Page 6 of Nothing Like the Movies

“Says you.”

We worked like that, side by side, for a couple of hours, barely speaking. It was always that way with us. Clark was like my platonic soulmate. I was as comfortable with him as I was with myself, and sometimes it felt like we were just extensions of each other.

Well, except for the horseradish adoration. That was all him.

Finally, at three o’clock, he towered over my cube and said, “Should we head over to Jackie?”

Jackie Robinson Stadium was where the baseball team did their thing. I nodded and saved my work. “So what do they want exactly?”

“Just some general baseball preseason content,” he said, shrugging before raising his hands to adjust his hair. “Lifting, practicing—a couple Reels showing this year’s team.”

“Cool,” I said, closing my laptop and sliding it into its bag. “That should be easy.”

“Yup. No big deal at all.”

We headed toward his truck, nearly getting mowed down by a couple of bros on scooters while we walked toward the parking lot. I smiled in spite of the near-miss, though, because nothing said school was back in session like nearly getting run over by an e-scooter.

CHAPTER THREE

“The moment I saw you downstairs, I knew…”

—My Favorite Wife

Wes

“You think you can get tickets?” AJ murmured, stretching his elbow over his head. He was wearing those stupid sunglasses that he’d bought for five bucks in Canada, but I wasn’t judging, because the sun was shining directly into my shadeless eyes.

For once, I was jealous of his god-awful style.

“Probably,” Mick answered, leaning into a hip stretch. “But I need to know how many to ask for.”

“You’re in, right, Bennett?”

The team was warming up, running through stretches, but AJ was doing double duty, trying to get us tickets to an “epic” party that was happening Friday night. Since I didn’t know anyone at UCLA yet, aside from the guys on the field beside me, I figured I’d just follow along and see what transpired.

“Sure,” I replied as I stretched my hamstring. Partying wasn’t apriority for me, but I wasn’t opposed to being social either.

After the hitters split off for base running and we (the pitchers) started working the bands, I heard my name.

“Bennett, you’re up.”

I glanced toward the bullpen, and Ross was looking over at me. He was the pitching coach, but none of us actually called him Coach.

He was just Ross.

I jogged over, ready to throw, even as my stomach had reservations.Fucking breathe and calm down, I told myself. I’d played baseball for basically my entire life, so I needed to chill with the nervous butterflies.

It was only practice.

Riiiiiiight.To me, it felt like a hell of a lot more than that. After not being able to practice for two entire seasons, it felt huge that I was there, that these opportunities suddenly existed for me again after they’d all disappeared.

I saw Woody (bullpen catcher) getting ready, but when I reached Ross, he leaned his back against the fence and casually said, “So tell me about your first day.”

I wasn’t sure what he was looking for when he said it like we were just two random dudes chatting. I glanced toward Woody before replying, “Um, well—”

“Comeon,” Ross said, shaking his head with a half smile on his face. The guy had always reminded me of young Kevin Costner (circaBull Durham) because he was not your typical coach. He never yelled and he wasn’t intense.

He didn’t even seem like an athlete, to be honest.

---