Read on for a special bonus epilogue to Nothing Like the Movies by Lynn Painter! (WARNING: Spoilers ahead for Better Than the Movies and Nothing Like the Movies)
the day after the CWS Championship
Chapter One
“Let the games begin…”
–Taylor Swift
Wes
“Come on.”
“I’m coming,” Liz said around a laugh, scrambling to keep up as I headed for the shop on the other side of the busy concourse. “Slow down, we have fifteen minutes.”
“Which we must use wisely,” I insisted, grabbing her hand and pulling her along beside me, feeling ridiculously happy as a tiny wisp of Chanel No. 5 danced around my head.
“You’re taking this very seriously,” she replied with a smile in her voice as we wove in and out of the crowds of luggage-dragging travelers.
“Because I want us to win.”
“Haven’t you had enough winning, thirty-two? Greedy much?” she teased, because yesterday we’d won the CWS.
We’d won the fucking College World Series.
“Honey,” I said, glancing over at her without slowing.“I’m addicted and need my next hit immediately.”
“Okay, so what is your plan, then, junkie?”
We’d just landed in Dallas, on our way back to LA, and the next flight was cancelled due to storms down in Florida. We’d been rescheduled, thank God, but now we had a six-hour layover.
Which had sounded like hell on earth until AJ came in clutch and a spectacular new game was born.
His parents had two first-class upgrades that he’d talked them out of, but instead of selfishly pocketing them, he’d parlayed them into a game. The entire team was now embarking upon a massive game of airport hide-and-seek, because the last two un-found hiders would be the winners of the seats.
We had fifteen safe minutes to hide before the game officially began.
The rules were simple. We had to stay in the terminal and follow the rules of polite airport society and the law; you couldn’t do anything crazy like hide under a table or in a bathroom stall. One hour before boarding, the remaining two undiscovered hiders would be deemed the winners via the massive group text created for the game.
AJ and Eli were the seekers, and if they somehow managed to find everyone before time was called, then the seats were theirs.
It would’ve been a heated battle regardless of prizes because we were all hyper-competitive, but since our airline was one of those with unassigned seats, the guarantee of who you were sitting beside while being treated like a king was a trophy worth killing (or skillfully hiding) for.
“Disguises,” I said, confident that this was a stroke of genius. “If we look nothing like ourselves, we can just find a booth in the back of a restaurant, blend into the crowd, and hang out for hours until we take home the win.”
“Sounds a little too easy if you ask me,” she said, “But I’m in.”
We found an airport souvenir shop – very Texas-themed – and went crazy, loading up on items we’d normally never wear. I was pretty sure we’d done a good job with our selections, but when Liz exited the restroom and I didn’t even recognize her at first, I knew those seats were as good as ours.
“Holy shit, Buxbaum,” I said, giving my head a shake as I stared at her in disbelief.
She’d tucked all of her hair into a Cowboys trucker hat that was pulled low over her eyes, making it look like she had short hair. The hugely-oversized neon-green crewneck she was wearing completely swallowed her body, and the Kate Spade backpack she carried was now lost inside of an ugly orange duffel bag slung across her chest that said Texas or Bust.
If it weren’t for the twinkling green eyes and perfect mouth, I might not have noticed her at all in that disguise.
I gestured for her to spin – and she did – while I said, “You are incredible.”
“Your turn – hurry,” she said, her grin huge as she shoved our bag of purchases against my chest. “Go transform into your best daddy-self.”
“Daddy transformation underway,” I said as I grabbed the stuff and headed for the men’s room.
I found a way-too-tiny stall and changed into my freshly-purchased Don’t mess with Texas Hawaiian shirt, multi-pocketed cargo shorts, and one-size-too-small Texas Rangers flip-flops. I took a minute to slick back my hair like a kindergartener on picture day, and I smiled into the mirror when I set the black-rimmed reading glasses on the bridge of my nose.
Because there was no doubt that we were going to win.
It was in the bag.
When I exited the restroom, Libby started laughing so hard she couldn’t speak, which I took as a good sign. Once she finally regained her ability to form words, she said, “You look like a sociopath, like a nerdy serial killer who everyone considers “mild-mannered” until the bodies are discovered. We are so winning those seats, you adorable geek.”
“Damn-straight we are,” I said, throwing my arm over her shoulder. “In the meantime, let’s go find a place to hide out for six hours. We need to discuss what you said on the plane, Miss Buxbaum, and I want privacy for my cross-examination.”
“I’m good with that.” Those green eyes went soft and she pursed her lips. “I stand by my statement, though.”
“And I’m in love with it, truly,” I said, pulling her close enough to drop a kiss on top of her head (hat) as we started walking. She’d casually stated, just before putting on headphones and closing her eyes upon takeoff, that she “always knew we’d end up together in spite of everything.”
Which didn’t make a damn bit of sense because the everything had been…fucking huge and impossible, right?
But something about the idea of it made my heart happy.
“I actually love it so much,” I said, “that I’m going to make you talk real slow so I can savor every word that comes out of your mouth.”
“Why did that sound dirty?” she asked around a giggle.
“Because you’re a fucking pervert, Buxbaum,” I teased into her ear because I loved her laugh, and then I couldn’t stop myself from nipping at her earlobe because the girl made me feral. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
Lilith
I could see my target at the end of the concourse.
It was almost funny, how easy this was going to be. Like taking candy from a flight full of baseball players. Those boys were going to run around the terminal, ducking in and out of stores as they attempted to go undetected, but they had no shot at one of the two available tickets.
Because that seat was mine.
I walked into Minute Suites and went straight for the desk.
“Hi, I’d like to rent a suite, please,” I said to the girl behind the counter. It’d become my favorite habit when I was on the road, a total travel game-changer. Anytime I had more than a two-hour layover, I left the crowds behind and chilled in a quiet private suite. The “suites” were small and sparse, and it felt slightly absurd to spend good money to hide in a closet, but being far away from the airport madness was divine.
And there was no way any of those bat-wielding Bruins even knew they existed.
“I’m sorry but we’re all booked up,” she said, but she didn’t really look sorry. She looked like she was trying not to smile as she said, “I just rented the last suite.”
Dammit.
“Oh. And there’s nothing coming open soon?” I asked, because I’d really been looking forward to napping.
“I’m afraid not,” she said, her eyes moving to whatever was over my left shoulder.
“I mean, you’re welcome to share my suite,” I heard, and my teeth instantly slammed together because I’d know that voice anywhere.
I turned and wanted to scream as Ross stood there, smirking at me like he was having the very best time. His arms were crossed over the slutty UCLA Baseball t-shirt that showed off how off how insanely muscled his arms and chest were, and his head was tilted as he watched me.
Watched me like he couldn’t wait to have a front-row seat for my disappointment.
“Your suite,” I repeated, unable to believe that of all the people in the world, he was the one who’d just taken the last available suite.
“He beat you by a minute,” the girl said, giving him a little grin like they were partners in crime.
I wanted to pull her aside and tell her that his gorgeousness was a waste, that his dirty half-smile should come with a warning.
“I’m serious, though, Lil,” he said, accentuating the little nickname that he knew I hated as he pulled a golden key with the number 7 on it out of his pocket, holding it up so it made a little jingling noise. “My suite is a maxi, which apparently has two little sofas, so I’m more than happy to share.”
He wasn’t, of course, because Ross didn’t like me.
He thought I was everything he hated about LA.
He’d laughed when the heel of my Tom Ford pump broke in the dugout yesterday, the dick.
I wanted to smack the amused grin off his face, but then I saw a blue-and-gold jersey in my peripheral vision. I looked out at the concourse and shit – it was AJ. The kid wasn’t looking in our direction, thank God, but he was close.
And there was no way I was letting Ross’s presence ruin my shot at that first-class seat.
“Well thank you very much, Ross,” I said, closing the distance to snatch the suite key from his big hand. “Who would’ve thought you’d be so generous?”
His smile disappeared – finally – and his Adam’s apple bobbed around a swallow.
