Page 144 of Nothing Like the Movies

“So,” Clark said, dropping his stuff onto his desk. “Did you talk to him?”

“No,” I said, not looking up from my computer.

“You’re a dick,” he said grumpily, and I heard the tone of his laptop turning on. “At least respond.”

“I can’t, though,” I said, dragging a hand through my hair. “He’s going to want to talk, and I don’t know how I feel, so I can’t actually have that conversation.”

“You can, too,” he disagreed, his keyboard clicking. “I don’t know what your problem is, Liz. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been levelheaded. Like, not dramatic at all. But for some reason, you’re acting like an emotional teenager about this.”

“No, I’m not,” I argued, turning my chair and wheeling it back a foot so I could glare at him. “This isn’t as simple as you want to make it.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not!”

“For God’s sake, it is, too,” he said, looking at me through ridiculous round fashion glasses that had blue Bruins all over them. “Bennett loves you, is sorry for hurting you, and wants another chance. If you have feelings for him, why wouldn’t you give it a shot?”

I sighed. “It’s not that easy.”

“It is, but whatever.” He stood and said, “I’m going to get a coffee, and don’t even ask me to grab one for you because I won’t.”

“Clark.”

“Totally serious.” He turned and left the production office, leaving me alone in the quiet that I wanted nothing to do with as the door clicked shut behind him.

Wonderful.

I stood, knowing I should probably go talk to him, so when the door squeaked open a minute later, I said without turning around, “I knew you couldn’t stay mad.”

But then I heard the sound of a familiar throat clearing.

And I smelled him.

I took in a deep breath and wondered if my imagination was running wild.

“Lib.” His voice was deep and scratchy, like he hadn’t really used it yet, when Wes said from behind me, “Can we please talk?”

My heart was instantly racing as I turned around.

He was standing beside Clark’s empty cubicle, a step away, looking down at me with a seriousness I almost never saw on that face. His glasses amplified the intensity somehow as his dark eyes watched me from behind the lenses. The tips of his hair looked damp, like he’d showered but the walk across campus hadn’t completely dried the curly ends, and he was wearing gray sweatpants with a white Bruins hoodie.

He looked like he’d woken up, thrown on clothes, and rushed right over.

“Um, here’s the thing,” I said, feeling shaky as I met his gaze, clueless how to communicate all the things I’d been thinking since last night. The sight of him made all my reservations impossible to remember. So I just said, “I’d rather not.”

His jaw flexed and his eyebrows furrowed together. “You’d rathernot?”

I nodded and tucked my hair behind my ears. Nodded again. “Yeah, um, I think I just need some time to think. Alone.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“I felt so peaceful… and safe… because I knew that no matter what happened, from that day on, nothing can ever be that bad… because I had you.”

—17 Again

Wes

Time alone to think?

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