Page 11 of Better Than the Movies
I wrapped the throw more tightly around my shoulders. “How could you possibly know that when you don’t know my plan?”
“Because I’ve known you since you were five, Liz. I’m sure your plan involves a contrived meeting, an entire notebook’s worth of silly ideas, and someone riding off into the sunset.”
He was close, but I said, “You’re way off base.”
“Bet.”
I sighed. “So…?” All I needed was for The Spot to be a stronger draw than Wes’s determination to antagonize me.
Wes crossed his arms and looked pleased with himself. “So…?”
“Oh my God, you’re torturing me on purpose. Are you going to help me or not?”
He scratched his chin. “I just don’t know if The Spot is worth it.”
“Worth what? Allowing me to be in your presence for a few hours?” I tucked a wet curl behind my ear. “You’ll barely even know I’m there.”
“What ifI’mtrying to hit it off with someone?” The look on his face was so creepy, I smiled in spite of myself. “Your presence might mess with my mojo.”
“Trust me, you won’t even notice me. I’ll be too busy making Michael fall wildly in love with me to even touch your mojo.”
“Ew. Stop talking about touching my mojo, you perv.”
I rolled my eyes and turned toward him. “Are you going to say yes, or what?”
He smirked and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. “Idolove watching you take the walk of shame from Mrs. Scarapelli’s. It’s kind of my new favorite hobby. So I guess I’ll drag you along to the party.”
“Yes!” I stopped myself from doing a fist pump in victory.
“Settle your ass down.” Wes leaned forward, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume on the TV before looking at me as if I smelled bad. “Wait—this movie? You lovethismovie?”
“I know it’s a weird premise, but I swear to you that it’s great.”
“I’ve seen it. This movie is trash, are you kidding me?”
“It isnottrash. It’s about finding someone so right for youthat you’d be willing to drop everything and traversecenturiesfor them. She literally ditches her life and moves to 1876. I mean, that is a powerful love.” I looked at the TV, and my brain started quoting along with the movie. “Are you sure you’ve seenthismovie?”
“I’m positive.” He shook his head and watched as Stuart begged the nurse to let him leave the hospital. “This movie is formulaic, aspartame-infused, tropey garbage.”
“Of course.” Why would I expect Wes to surprise me? “Of courseWes Bennett is a rom-com snob. I would expect no less.”
“I’m not arom-com snob, whatever that even is, but a discerning viewer who expects more than a predictable plot with fill-in-the-blank characters.”
“Oh, please.” I put my feet on the coffee table. “Exploding buildings and high-speed chases aren’t predictable?”
“You’re making the assumption that I like action movies.”
“You don’t?”
“Oh, I do.” He tossed the remote onto the table and grabbed his glass. “But you shouldn’t assume.”
“But I was right.”
“Whatever.” He drank the last of his milk and set down his glass. “Bottom line—chick flicks are laughingly unrealistic. Like, ‘Oh, these two are so different and hate each other so much, but—wait. Are they so different after all?’?”
“Enemies-to-lovers. It’s a classic trope.”
“Oh, good God, you think it’s awesome.” He narrowed his eyes, leaned over, and patted me on the head. “You poor, confusedlittle love lover. Tell me you don’t think this movie is remotely connected to reality in any way.”