Which made it impossible for me to not grin like I’d just won Olympic gold as I turned and headed for Suite #7.
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
Clark
Where the hell is she going?
I wasn’t following her – I wasn’t – but I was definitely walking in the same direction down the concourse as Sarah Bennett.
Although she wasn’t exactly “walking.”
No, Sarah was marching, Sarah was striding, Sarah was purposefully headed somewhere like she had an appointment she couldn’t miss. I knew for a fact we had six hours to kill, yet she looked like she was in a hurry.
What gives, little Zuri?
Although to be fair, she was always like this, amped and on-edge as if she’d been sent to accomplish a mission and she’d rather die than fail.
I stayed back, leisurely headed down the same path, convincing myself it wasn’t creepy because I was just looking for a good place to hide. I’m not following her; we’re simply both following the same hallway.
Although if she noticed me, I wasn’t sure if she’d be pissed or amused.
She’d been amused the time I tried to kiss her in Omaha – you’re adorable, Gigantor, but I don’t have time for long-distance love affairs with oversized rugby man-boys who’ll become obsessed with me – but she’d been straight-up pissed when I tried walking her back to her hotel the other night after the first game in the series.
I don’t need my brother’s friends to babysit me, thank you very much.
The only thing I understood about Sarah was that I never understood her.
Not that I wanted to.
She was impulsive and unpredictable and so fucking smart that keeping up with her gave me whiplash.
In the very best way.
I was fascinated by her.
I probably would’ve followed her for hours because my eyeballs were fond of the way she moved, but then she turned toward security. She turned and was headed straight for the door that said exit only – no readmittance.
“Sarah!” I heard myself shout as I jogged toward her, needing to stop her before she had to go back through the security line.
Her ponytail whipped around and her eyebrows went down when she saw me running over.
“You can’t go that way,” I said as I reached her side.
“Okay, um, first of all, are you following me?” she asked, her face all screwed up. I loved when she made that bratty face, like everything in her line of sight confused and disgusted her all at once. It made her nose crinkle in such an adorable way that I tended to mess with her just to ensure it didn’t change.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Second of all, you creeper, it’s the only way to get out of here, so I definitely can go this way.”
“Wait, what?” She smells like Bath and Body Works. “You’re leaving the airport? That’s against the rules of the game.”
“I’m not wasting my time with hide-and-seek when I have six free hours in Dallas, are you kidding?” Sarah tilted her head and looked at me like I was the fool when she said, “Even if I subtract out the two-hour-early rule for outgoing flights, that still leaves me four hours to experience the Lone Star State.”
“But…” I was shocked speechless.
“But…?” she repeated. “I’d love to stand here and listen to you utter three-letter conjunctions all day, but the timer is ticking, Goldilocks.”
“So what are you planning to do with your four hours, then?” I asked, in awe of her confidence in this terrible decision.
She reached into her backpack and pulled out what appeared to be a very worn packet of no less than twenty loose-leaf notebook pages, all stapled together. She held it out in front of me, and the page it was opened to said “Texas” at the top – in very careful childish cursive. Underneath the subheading of “Dallas,” there was a list.
- Bonnie Parker’s Grave
- Collection of hands
- Big eyeball
- 6th floor museum
- Whataburger
“What the hell is this?” I asked, taking the papers from her hand. “Big eyeball? And it looks like something written by a third grader.”
“Fifth-grader – they don’t teach cursive in third grade, Waters, use your brain,” she said as if I was the ridiculous one. “When we learned about the fifty states, I made a list of the things I wanted to see in each one.”
“And Whataburger made your list?” I teased, but the truth was that I wanted to keep those pages in a locked box because they were just so sweetly on-brand for her. Little Sarah Bennett made travel bucket lists in fifth fucking grade and kept them for reference, shamelessly still referring to them as if they were gospel even though she was now a Stanford sophomore.
“French fries, hello,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I have to go.”
I put my hand on her arm to keep her from walking away. “Why does this plan not sound crazy when you say it?”
“Because it’s not.” She bit down on her lower lip and just watched me for a minute, those always-scheming brown eyes roaming all over my face. I wanted to kiss her – I never not wanted to kiss that smartass mouth – because the idea of Sarah falling into me was mind-bogglingly heady.
The idea of her softening enough, slowing down enough, to let me get close–
“I mean,” she said, interrupting my daydream. But it was like she knew what I’d been thinking, because suddenly her voice was calmer, quieter. “I’m sure you’re too…obedient to go, but it’s a cheaper Uber for me if you were to also visit Dallas.”
“You’re inviting me?” I asked, wondering if she’d stepped closer without me noticing because suddenly her face was all I could see.
“As if,” she said, but her voice was still marginally less aggressive than usual. “I’m inviting your wallet.”
“We’re kind of a package deal, Bennett.”
“Spare me your package talk, Waters. Are you in or out?”
I don’t know how it happened, but my fingers were suddenly brushing back the hairs that’d come down from her ponytail when I said, “I’m scared to ask, but what exactly is the “collection of hands?”
I swear to God the breath left my body when her mouth slid into a victorious smile and she went up on her tiptoes to rub her fucking nose against mine.
“Excellent question, Clarkie, and only one way to find out. Let’s go, baby.”
Sarah grabbed the handle of my carry-on, turned away from me, and pushed through the no readmittance door with my little rolling bag as if there wasn’t a question in her mind that I’d be following her.
And – God help me – she was right.
Wild horses couldn’t have stopped me from following her out those doors.
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
the group chat
AJ: READY OR NOT HERE WE COME!
ELI: Yeah – game on, bitches
BENNETT: Prepare to not find us
BUX: WHAT HE SAID
TINY BENNETT: You will DEFINITELY not find me
ELI: That swagger’s gonna feel like shit back in economy, Stanford
CLARK: My money’s on Sarah
WADE: Only because you know it won’t be you, Waters. How the fuck would a seven-footer hide in an airport?
CLARK: You’re about to find out
AJ: Holy shit – I see Woody already
WOODY: Bullshit
AJ: BELLIED UP TO THE BAR, HOOD UP, FOURTH STOOL FROM THE LEFT
WOODY: How the fuck did you know it was me? Where are you?
AJ: There’s a mirror behind the bar, genius
WOODY: OH HI HELLO THERE YOU ARE
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
Chapter Two
“Holdin’ hands, just killin’ time…”
–Taylor Swift
Wes
“So Helena was the one who pointed it out to me.”
I stared down at Lib’s phone on the table, at the massive Spotify playlist, and felt like crying.
In a good way.
In a fucking great way.
“She made me realize that I’d created a ton of playlists over the course of my life, playlists that I always – like everyone else – just walk away from when I’m finished. I mean, every playlist has an end date, right?” Liz said, stirring her lemonade with a straw like she was casually discussing the weather.
“Only this playlist, this wonderful, horrible playlist, was continually updated by me. It started senior year, dipped into a few semesters of total melancholy when you moved home, and now it’s back on its happy vibes. But the fact that I never stopped adding to it means that a tiny part of me always knew we weren’t finished.”
It was so delusional, so overanalyzed through a romantic lens, that I wanted to pull her under the table and have my way with Romantic Liz on the floor of the busy airport pancake house.
Because she was back.
I mean, my Lib had been back since last fall when we got back together, but this was like full-throttle back on her love-loving shit. The girl who’d claimed to be “unromantic” had been pushed aside by the queen of my fucking heart and I wanted to cry happy tears that I hadn’t ruined her forever.
“You always knew, huh?” I repeated, loving those three words because I’d always known. I knew in the third grade, for fuck’s sake. “So what else do you know? Our babies’ names? What kind of wedding we’re going to have? How many cats you’re going to make me adopt before we die?”
I hadn’t mean to say it, any of it, but something about speaking those words aloud felt…really fucking fun. It was impossible not to smile at her shocked expression when I said, “Lay it on me, Little Liz. I want to hear everything.”
“What are you doing?” she said, but her grin was wrapped around a laugh. “You’re not serious.”
