Page 61 of Nothing Like the Movies

He said, “Yes. But under one condition.”

I inhaled through my nose, trying to snort some patience because here it was. Knowing Wes, this condition was going to make my life hell. I looked up at him and said, “What’s the condition?”

He said, “I’ll do the interview, but only ifyouask the questions.”

“But that’s Lilith’s job,” I said, ignoring whatever wildness was going on in my stomach as Wes spoke to me with the kind of intense eye contact that would’ve dropped a weaker version of Liz. I let go of his arm—when had I even grabbed it?—and said, “I can’t do that.”

“Then I can’t do the interview,” he said, shrugging as if he didn’t care before turning and walking away from me.

“I seriously can’t tell my award-winning filmmaker of a boss that I’m doing the interview for her documentary—come on,” I yelled at his back, trying to convince him. “And why would you want that? She’s way better than I’ll ever be.”

“But I trust you,” he said, turning around and walking backward. “I don’t want to discuss this with anyone, ever, but if I have to, I’d choose you over anyone else.”

I trust you.

It hurt, how hard that sentence smacked me, because he shouldn’t. He didn’t deserve to trust me.

I’d choose you over anyone else.

And he hadn’t chosen me, not in the past.

Not when it mattered.

For some reason, his calm words that should’ve felt… nice to hear maybe, I guess, knocked me a little off my foundation, making me wobbly.

It’s all in the past,I reminded myself.

Now we were just two people who used to know each other.

I took a deep breath and said, “I can ask her, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “You should do that.”

“Okay. Um.” I was rattled when I said, “When are you available to do it?”

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and crossed his arms, watching me with an unreadable expression on his face. “I’ll have to check and get back to you. Do you still have the same number?”

Oh God.

We both knew what he was asking. Wes was asking if I’d gotten the text he’d sent the other night.

“Yes,” I said, my voice barely audible.

Because the emotions that’d run through me when I’d seen his name on my phone had been almost too much.Wessy McBennettface.It was like getting a text from a dead person, and I’d been off-kilter the rest of the weekend.

Because what could he have possibly wanted?

Probably to thank me for trying to help him during the game.

That was what I told myself, but the part of me that thought things likewhat if it was something else?was still frazzled, days later. I took a deep breath and met his eyes.

God—the way he was watching me made butterflies go wild in my stomach, because he looked at me like he knew me better than anyone else in the world, like he was seeing my every thought and remembering our every moment.

His gaze not only saw through me, but it wrapped itself around me like a pair of strong arms.

His gaze was more than familiar.

His gaze was home.

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