Page 66 of Nothing Like the Movies

“Oh, you do not,” I said quietly, teasingly, wishing I could step closer and lower my face to the spot on the side of her neck that always smelled ridiculously good.“Lib.”

I walked away because there were some dead lifts with my name on them, but the casual run-in with Liz had me anticipating our meeting. Not the interview itself, but because Liz and I in a room together, even if there was a camera and a boyfriend, was still better than not being with her.

And I was starting to suspect she didn’t like Clarkthatmuch.

I mean, they seemed happy enough when I saw them together, but I’d spent a lifetime watching her crush on guys. Wide eyes, pink cheeks, knowing smiles—those were her symptoms. I’d witnessed them time and again, hating them at the very same time they charmed the hell out of me.

No one wore lovesick like my Libby.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I’d never seen her look at Clark that way.

I showered after lifting, putting on a decent shirt and jeans instead of my usual shorts/T-shirt combo. I didn’t know what was expected of me, clothing-wise, but I didn’t want to disappoint Liz, so I was erring on the side of caution.

The sun was bright when I exited the building and walked toward Morgan, and for the first time, I wondered what my dad would think of this. I’d avoided thinking about him lately becauseI didn’t want to regress on the field, but I couldn’t help it now, as I prepared to talk on camera about his death.

Part of me thought he wouldn’t like anyone knowing anything about our life, but I also knew he’d relish any opportunity for my game to be under the spotlight.

Hell, if he were here, he probably would’ve already called Lilith to see why they weren’t doing a bigger piece on my pitching. He’d say something likeWhy would you waste time talking to every mediocre player—some of them won’t ever see the field—when you can showcase a future star?I kind of wanted to laugh at the realization and call Sarah, because it was 1,000 percent what he would’ve done.

That realization actually made me feel better about the whole thing.

When I got to Morgan, I went straight to MC491, even though I was a little early. I raised my hand to knock on the office door, which was cracked, but then I stopped myself when I saw Liz sitting behind the desk.

My breath kind of got trapped in my lungs for a second, to be honest.

Because I’d never met this version of her before.

She’d changed since lifting, switching out the casual T-shirt for a black blazer, a crisp white shirt, and a tangled mass of pearly necklaces wrapped around her neck. Her eyes were lined, her lips red, and her hair was all pulled back into a tortoiseshell clip.

She looked like a force, like she could head a boardroom without a single nerve, and I was hungry to know this person.

“Hey,” I said, my voice cracking like I was a middle schooler talking to his crush for the very first time.

She looked up, and the power of those eyes almost dropped me.

God, I love her.

“Hey.” She turned her Retrograde Red lips into a polite smile. “You’re early.”

“Is that okay?” I asked.

Her eyebrows went up. “Did Wes Bennett just ask permission? I feel like I should check your forehead for a fever or something.”

“I feel like you should do that too.” I pushed open the door and walked into the office, pulled to be closer to her. Needing less space between us. “Where do you want me?”

“We’re going to do the interview over there,” she said, pointing to a small conference table to the right of the desk. “But Clark isn’t even here yet.”

“So we’re off on the right foot, then,” I teased, smelling her perfume and feeling like a bloodhound who’d been given the scent. I had it, and now it was all I could focus on. “Which chair?”

She got up and came around the desk, andsweet holy foxhunt God save me, she was wearing tall black pumps. I was intimidated by Liz as she said, “The one with the picture behind it.”

“Okay,” I said, pulling out the chair and sitting.

Until now, I’d never given any thought to the two years between us, educationally speaking. But as I watched her move effortlessly around expensive film equipment in stilettos, she very much seemed like a junior who knew a hell of a lot more than this nervous freshman.

And those heels. I couldn’t stop looking at them. She moved like she’d been born to wear them, looking a million light-years away from the Little Liz who’d wobbled around in toy princess shoes.

“Please don’t be pissed at me for saying this, Liz,” I said quietly, very aware that this was her world. “But I’m kind of intimidated by how cool you are now.”

---