“I am, though – tell me your wildest daydreams about us, Elizabeth Bennett,” I said, suddenly hungry to play this game with her.
“Foul. Calling me that is a foul,” she teased, but her cheeks were pink and her long eyelashes fluttering, like a lot was going on in her head. “Because even if I hated you, I would still swoon for that name. And you first. Tell me your wildest daydreams about us.”
“Oh.”
I hadn’t expected that and instantly understood her reaction.
Shit.
Did I dare to say any of it out loud?
I said, “Um.”
“Have you ever thought about it?” she asked quietly, her eyes on mine. “Things like babies and weddings?”
“Are you kidding me?” I said, my voice coming out a little scratchy what the fuck.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” she said, sensing my unease. She shrugged like it was silly and said, “I’m fine without knowing you want a bouncy-house wedding with–”
“The secret area,” I interrupted, terrified to put the dream out there but at the same time, absolutely compelled to make her know immediately. “Like it used to be, with the twinkling lights and the fountain and the summertime smell of lilies and freshly-cut grass.”
“Oh,” she said on a breath, her eyes wide as she set her elbows on the table and leaned closer, her chin resting on her linked fingers.
“You, lifting your dress to climb the fence and meet me in your bare feet with the prettiest pink toenails. Daisies in your hands, of course, and Fitz wearing a white tie that matches your dress perfectly. Fucking Clark officiating because you know he’d get ordained just so he could wear flowing robes for the occasion.”
Liz laughed and nodded, her eyes shimmering. “He would. He will.”
He will.
“Bloom playing on the boombox, of course – the broken Panasonic we taped up post-prom – as Waters pronounces us man and wife, and a buffet of s’mores and McDonald’s for the afterparty,” I said, clearing my throat as Libby watched me because what the hell had I just said?
I obviously had no pride. Or brain.
I quickly added, “Or, y’know, a bouncy house.”
Her face was impossible to read as she did her fast-blinking thing, Liz’s tell that a thousand things were going on in her head, all at once.
“If you don’t stay something this minute, Lib,” I said, “I’m going to feel like a total–”
“I cannot believe I get to be loved by you,” she interrupted, leaning forward across the table to raise her mouth to mine. “You are my whole heart, Wes Bennett.”
My lips fell on hers, a little too frenzied for a public breakfast café but I was too far gone to give a shit. I kissed her, moving my hands to hold her face in place as I worshipped Elizabeth Marisol Buxbaum like the goddess she was.
You are my whole heart.
“Tell me what kind of ring you want,” I said when I pulled back, absolutely wasted on her. Part of me wondered if I’d ever get past the amazement that we’d actually made it back, and part of me hoped I never would. There was a bone-deep gratitude at the core of our relationship, like a holy-shit-we-get-to-do-this kind of awe, and it felt a lot like magic.
Like fate.
“Mr. Bennett,” she said with a Little Liz smile, a dreamy sunbeam of a thing that made me want to mess up her hair…and then kiss her again. “You’re getting a little carried away, don’t you think?”
I so was and I didn’t give a shit.
“An antique diamond? An emerald that matches your eyes?” I asked, fully-aware that a. I had no money, b. this was only a game, and c. I didn’t want it to only be a game.
“Something cheap but thoughtful,” she said.
“Come on, be serious.”
“I am,” she said emphatically. “Spending a lot of money on a ring proves nothing about love and isn’t romantic. But the idea of, like, a ring bought in the town square where two people first meet – that’s romantic. Or a ring made out of something with sentimental value to a couple, like a key ring that once held their only-one-bed room key on it…that’s romantic.”
She kept going, because Liz was Liz, but my brain was stuck and shouting because I had the perfect idea.
I knew exactly what ring she wanted.
Needed.
The lucky penny.
I had the lucky penny, the one she gave me after prom when she explained that she actually had a lucky penny from her grandparents’ first date and even though she’d been lying about her hunt in the secret area, it would forever be our lucky penny from that moment forward.
I could have that penny made into a ring – and throw a diamond on it (eventually). There would never be a more perfect engagement ring than our lucky penny engagement ring, right?
“Are you listening to me, Bennett?” she asked when she stopped talking long enough to notice my distracted face, her arched brows scrunching together as she narrowed her eyes to a squint.
“No, not at all,” I replied, shaking my head. “I got distracted by my daydreams. What do you think of Bugsy as a baby name?”
“Bugsy Bennett?” She pretended to consider it, tilting her head as she grinned. “Will he play baseball?”
“It’s a girl’s name, Buxbaum, come on,” I said, reaching across the booth to give her hair a little tug. “Little Bugs will play the piano, I think.”
“We are not naming our daughter “Little Bugs,” she said, smacking my hand. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“Yes,” I said around a laugh, completely charmed by the expression on her face and the unbelievable fact that I made her say the words our daughter.
A year ago, I was playing summer ball and daydreaming about the possibility of maybe seeing her again. Everything in my life had been a massive question mark at the time, so it was downright surreal that I was sitting here with her, hungover from the CWS win, discussing our children’s names.
Life was fucking perfect.
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
Lilith
I was going to have to kill him.
Because how could he be such a distraction? It had to be intentional.
I had my laptop plugged in, my project notes open, and a month’s worth of work to do. A library of incredible shots from last night’s game were at my disposal, waiting to be uploaded, yet my brain couldn’t ignore the sound of his breathing as he sat there on that too-small-for-him sofa, reading a book.
Okay, technically his breathing wasn’t loudor weird in any way whatsoever, but I knew he was doing it, so that bothered me.
Especially when he wasn’t just sitting there. No, his big body was stretched out and comfortable, dominating that tiny couch, his stockinged feet kicked up like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Like he was cozily lost inside the pages of Billy Summers (which also irritated me because it was one of my favorite books), completely able to forget I even existed.
“Why do you keep sighing?” he asked, not looking up from the book.
God, stop staring at him!
“It’s called breathing,” I said, reaching for my now-cold latte.
“Uh-huh,” he murmured.
“Uh-huh,” I repeated before taking a sip. So cold ewwww.
Then I said, “You appear to be alive, so you’re guilty of the same in-with-oxygen-out-with-carbon-dioxide cycle as me, yet see how I’m somehow able to ignore it?” What the hell am I saying? I had no idea why the man always made me behave like a recalcitrant child but it was like I was powerless to stop it. “Do you have headphones?”
“Why?”
I did sigh, then. “So you don’t have to listen to me breathing.”
“Oh, I don’t mind all the sighing, I was just wondering if there was a reason for it. Sigh away, sunshine, it’s all good.”
Sigh away, sunshine.
“It’s Lilith, actually. Not “sunshine.”
“Okay, Lilith.” He said my name like an insult and sat up, folding over the corner of the page he was reading like a monster before setting the book on the couch beside him. “Why don’t we dispense with the sighs and snark and talk about what’s really going on here.”
Before I could stop myself, I rolled my eyes. “I’m pretty sure it’s just breathing that’s going on, but–”
“Bullshit.” He said it calmly but without question. “This has everything to do with the kiss and I’m not sure why you’re even fucking around the bush about it.”
Fucking around the bush. Only Ross could say things like that and not sound like an absolute imbecile. I cleared my throat, raised my chin and said, “Me breathing has nothing to do with that tiny drunken moment which we already determined was–”
“I’m going to start describing it if you don’t dispense with the breathing bullshit,” he interrupted.
“What?” I had to look at him, then, but something about the directness of his gaze made my stomach flip all the way upside-down. Of course, that probably had more to do with the kiss he was talking about (that I was trying my hardest not to think about) than his eyes.
It’d been the result of too much celebrating last night, too much champagne, and too many unexpected smiles from the man who never smiled at me.
I still couldn’t believe it’d happened.
Last fall, he’d been the world’s biggest ass – but only to me. I watched him be the coolest coach in the world to his players, then scowl at me and act as if my project was something selfish and terrible that was going to destroy his team. I watched him hold his toddler nieces on opening day like freaking Prince Charming, just before he had security move my team back because we were too much of a distraction.
The man didn’t talk to me, he went straight for security.
