Page 55 of Better Than the Movies
Those things were normal, but not for me.
And it was fun. All of it. Even with the vomit and the bloody nose. And it kind of made me wonder if I’d been missing out. Most of the time, I preferred staying home and watching movies. That was my happy place. Joss had her softball friends that she went outwith, and even though she always invited me, I always chose to stay home with my rom-coms.
But now I was questioning that decision.
Wes jerked me back out of my head. “?‘Umm’ is not an answer, dipshit.”
“I know, I know, I know.” I laughed and admitted, “I actually pretty much turn into Adele when I play ‘Someone Like You.’?”
“You donot.” He was full-on laughing now. “For real? That’s a big-voice song.”
“Don’t I know it.” I pulled the blanket from my bed, lifted Fitz from my lap, and wrapped us both up in it. “But when no one’s home, it feels amazing to totally shatter glass with my pipes.”
“I would pay money to hear that.”
Fitz gave me a deep-throated growling meow and ran up my body, jumped off my shoulder, and escaped from my room. I said, “You’ll never have enough.”
He made a comment, but I didn’t hear what it was because I got distracted by the fact that his living room light went out. Was he still in that room? Was he getting comfy on the couch? He didn’t sound like he was walking. “How come you turned off the light?”
My hand went to my mouth out of habit—that was a nosy question to be embarrassed about—but then I remembered it was just Wes. I could say these unfiltered things to him because he didn’t care. Wes Bennett knew what a mess I was underneath it all, and there was a little bit of joy in knowing he saw the real me.
Freedom.
I wouldneverask Michael why he’d turned off his light (if helived next door). That would be a total creeper move.
“Iknewyou were staring in my windows, Buxbaum.” Wes did a deep chuckle thing that made me laugh too. “I never would’ve guessed someone so uptight would be such a pervert.”
I stared out at his dark window. “I’m not that uptight, for the record.”
“I will say that you’ve been pretty cool about the disasters that have befallen you since you started hunting Michael.”
“Um… thanks? And I’m not ‘hunting’ him. I’m just trying to…”
I blinked—what exactlywasI trying to do? Michael was it—the guy. Just like in the book we were reading in Lit—The Great Gatsby—he was the green light across the bay, the symbol of the dream, the cohesive-thread-come-full-circle love interest that my mom had written into all of her scripts. I guess I was trying to put the happy ending on my script, so to speak. I said, “I just need to know that happily ever after really exists.”
He was quiet for a minute, and then he said, “I think your cat is out in my yard.”
I was grateful for the change of subject. “It isn’t Fitz. He never goes outside.”
“Smart cat—my dog would probably use him as a chew toy.”
“As if Fitzpervert would let him.” I looked back out the window and tried to see a cat, but all I could see was a dark yard and the white flowers on my mother’s bushes. “So where are you? Did you go to bed, or are you sitting in the dark like a complete Patrick Bateman?”
“Oh my God, you’re so obsess—”
“Will you just shut up and tell me?” I was laughing—hard—and it made my nose throb a little. “I need to go to bed.”
“And you can’t sleep until you know where I am. I see you.”
“So delusional. Just forget it.”
My face literally hurt from smiling, and out of nowhere I wondered what things were going to be like with me and Wes when our deal was over. Would he go back to only thinking of me as his weird neighbor, only noticing me when he felt like messing with me? Would we return to just being classmates who didn’t particularly like each other?
The thought of that made my stomach get a little heavy.
I didn’t like it.
He laughed and the lights flashed in his living room. On-off, on-off. “I’m still here, Liz. Just messing with you.”
