Page 9 of Nothing Like the Movies

“Sounds good to me.” He pulled out his sunglasses and slid them up the bridge of his nose. “But the world’s not going to end if our party goes a little big, you know.”

“Says you.” I rolled my eyes and started walking with him toward the parking lot. “You’re not the one who can’t sleep when there are still sixty people in the living room at three in the morning.”

“It definitely wasn’t sixty,” he said, throwing his arm over my shoulder. “And if you would’ve just drunk a little more, sleeping wouldn’t have been a problem.”

I had to laugh at that, because Clark was fazed by nothing.

Ever.

A bomb could go off in his bedroom and he’d say something trite like, “Well, I guess the universe thought it was time for me to redecorate.”

“Just tell me you didn’t promise Woody a ticket,” I said, knowing without a doubt that he probably had. Every person I knew loved the bullpen catcher from Alabama, Mr. Southern Charm, but I did not. He wasn’t a bad guy, but I went on a date with him last year. It was my one and only college date before I realized I no longer believed in romance when he (A) told me he hated cats, (B) called me “Red” like that was a universally accepted pet name for a redhead, and (C) kissed my neck while we were standing in line at the movie theater concession stand.

And ever since that ill-fated date,every timeI saw him, I had the pleasure of answering his twenty questions about why I never let him take me out again.

“I gave some to a couple of the freshman pitchers,” Clark said defensively, “so Ihadto give one to Woody. I mean, he was right there—I had no choice.”

I shook my head at my pathetically soft friend. “Well, if I murder him, I’m making you bury the body and get rid of the evidence.”

“Deal,” he said. “I’ll even spring for the shovel.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“No matter what happens in the next five minutes, I want you to know that when I opened this door, I was so happy to see you that my heart leapt. It leapt in my chest.”

—For Love of the Game

Wes

The first week flew by.

The baseball part of it, aka Hell Week, was pretty intense. Practice, lifting, position-specific practice, conditioning; I spent more time suffering with my teammates than I did with my coursework.

Which sent me scootering to the library every night in an attempt to stay ahead of my studies. Powell was the main library on campus, the one that made sense for me to use as my studying home base, but I liked to go a little farther and study at the music library.

Because it was quieter.

Okay, that was total bullshit.

I studied at the quiet music library in hopes of running into a certain music student who might also be studying there. A musicstudent with green eyes, copper hair, and tattooed daisies on her hip.

A music student I dreamed about nearly every night.

Whose voice I could still hear, whose perfume I could still smell.

I had yet to see her, but I sensed she was close. I had a few ideas on how to accidentally run into her, i.e., spend an entire day studying in the lobby of Schoenberg, where all her music classes were likely held; ask my teammate Eli’s girlfriend, who worked in the registrar’s office, to screenshot Liz’s schedule; call Mr. Buxbaum and beg for intel; call Helena and beg for intel; etc. But I needed my life to slow down in order for me to make it happen.

So, on Friday night, as I walked back to my dorm after a chaotic first week and zero Liz sightings at the library, I was really looking forward to going out. Not to get shit-faced, but just to let loose with the guys and have an entire evening where I wasn’t thinking about school or baseball.

Or her.

I punched my code into the keypad and pushed open the door.

“It’s about fucking time,” Wade (first baseman and one of my suitemates) said, looking like a douche as he stood in the middle of the shared living room wearing tight jeans, a white T-shirt, a black blazer—what the hell—and a goddamn fedora on his big head. “I am ready to go.”

He was with Mickey (catcher/other suitemate) and AJ, whoweren’tdressed like Bruno Mars,thank God, and they all appeared to be waiting on me.

“Where—to a costume party?” I asked, dropping my backpack onto the coffee table.

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