So when tipsy Ross grinned down at me under the twinkling lights behind Nicola’s patio and said I had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen, I melted. And when his big body crowded mine against the side of the building and he—
“Spare me the ‘I’m just breathing’ nonsense,” he said matter-of-factly, “or I’m going to describe the details of the kiss.”
“Whatever.” I had no idea what that meant so I should’ve just shut my mouth, but I didn’t like being bossed around.
Especially not by him.
So I met his cocky gaze and said, “It’s ridiculously egotistical that your response to a woman’s breathing is to assume it’s somehow related to you, to an ill-advised and already-forgotten kiss. Maybe you should—”
“All ten of your fingers were in my hair,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head. “Which was so unbelievably hot. The second my mouth hit yours you were all-in, holding me in place—”
“Oh, my God, stop it,” I interrupted, torn between white-hot embarrassment and…something else. “Why do you have to be like this? Can’t we just exist in silence without you being an ass?”
“I warned you, Lil,” he said, “And you’re the one not being silent with your melodramatic breathing nonsense.”
“Okay, well I apologize for breathing, can we please go back to silence?” I said, mortified and ridiculously, stupidly disappointed that he was treating the kiss with mockery. I’d known better, but I guess a tiny part of me had hoped that inebriated Ross had been at least marginally sincere.
“No.” Ross stood and before I could register what was happening, he moved over to my couch and sat right beside me. Just like that, boom – he plopped down and was close enough for me to touch his face.
To feel his thigh touching my thigh.
“No?” I repeated, completely unsure of what the hell was happening. The only thing I knew was that I was ready to give up on the first-class-seat dream and run screaming from the suite.
“No,” he said, and he momentarily distracted me by swallowing. The man had a very muscular throat that I found to be…interesting when that Adam’s apple moved.
Why does he make me insane? For the hundredth time since I walked into Minute Suites, I wondered what the hell was happening.
And then I lost my ability to wonder at all because Ross cleared his throat, rubbed his chin, and said, “I think it’s high-time we have a long overdue talk, Lilith.”
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
Clark
“There isn’t time.”
“Sure there is,” Sarah said, her eyes fixed somewhere beyond her window as our Uber inched closer to the traffic-congested corner. “We’ll be so fast.”
I would’ve thought that after spending hours together in Dallas, I’d finally feel like I was a little more grounded when it came to her, like I knew something about what made her tick.
But hell, no. I was still in a constant state of what-the-fuck in her presence, and now I was holding a backpack pet carrier which housed a grey tabby she’d named “Sjupp” inside.
(Carl Linnaeus, the Swedish biologist who’d created the modern system of naming organisms, once had a pet raccoon named Sjupp (pronounced shh-up) that he ultimately cut-up to see what the animal’s insides looked like. Sarah’s naming choice was “long overdue justice for shhup.”)
See? What. The. Fuck.
“It seems risky,” I said, glancing at my watch. “And how can you be hungry already?”
She’d literally just thrown away the ice cream cone she couldn’t finish.
We were down to two hours until boarding so we needed to get our asses to the airport before we missed our flight. I considered myself a laidback dude, but Sarah was working on my last bit of chill.
“It’s not about hunger as much as it is about Whataburger,” she said with a shrug. “And don’t you want to cross an item off our list? Just because Sjupp hijacked our goals doesn’t mean we can’t check at least one of the boxes. Won’t that feel good?”
“To you,” I said.
She was giving me the smartass grin that was like her face’s default, and it was weird that I still liked her. After chasing her through Dallas for multiple hours that included adopting a shelter cat, trying on wedding dresses at an outdoor bridal fair and joining a 5k in-progress to see how many people we could beat, I should be done with her, right?
Yet I felt even more intrigued than I’d been before.
Though my legs were now Jell-O from trying to keep up with her sub-eight-minute-mile pace.
“Which feels good to you because you like when I’m happy,” she replied.
“Do I?” I did. “Where are you getting this shit?”
“Excuse me,” she said to the Uber driver, ignoring me entirely. “If we buy you a meal, will you pull into that Whataburger right there so I can run in and super-duper fastly grab food?”
“Fastly?” I mocked. “I don’t think that’s a word.”
“The earliest known usage was in the Old English period, pre-1150,” she muttered without looking at me. “Germanic adverb.”
“I don’t mind stopping,” the driver said, “But didn’t you say your flight leaves in two hours?”
“See?” I said. “Even he knows it’s foolish.”
“Hence the fastly part of this excursion,” she said with an eyeroll. “Come on, you guys, be cool for once in your lameass, pathetic lives.”
“Ma’am,” the Uber driver said, but he was smiling.
“Just let me out here,” she said, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll run inside and you two can be waiting when I emerge fry-rich like a yum-wielding superhero.”
And before either of us could stop her, she opened the door and jumped from the slow-rolling car. She started sprinting toward the door of the fast-food restaurant, and it was impossible not to laugh when she looked back at us with a grin as she fled.
What a woman.
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
the group chat
AJ: Holy balls, Bennett – you look like a psychopath in that costume
ELI: Buxxie’s giving him a run for the money in godawful neon
TINY BENNETT: Wait – Wes and Liz are out of the game?
ELI: Affirmative – we are standing directly behind them
CLARK: I knew they’d go quick.
BENNETT: Kiss my ass, Waters.
ELI: The cheaters are wearing disguises (pic incoming)
AJ: Yeah we probably wouldn’t have ever noticed them if Bennett hadn’t been laughing
WADE: Yeah, he’s got that laugh
WOODY: Annoying AF
BUX: But a laugh you’d recognize anywhere, right?
CLARK: I caught that, Lizard
BUX: I knew you would!
AJ: Hey we’re sick of this game so PLOT TWIST – new rules.
WADE: You can’t change the rules now
AJ: My tickets, my game
WADE: EXPLAIN THE TWIST, YOU WADS
ELI: We’ve hidden two baseballs in a plant by a fountain somewhere in this concourse. Whoever shows up at our gate with one of the balls wins.
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
Chapter Three
“But you changed the rules every day…”
–Taylor Swift
Wes
“So.”
“So…?” I repeated, opening my eyes and being immediately treated to Liz’s sleepy smile. Since we were no longer evading AJ, she’d found the perfect spot for us to waste our final hour at DFW; a closed gate. And it wasn’t just a quiet gate that was closed between flights, but there were literally no seats and no counter.
Which meant it had the perfect corner for us to lie on the floor next to the windows, use her Texas duffle as a pillow, and ignore the rest of the world while we napped.
“So I’m still thinking about Bugsy Bennett and buffets of s’mores,” she said, her eyes dipping down to where her finger was touching one of the buttons on my Texas Hawaiian shirt.
“Of course you are,” I teased, “Because you’re insane about putting a ring on it. You think I don’t know that you spend hours of every day imagining me barefoot and pregnant? That you can’t wait to call me ‘The Husband?’ Hell, if it were up to you, you’d probably put me on a plane to Vegas this minute and have Elvis make me your legal property.”
“As ludicrous as everything you just said sounds,” she said around a laugh, “You’re kind of not wrong.”
“What?” I was sitting up in a second, pulling her up with me and keeping my hands wrapped around her biceps so I could give her a little shake. “About which part? And please tell me it isn’t the pregnancy.”
I knew that would make her laugh, but the truth was that every single organ inside of my body had just come to a complete stop; my universe was frozen as if someone had hit pause on our movie. My heart was no longer beating, my lungs no longer breathing, my blood no longer pumping. Functioning was impossible because Liz was saying wonderfully nonsensical things.
“The part about Elvis,” she said with a giggle, crossing her arms over her chest and moving her legs so she was crisscross-applesauce and facing me. “Even though it is insane and we’d never do such a crazy thing, if someone put a gun to my head and said we had to get married today, I think I would probably thank them.”
Her eyes were a little squinty as she grinned and I knew I’d never forget the way she looked at that moment. Still wearing ugly neon, her curls wild from being shoved under a hat for a few hours, yet I’d never seen anyone look so unbelievably beautiful.
