Page 136 of Nothing Like the Movies

“I’m sorry, miss, but we are booked this evening so we cannot make any changes.”

“I’ll leave the keys in the car, then,” I said, wanting to lose it. Wanting to throw a temper tantrum because why the hell was this happening on the night where I was supposed to be pulling off theperfectdate?

“Sir, you have to stay with your car until the tow arrives.”

I looked at Liz, then said to Gregor, “What if I don’t? It’s not like this is the airport, where cars aren’t allowed to be parked, for God’s sake.”

“We will have your car towed if it’s left unattended, unfortunately, because this is private property.”

“Well, that’s perfect, isn’t it, because it’s alreadybeingtowed,” I said through clenched teeth, wanting to hurt Gregor the Shit. “We’re going to go eat, Greg.”

I grabbed Liz’s hand and tried to lead her toward the restaurant, but she wasn’t budging. She gave me a look and said, “Wes. It’s Mick’s car. It’s Alice. We can’t have it end up at some random impound lot.”

I dragged a hand through my hair and felt the perfect date slipping away. “But we have a reservation.”

“I’m not even hungry,” she said, shrugging, then added in a very loud voice, “and I heard the food heresucks.”

Marry me, Buxbaum.

She squeezed my hand and said, “Let’s just wait for the tow truck to get Alice, and then we’ll come up with a plan B.”

I sighed and looked for disappointment in her green eyes, but I couldn’t find it. “You sure?”

“I’m positive,” she said, nodding. “Plan Bs are always more fun.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“My nightmares are usually about losing you. I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”

—Catching Fire

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.

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