Page 59 of Better Than the Movies
“His cattitude.” I stopped in front of the large-print section. “Good boy.”
My mind went to Wes then, because when we’d talked on the phone the night before, he’d asked if my cat was outside. It’dtaken forever for me to fall asleep once I got into bed, mostly on account of the incessant smiling that I was doing as I recalled our conversation.
The growly sound of his voice when he teased,And you can’t sleep until you know where I am. I see you.
Michael said, “Speaking of Wes—”
“What—I wasn’t,” I blurted, blinking fast while trying to figure out what the hell I’d missed, and what words he’d been saying as I’d zoned out.
Michael frowned as he looked at me strangely and said, “I really think you should give him a shot.”
Wait, what?
Michael had already done his wingman duty by mentioning it to me at the basketball court, right? Sure, they were friends, but if he had any thoughts about me that went beyond friendship, it seemed like he wouldn’t be pushing so hard.
Buthehad texted me, andhehad been the playful one. So what did it all mean? I needed a bulletin board and some string at this point. As we got to the Quinn section, I said, “Ashot. What constitutes ashot, exactly?”
He reached up and pulled the book from the shelf. “Just get to know him.”
“I already know him.”
“Thenowhim, not thehide-and-seekhim.” He opened the book and flipped through the pages. “Wow—those are some large words.”
“Sorry, we only have the large-print edition in stock.”
“Anyway,” he continued, giving me enough eye contact to make me fidget. “He likes you, Liz. Honestly, I’ve only been here for a few days, and I can’t get him to shut up about you.”
What exactly was Wes saying when I wasn’t around? Was he playing it up too much? Because if he did, the plan might totally backfire. I said, “He doesn’t even really know me—he knows thehide-and-seekme.”
“Justtry—that’s all I’m asking. Go out with him and try.”
I looked at him and gnawed on the corner of my lip. “Are you asking me outforhim?”How in the flipping flip were Wes and I going to get out of this?
That made him smile again. “Not at all. But I’m having people over Wednesday night to watch movies since seniors have late-start Thursday, and y’all should come.”
I swallowed and teased, “You mean together, right?”
That made him smile. “Just carpool with Wes. Please?”
God, this whole thing was starting to spin out of control. Now Michael was having people over so Wes could make a move. But Wes was only pretending to think I was amazing to show Michael how amazing I was. I was getting whiplash, and this was my own plan. I needed to end it soon. I asked, “What if, after that, I still only like him as a friend? What then?”
“No harm, no foul.” His eyes moved over my face, and it felt like a moment. It felt like he was really seeing me, or considering something about me, and I wondered just how bad my nose looked.
“Fine,” I said. Maybe he was giving his friend one last shot before he moved in. I said, “I’ll give him ashot.”
“Yes.”He beamed down at me and did a little fist pump thing. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take my romance novel home and read it in a steamy bubble bath.”
I laughed. “Go treat yourself, honey.”
“It was just straight-up adorable, Ma.” I leaned back against the headstone and crossed my ankles, inhaling the smell of fresh-cut grass. Sometimes April was slow to hit in Nebraska, with the occasional late snowstorm blowing in to destroy the promise of spring, but not this year.
Birds were chirping in the budding leaves of the cemetery’s tall trees, the evening sun was warm(ish), and that springtime feeling of anticipation floated through the air, along with the smell of the blossoming chokecherries.
“Not only was he buying a romantic book that no typical insecure male would ever admit to reading, but he was funny and charming and, between you and me, flirty with his eyes. Flirty with his eyes, and he’d been forsureflirty with his text last night. I think he thinks… I don’t know, I don’t want to say he thinks I’m cool, but maybe funny…? Yeah, I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m funny.”
I pictured his laughing face again—for, like, the twentieth time since he’d left the bookstore—and I wanted to squeal. “I swear to God you would love him so much.”
Shesowould. He was mature and polite and charming and smart, totally the kind of guy she made the hero of every single one of her screenplays. Every script she’d written had the solid, dependable cutie landing their love.