I would probably thank them.
“I mean, not for the gunpoint thing, because that’s a real dick move,” she clarified, “But for the excuse for us to be rash. Is that nuts?”
“You’ve never sounded saner,” I said, unsure if she knew just how much I meant that.
Because Liz and I had referenced getting married countless times in the way most couples did, like we were acknowledging it would ultimately happen but leaving out any details.
Someday our kids will laugh at this story.
I’m definitely taking your name when we get married.
But today – at the DFW airport – it felt like we were both acknowledging that we wanted to fill in those blanks.
“Which is weird, right?” she said, and I could tell by her tone she was about to go off and make some solid points. I’d spent my entire life listening intently when she spoke, so I was bilingual when it came to the language of Lib.
Her green eyes lost any hint of sleepiness when they met mine and she said, “Until now, I would’ve said anyone who gets married before the age of twenty-five is nuts because you need to experience life on your own first. Figure out who you are before another person adds their imprint to your adult DNA, right?”
“Right,” I agreed, even though my rational thoughts on the subject had exploded as soon as the lucky penny ring had entered the brain chat.
“Maybe it’s because of how hard things were when we broke up and everything it took for us to get back, but I feel like we both already know who we are, for better or worse. I have career goals that I would never put aside for a husband, you have ball goals – although let’s be real, no one ever expects men to change their lives when they get married anyway but for the sake of argument we’ll say you wouldn’t let them be derailed by a family, so the standard logic for waiting doesn’t really exist for us.”
“First of all, let’s not refer to my potential livelihood as “ball goals,” I said as I tried to remain calm, as I tried to stop myself from going apeshit over the words she’d just said.
For better or worse.
“Apologies,” she quipped with twinkly eyes, looking utterly unapologetic.
And perfect.
God.
“You can’t…fuck, you can’t do this to me, Buxbaum,” I said quietly, shaking my head while reaching out a hand to tuck a curl behind her ear.
Elizabeth Marisol Buxbaum.
Bennett.
Elizabeth Fucking Bennett.
Liz Bennett.
Mine until death do us part.
Holy shit.
“Do what?” she asked on a near-whisper, leaning her cheek into my palm like a cat forcing affection.
I fucking love it when she does that.
“Say things like this,” I said, reveling in the feel of her soft skin against my fingers. “I know you’re just talking, but it makes me fucking…”
What? What did it make me?
Wild? Impatient? Desperate to toss her over my shoulder and sprint to the nearest clergy dude so I could make myself legally hers before she had a chance to rethink her own arguments?
Surely this was some form of airport delirium or something and she’d recover before we hit LAX, right?
“Nervous?” she asked, blinking a little faster like she was worried she’d said the wrong thing.
And she had.
She had absolutely said the wrong thing to me.
“Dangerous,” I blurted on a mirthless laugh, unable to stop myself from trying to express exactly how I felt at that moment. I took her face in my hands and confessed, “Hungry, needy, violent, reckless, impetuous – don’t you get it? All I want in this world is you and me forever, so you evoking the name of Elvis is like throwing gas on an open flame. I’m going to need you to be the voice of reason here, Lizzie, before I sprint to a ticket agent right now and get us on the next flight to Nevada.”
But instead of being the voice of reason, Liz said, “I like Nevada.”
And then she smiled.
No, she fucking beamed.
She gave me a smile that blew my head off, just before she pulled my mouth to hers with two hands and kissed me like she felt exactly the same way.
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
Lilith
“I don’t like you, and you don’t like me,” Ross said, truly looking like he meant it.
Asshole.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t stop thinking about you.” He looked supremely irritated by that fact. “All the damn time.”
I opened my mouth to speak but had no idea what on earth to say. Ross thinks about me all the damn time? “What?”
“You’re like a fucking virus that won’t go away, I swear to God,” he said, shaking his head. “You wear stupid shoes to a baseball game and I get total joy out of the fact that you lose a heel, but then my brain can’t stop noticing what a badass you are for just taking them off and continuing to do your job barefoot without complaining.”
“A virus,” I repeated, irritated but also confused because that hadn’t sounded like an insult at all.
“So here’s what I think we should do,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chin like he was about to suggest something he wasn’t particularly excited about. “Your contradictions are what’s messing with me, so I think we should play twenty questions.”
“Do you ever make sense?” I asked, wondering what it was on him that smelled so good. He seemed like a guy who wouldn’t wear cologne, so was it soap? Body wash? “How would twenty questions make me less of a virus to you?”
A virus. The guy was such a dick.
“Let’s just say it will, uh, right the ship.”
“Oh, my God,” I said in disgust, wanting to smack him just to revel in the half-second of his utter shock before he went back to being an emotionless jerk. “You want to learn twenty things about me that help solidify your original opinion that I am the worst, is that it? You want to be reminded of why you hate me?”
He swallowed and a flash of amusement crossed his face, like he thought it was funny that I got it. “Are you in or out?”
“In,” I said through clenched teeth, “But I get the first question.”
“Fine,” he said.
“Fine,” I repeated, wondering how a person could be so supremely overconfident, all of the time. “Question one. What is your dog’s name?”
He was the kind of guy who’d snuggle with a terrifying mastiff named Cujo and laugh when the monster brought him decapitated squirrels as love declarations.
“What kind of question is that?” he asked with a scowl.
“Just answer it,” I said defensively because he couldn’t even play the game right.
“I have a cat, not a dog,” he said.
“And said cat’s name would be…?”
Dear God, he even makes childish games difficult. Also – Ross was a cat guy?
“Meredith,” he replied, his eyes narrowed as if he was expecting a response.
“Your cat,” I said calmly (while freaking out internally), “Is named Meredith.”
“Correct,” he said.
I had no idea how I was supposed to process such an earth-shattering revelation.
His. Cat’s. Name. Was. Meredith.
“Did you name her?” I asked, needing to know everything about how this jackass came to have a cat named Meredith. “Is Meredith a Scottish Fold?”
“You can’t ask a second question yet,” he said. “Play the fuckin’ game right.”
Suddenly I wanted to laugh because he looked uncomfortable – and Ross never looked uncomfortable. “My apologies. Your turn.”
“Thank you,” he said with a beleaguered sigh. “Question One. Favorite food?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs.”
He looked suspicious of my answer. “Made with gluten-free pasta? Vegetarian meatballs?”
“I buy Barilla thin spaghetti, if you must know, and the meatballs are made with 85/15 beef. Sometimes I sprinkle Kraft parmesan powder on top like an absolute lunatic.”
“Are you lying to me?” he asked, like he didn’t believe me.
“Is ‘are you lying to me’ your next question?” I replied.
“Go,” he said, gesturing with his chin for me to load up my next question.
I knew I should move on, but I needed to know. “How did your cat come to be named Meredith?”
“Rescue cat,” he said. “She already had the name.”
Okay. That made a little more sense, that he hadn’t been the one to give her the name, but I was still freaked out.
Also – he has a rescue cat. I wasn’t sure why this simple fact about him was blowing my mind, but it was. “So why didn’t you change it?”
He looked at me like I suggested he kill his cat.
“Because it’s her name,” he said slowly, scowling. “You can’t just start calling her something else. How confusing would that be?”
“Very,” I said, not really sure what to do with this incredible morsel of information.
Ross adopted a cat – named Meredith – and he actually cared about her feelings.
I was struggling to comprehend how this was even possible.
“Question two,” he said. “Favorite movie.”
I wanted to say Bull Durham or For the Love of the Game, just to mess with him and pretend I was a baseball lover, but I was honest, instead. “My Favorite Wife.”
His eyebrows slammed together like he hated my answer, like it was disgusting. “With Cary Grant?”
“Yes,” I said, surprised he knew of the old black-and-white film at all. “And calm down, it’s a great movie. Same question for you.”
He sighed, which made me say, “And why do you keep sighing?”
“Lilith.” His voice was all-business, but suddenly there was a playfulness in his eyes when they met mine. “It’s just breathing.”
