Page 15 of Nothing Like the Movies

“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, soof coursethis 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—withme.

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 towe’re strangerssmall 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 missedthis 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’treallythat happy to see the giant, was she?

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