoulders had expanded and his chest looked wide under his Cubs T-shirt, like he was the professional version of the recreational boy I’d once known.

His face looked harder, like he’d lost all the excess and waswhittled down into only sharp angles and dark eyes, and the neck I’d always been distracted by looked somehow more intriguing.

Could a neck be muscular?

God, how is he still so beautiful?

He threw his head back and laughed, and even though I couldn’t hear it over the noise, I knew exactly what it sounded like.

A laugh I’d recognize anywhere.

God, I hated him for looking that good.

He wasn’tallowedto look that good.

They headed toward the kitchen, probably looking for beer, and I tried to take a deep breath and get a grip.

But it was impossible when, unbidden, so freaking unwelcome, the memory of the last time I’d spoken to him came at me.

New Year’s Day, two years ago.

I showed up at his house with questions, positive the rumor couldn’t be true.

And then he’d looked me in the eye and told me that it was.

Why is he here now, after all this time?

Does he even know this is my house?

I lifted my glass and gulped down the last of my drink, very aware of the way my hands were shaking. I wanted to run and hide, yet at the very same time I felt like screaming his name just to see his reaction.

I needed to get a grip.

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