“Likely story,” I quipped, which made his mouth move into something that was almost a smirk.
Which made my heart beat a little faster.
“My favorite movie is probably Remember the Titans.”
“Oh, that’s a good one,” I agreed.
“Next question,” he barked, looking all business. “Where did you grow up?”
Ick. I hated that question, mostly because it made me picture my hometown. “Venice, Iowa.”
His eyebrows did that I-hate-your-answer thing again. “Iowa?”
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
“No,” he said, looking confused. “But I pegged you for a lifetime California girl.”
Because that’s what I desperately want the world to see, you jackass. “Sorry to disappoint. Same question for you. Where did you grow up?”
“Hold on,” he said, the smirk returning. “You’re telling me that there is a town in landlocked Iowa that dared to name itself Venice?”
“Ridiculous, right? The founder had to have been the world’s biggest smartass.”
“Any waterways?” he asked.
“Corn as far as the eye can see,” I replied, shaking my head. “Closest thing to a gondola is a John Deere combine with a flooded-out motor.”
He did smirk then, and my heartbeat spiked because I looked at his mouth and remembered how it’d felt on mine the night before, dear Lord.
“I grew up in Tulsa,” he said, but his eyes were all I could see as I felt an undercurrent spark between us, like we were both trying to figure out what was happening all of a sudden.
Something in the air of the tiny suite had changed.
“Do you have a dog?” he asked.
“Cat,” I said on a breath, unable to focus on anything but those eyes and how close he was. “Named Benji.”
“Do you dress him in designer clothes and carry him around in a Birkin?” Ross asked quietly, his dark eyes dipping down to my mouth.
“No, he’s an asshole who’d rip me to shreds if I tried,” I replied, wondering if he had any idea how mind-blowing it was that he had a cat named Meredith and I had a cat named Benji.
Of course he doesn’t.
He has a cat. Named Meredith.
And I have a cat. Named. Benjamin.
How is this possible??
I added,“But I would never.”
“Do you have any pictures of the cat on your phone?” he asked, and I swear to God it felt like I was being pulled closer to him, like he was a magnet and I was…metal or…whatever stuck to magnets.
I was having trouble concentrating.
What is a cat again?
But I let out an involuntary laugh when his question registered, because that was a ridiculous question. I took no less than ten pictures of that damn cat every freaking day, even though he hated it. “You want to see Benji?”
“No, I want to know if you have a picture of Benji on your phone,” he clarified, his dark eyes all I could see as his deep, rumbling voice sent a shiver through me.
“Hundreds,” I whispered, wondering when his hands had moved to my face.
And when mine had settled on his shoulders.
“God help me,” he replied, and then I stopped thinking altogether when he kissed me.
Because he didn’t kiss like a normal person.
There was no ramp-up, no teasing little lip brushes to get things started.
Oh, no. With Ross, one second we were talking, and the next our mouths were going at it like this was the passion-shot of a movie trailer. He made a noise in the back of his throat as his strong fingers flexed on my cheeks, and I couldn’t get enough of whatever this all-encompassing madness was. It was like being thrown into an icy ocean, because I found myself gasping and holding on for dear life while my heart raced and my brain struggled to find the surface as his mouth did wickedly overconfident things to mine.
In the back of my mind I knew I needed to break-free and breathe, to pull myself from the undertow before it was too late, but I was far too weak.
Ross had a cat named Meredith, for God’s sake.
That fact alone had me as good as drowned.
And his mouth – sweet Jesus, his mouth – was the anchor that made rescue an impossibility. His lips dragged me deeper and deeper, sinking me with the wild promise of his nipping teeth as his hands assured every cell in my body that this was definitely the way I wanted to go.
Who needed oxygen when there was this?
Thank God his phone buzzed a minute later with the rule change, or I might’ve done something really stupid in that tiny airport suite.
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
Clark
“I can’t believe this.”
The security lines were ridiculous, and Sarah was not handling it well. Tiny Bennett was good at rolling with the punches as long as she was in control, but no one had any control when it came to the TSA so she was kind of spiraling.
“It’s fine,” I said, fully aware that my words would provide no assurance to her whatsoever.
“Why wouldn’t they have a better plan in place?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes and looking around as if searching for the Director of the TSA himself so she might possibly have a word. “Obviously the airlines have population data for any given hour of the day because of ticket sales, so it seems absurd that they would be unable to–”
“We’re going to make it,” I interrupted, setting my hands on her shoulders and turning her to face me. She looked up in surprise, like she hadn’t expected the interruption, and I took full advantage of her confusion. “We have plenty of time so just chill.”
“I cannot chill,” she said through gritted teeth. “My brother is going to freak out if I’m not on that flight.”
I couldn’t help but notice she worried more about Wes than her own situation when it came to the idea of missing our flight, but it didn’t really surprise me. Last fall, when we drank too much in Omaha, she’d overshared some stories about what it’d been like for the two of them after their dad’s death and it was fucking heartbreaking.
Wes had become more like a best friend to her than just an older brother.
Hell, he’d become more like a parent to her.
“Remember Sjupp.” I turned around so she could look at the damn cat who was seated in the backpack carrier she’d strapped around my shoulders.“You said he has a calming presence, so use him as your service animal. Right now. Look at the cat and take a deep breath; it’s all good.”
“You’re such a fucking hippie, I swear to God,” she said, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “And I still can’t believe you agreed to carry this handsome little guy.”
Her voice was soft and sweet as she spoke to the cat, breathless, making my brain explore a million alternate non-cat scenarios where she might be using that same intonation.
“Bullshit,” I said. “You knew I’d do it the minute you said I think he likes being higher, would you mind carrying him, so don’t feed me your false disbelief.”
“Okay, fine,” she said, grabbing my arm and guiding me to turn back around. There was a victorious smirk on her mouth when she said, “I knew you’d do it, but I stand by the notion that he probably enjoys the altitude of you.”
“Agreed. You can see it in his eyes.”
“You totally can,” she said with a nod.
Then she turned, went back to the tiptoes and said with a groan, “Why isn’t this line moving any faster?”
“I think we need to find something to take your mind off of this,” I said, though I’d be content just watching her lose her shit because it was entertaining as hell. “I spy with my little eye–”
“No,” she snapped, cutting me off with a finger pointed at my face. “That game is stupid and boring and created by irritated adults looking to silence their children. Listing things you can see isn’t a game, it’s called an eye test.”
“Ooh, Tiny Bennett has thoughts about I-spy. Forced to play it a lot, were we?”
“Whenever my dad got that look on his face, like he had no idea why I was saying what I was saying, my mom would always jump in with the I-spy nonsense.”
“And it never worked on you?”
“It did until I got in trouble for the things I selected.”
“I must know more this instant.”
“Okay so as it turns out,” she said with a sigh, crossing her arms, “There are unspoken rules that no one tells you beforehand, yet they still feel compelled to scold you for when you break them. If you say something inane, like ‘it was the red door’ that’s right in front of you and literally the only red thing in the room, you’re fine and considered a high champion of I-spy. But if you take the time to make it challenging and really search for tiny details, everyone loses their shit. As soon as you reveal ‘it was the old lady’s grey hair’ or ‘the black speck between your front teeth,’ they behave as if you’re a fiend and no longer let you play.”
How could I not be obsessed with this girl?
“Wait. You got banned from I-spy?”
“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes and looking like the third grade little shit she probably was when this transpired.
“Okay, so how about twenty questions, instead?” I asked, because I was hungry for more of her origin story.
“Sounds great, first question.” She cleared her throat as we took a few steps forward in line, then said, “If your mother asked you to help her bury a body, would you?”
“Holy shit, what kind of a question is that?” I asked around a laugh.
“A hard-hitting one, Waters. I don’t think we want to waste time with stupid inquiries like what’s your favorite movie, do we? Let’s get to the core and discover some interpersonal foundations here.”
“We’re going core-diving, are we?”
“Think about it,” she said, getting that all-in look in her eyes. “If your mom called you in a panic and said she needed help burying a corpse, would you say I’m on my way or would you call the authorities?”
If she knew my mother, she wouldn’t waste her time with that question. My mom ran the bible study at our church and was the coordinator of all the worship teams. Thou shall not kill was a biggie, and the woman would turn herself in immediately if she happened to unalive a person.
Still, out of respect for the game, I said, “I’d be on my way.”
“You would?” Sarah asked with wide eyes. “Seriously? I did not anticipate you answering this way.”
“I mean, Tanya would never take out another human so it’s an easy question because if I got the call from my mom, that would mean murder was her only option and she had a very good reason.”
“That’s so interesting,” she said with a little smile. “I would’ve thought you’d roll over on mommy in a heartbeat.”
“That’s what you think of me?” I asked.
What DO you think of me, Sarah Bennett?
“It’s kind of a compliment because I thought you were like this upstanding citizen with unflinchingly rigid moral character. Someone who’d always do the right thing, even if it killed him.”
“Turning in your own mother doesn’t always qualify as the right thing, though, does it?”
“Don’t use philosophy on me,” she said. “Load up the next question.”
“Okay.” I stepped forward – we were finally inching closer to the front of the screening lines – and asked, “What’s your longest relationship to-date?”
“Oh, my God, what a weak question.”
“And your answer to the weak question is…?”
“Two days.”
“Come on, Bennett, play the game–”
“No, I am,” she said, and I could tell by the look on her face that she was being completely serious. “In sixth grade, I told Roland Poe that I would go out with him but then he fell off his skateboard and got a disgustingly huge scab on his face that I couldn’t look at without gagging. So I broke up with him two days later.”
“And, what…? Roland Poe’s clumsiness turned you off of relationships forever?”
She shrugged, and then the meaning of her words hit me.
Holy, holy shit.
“Are you telling me,” I said, “That you’ve never been in a romantic relationship?”
She shrugged again and muttered, “I mean, I guess not. Technically.”
“Shut up,” I said, unable to believe it was true. “That cannot be right.”
“Believe what you want, Gigantor.”
“But,” I said, giving my head a shake, “You’re hilarious and gorgeous and smart as fuck, so–”
“It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me, you jackass,” she interrupted, and she looked a little frazzled.
Sarah Bennett was frazzled??
I hadn’t thought it possible.
“It just means that I’ve never met anybody who’s worth the trouble, someone who’s remotely interesting enough to make all the conflict and angst worthwhile,” she clarified. Taking a couple steps forward in the line, she added, “It’s actually a sad testimony about the people I’ve surrounded myself with, now that I think about it.”
“You need a better crop of friends?”
“I think I might,” she agreed with a nod.
“So,” I said, feeling like there was no time like the present. “What would ‘remotely interesting’ look like to you?”
“Why do you want to know?” she asked, narrowing those long-lashed brown eyes like she was suspicious of my question.
“You know why. Answer the damn question.”
“Oh, shit, Rugby,” she said quietly as we moved up in the line, her three sarcastic words an acknowledgment of my interest.
“That’s right, Stanford,” I said, thinking it was nonsensical how badly I wanted her all of a sudden. Over the course of the day I’d gone from being interested in her to almost feeling like I needed her.
And I didn’t usually get worked-up about people. I was a firm believer that if things were meant to happen, they’d happen. I was chill, I was patient, I was all when-it-comes-it-comes when it came to dating.
But Sarah had me fucking spinning.
“Um, well, someone who isn’t boring, for starters,” she said, raising her eyes to the sky as if she was compiling a mental checklist.
“I tried on a wedding dress an hour ago because you asked me to,” I reminded her. “In unrelated non-boring news.”
“And you looked positively radiant, in other unrelated non-boring news.” She looked like she wanted to smile but she didn’t. “Um, also it would have to be someone who likes animals.”
“I like animals,” I said, turning around so she could see Sjupp. “Not that that random fact has anything to do with anything.”
“Of course it doesn’t.” She was grinning when I turned back around. “The catpack looks good on you, by the way.”
“Thanks.” We stepped forward in the line and I decided to go for it. Playing games with Sarah was never going to work because she’d rather die than lose, so it was time to put myself completely out there. “Listen, can we take a timeout on our back-and-forth so I can be sincere for a second?”
She bit down on her lower lip like she was nervous, but then she nodded and said, “Go.”
Go.
Holy shit.
I took a deep breath and said, “I really want to take you out and I’m dying to kiss–”
“Sir?”
A TSA agent was yelling at me as she opened a new line. I glanced at Sarah, who was frowning, before I replied, “Yes?”
“Next – over here.” The woman (who bore an uncanny resemblance to Karen from Drake and Josh) gestured impatiently, so I stepped toward her.
“You gotta take out the cat and carry him through the machine, Highrise,” she said, waving a hand at my backpack like she found it distasteful.
“Highrise?”
“I like that,” Sarah said from behind me.
“Please remove the cat, sir,” the agent repeated.
No, we’re not going to do that. Sjupp was a runner, hence the zippered-into-my bag situation. “I was told I could request a private screening room for the cat.”
“Sometimes you can, but not today,” she said with a scowl. “Not in this. Do you see this mess? This is a train wreck today.”
“I see it,” I said, “But the cat’s going to freak if I take him out.”
“Better him than me, though, right?”
“I don’t actually know the answer to that question,” I said, the memory of Sarah and I chasing a hissing-and-running Sjupp down a busy Dallas street still way too fresh.
“The answer is go through the machine with the cat,” she snapped. “Or get out of line.”
“Yeah, Skyscraper,” I heard from behind me. “Let’s go. We’re in a hurry.”
“Highrise,” I corrected, but then I felt Sarah unzipping the backpack.
There was something so fucking…familiar about the movement, so comfortable, that it kind of tripped me up for a second. I wanted to just stand there and let Bennett’s little sister go through all of my things for as long as she wanted because it felt like we were an us.
And it was weird the way I was suddenly so interested in that us.
“Come on, Sjupp, you’re going to take a few steps with your skyscraper of a father,” she cooed, lifting him out of the bag, “And then you can go right back in your—”
“What did you just call me?” I asked, looking back at her over my shoulder.
“She said skyscraper,” the TSA agent muttered in disgust. “Come on now.”
“Yeah, come on now,” Sarah repeated, but her eyes were wide as she looked at me while pulling the cat against her chest, like she was trying to gauge my reaction to her words.
“Am I Sjupp’s father?” I asked. “Are we going to co-parent this little asshole? Together?”
“That’s it, get out of the line,” TSA Karen said.
“I mean, I assumed after this monumental day that you’d want to be in his life,” Sarah said, looking unsure of herself. “Even if it’s long-distance.”
Vulnerable.
Soft.
“I would love that,” I said, wondering why this felt huge. “We can FaceTime every day.”
“And visit on weekends,” she added, nodding.
“Next!” yelled TSA Karen.
“No, no – we’re sorry,” I said quickly, even though my eyes remained on the stunningly outrageous girl with the cat. “I’m going.”
I stepped closer to Sarah and grabbed a hissing Sjupp from her arms, but the smell of her and the closeness of her perfect mouth made me freeze for a half-second, which was long-enough for that furry asshole to dig his claws into my chest, scale my body, and leap from my shoulders and into the crowds.
“Sjupp!” Sarah yelled, and then she took off running behind him as he tore through the throngs of travelers in the endless security lines.
We were so screwed, so it didn’t make a damn bit of sense why I was smiling.
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
the group chat
AJ: We’re boarding in twenty and Coach is freaking – where the fuck is everyone?
ELI: Get your asses to the gate
WADE: Here I am, bitches, and I’ve got balls
WOODY: Is that you down by Dunkin?
WADE: Hell yes it is
AJ: I’m not sitting by you in that stupid hat so I hope someone else has the other ball
WADE: First of all, the hat’s called an Amarillo Beanie and I look fucking cool as shit. Second of all, I said BALLS plural – I grabbed both of them
AJ: First of all, it’s like you don’t know what cool as shit means. Second of all, that’s against the rules. You can’t have both balls.
WADE: You changed the rules, so now it’s my turn. I decide who gets to sit by me.
WOODY: Can it be me?
WADE: In your dreams, Wood
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈
Chapter Four
“You know when it’s time to go…”
–Taylor Swift
Wade
Do it, you pussy.
The coaches were grumbling because Bennett wasn’t back yet and it was almost time to board, but I couldn’t care less about anything other than Campbell. She was sitting by the window, reading, and I needed to do it.
Care to join me in first class?
Too cheesy and wannabe-James-Bond.
Do you want the other seat?
Too…nonchalant.
I just didn’t know how the fuck to make my official intentions known.
Because I’d pussied out so many times when it came to her. Five fucking times, to be exact. I’d initiated texting conversations with her five times since last fall, but then I went radio silent right about the time a normal human would ask her out.
And it was asinine, to be honest, because it wasn’t like I’d never asked anyone out before.
I’d dated lots of girls.
Well, okay, like a few girls.
Bottom line – I wasn’t some drooling fourteen-year-old who couldn’t form words around a female.
But Campbell was…different. She was, like, it for me.
The top.
I wanted her so fucking badly that I couldn’t handle the finality of her rejection. It seemed better to never ask and still hold onto the possibility that someday she might say yes rather than do it, get rejected, and have the door slammed forever.
The only exception to my run-away-in-terror rule was intoxication. I was a goddamn charmer when alcohol was in my system, which was how we’d managed to share a few magical moments (only served to worsen my obsession), but unfortunately for my love life, I didn’t drink much during baseball season so the charm was sparse.
Go.
I cleared my throat and casually approached her seat, but instead of waiting for her to look up, I sat down beside her.
Only I plopped so hard on the motherfucking chair that she gasped and looked at me like I’d just pulled a knife on her.
Smooth, you jackass.
“Hey, Campbell – do you, uh, want to use the other first-class seat?”
Campbell – rightfully so – looked at me with a wrinkle in her brow, like my question confused her.
“I think it should probably go to a player,” she said slowly, her eyes moving all over my face like she was trying to figure me out. “But thank you.”
Noooooooooooooooooooo.
She couldn’t turn me down – she just couldn’t.
I tried to think of a rebuttal, but all I could think was she’s so pretty. There was something about the curly blonde hair and brown eyes that made me feel a little lightheaded whenever I got too close to her.
Actually, it really had nothing to with looks and everything to do with all of her.
Yes, she was attractive, but I was obsessed with how she played soccer, fucking boss, and the way she was so smart with the jokes. Anytime we were in the same room I was dialed into her – her words, her thoughts, her laugh – even though most of the time it felt like she intentionally ignored my presence.
“No, it’s for anyone,” I said like a total dipshit. “And as the winner, I choose you.”
Now I’m Ralph Wiggins, I choo-choo-choose you, what the fuck.
“Why?” she said with a crinkled-up nose. “As I recall, you don’t usually choose me.”
Shit.
“I deserve that, but before you say no to the seats,” I said calmly even though I was freaking the fuck out, “I think you should consider my apology.”
Her eyebrows scrunched together. “What apology?”
“The one I’ve almost texted but chickened out on a hundred times,” I admitted, accepting that I was going to have to fully put myself out there. “I know that I’ve ghosted you like a total dick—”
“Four times,” she clarified, giving me a shut-the-fuck-up-Wade look.
“Actually five if you count the time I only texted what’s up and you never responded so I let it go.” Shut the hell up! I needed to chill but I couldn’t seem to stop the verbal diarrhea. “But the bottom line is that you scare the shit out of me, Campbell. You’re so fucking good at soccer that I’m obsessed and a video of you slide-tackling that forward from USC is like on a forever-loop in my brain and you’re brutal with the way you fucking roast people and it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen and I honestly want you to give me shit for every single thing I screw up because it’s hilarious and somehow hot. Obviously I have no pride because I fantasize about you verbally-destroying me but that’s the honest-to-God truth and something about the way you looked when you wore that weirdo cat costume on Halloween last year lives rent-free in my mind, like it was so weird but I kind of loved it, you know?”
“Wade—”
“And not just because your ass looked stunning even with the bizarre tail – it was confusing how it could look good with a tail, to be honest, and I was worried I had some sort of cat-tail-kink for a solid seventy-two hours afterward – but because no matter what you’re doing, I’m interested. Funny, weird, normal – I’m into all of it. And I swear to God it’s only you. Like, I haven’t noticed another girl since the first time we talked last year. Well, I mean, I noticed that girl who puked sweet potato fries in Liz’s plant at the end-of-the-year bash and I noticed the old lady who was licking the rim of her coffee cup at the Starbucks a few minutes ago because that was very alarming, like why would she need to run her sandpapery old tongue over every bit of that rim, but in a very normal way, you’re the only girl I ever see.”
Campbell was smiling, which I took as a good sign, when she said, “Is your nonsensical cat-tail-and-rim-licking confession supposed to be an apology?”
“Oh, yeah.” I rubbed my chin and tried to think of the best way to explain it. “I’m unbelievably sorry that I’ve wussed out every single time we got close. Iwas dying – dying – to ask you out all five times but couldn’t bring myself to do it because I’m a chickenshit who can’t handle you saying no.”
“So why are you not a chickenshit today?” She tilted her head and looked at me like she was trying to see inside my brain. “What’s changed?”
“Honestly?” It was probably a bad idea to cop to my jealousy, but I was a walking bad idea at that point. “I saw you laughing with Eli and wanted to throw up. I realized I’d have to kick my own ass for the rest of my life if I didn’t at least try.”
She nibbled on her lower lip and kind of blinked fast, like she was thinking, and I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to take her face in my hands and just fucking kiss her, which would probably make her punch me in the face for not asking first, which was hilarious because it’d make me like her more because I was obsessed with her confidence.
She should punch anyone who kissed her without permission, for fuck’s sake.
“I don’t trust that you’ll ever follow-through – I’ve fallen for this before,” she said, dragging a hand through her hair. “But maybe—”
“Listen up, guys,” Ross said, looking more intense than usual as he stepped in front of where the team had congregated. Like a fucking spy, the guy had disappeared without a trace for the entire layover, then suddenly reappeared ten minutes ago with a Band-Aid on his forehead and a shitty disposition. “Is everyone but Bennett accounted for? Who isn’t back yet?”
Lilith, who’d been quietly working on her laptop in a seat across from us, didn’t look up from her screen when she said, “Liz isn’t back, but she’s presumably with Wes. And Clark Waters is also not here, but he messaged that he’s switching flights and flying back with Wes’s sist–”
“I’m just looking for members of the team,” Ross snapped, kind of sounding like an asshole, “I don’t need the entire flight manifest.”
“Well they’re part of my team,” she snapped back, also kind of sounding like an asshole as she raised her eyes and scowled at him. “And since the athletic department sent them with your team, I assumed you’d care about their whereabouts. My bad.”
Did she just say that Waters is with Tiny Bennett and they’re taking a different flight?
I looked and Campbell and she hadn’t missed it, either. She was giving me big holy shit eyes because holy, holy shit. What the fuck was happening there?
“Um, did you say Clark is taking a different flight?” Campbell asked Lilith, her voice super chill like this wasn’t shocking information. “He’s my roommate so I just want to make sure I heard you right before I leave LAX without him tonight.”
“Yes,” Lilith confirmed, her glare still on Coach Ross. “He’s coming back with Sarah in the morning.”
What the hell?
“Bennett’s going to lose his ever-loving shit when he rolls up to board and finds out about this,” I said quietly, so only Campbell could hear. The guy worried about his sister like she was a toddler (even though she was actually our age), so I couldn’t imagine he’d be cool about her solo traveling overnight with a rugby player.
Who looked like he could bench press a house.
Or be the lead in a fucking Marvel movie.
“For sure he is,” she said, nodding with her eyebrows raised. “And Clark doesn’t do things like this – he’s a by-the-book kind of guy – so something is definitely afoot at the Circle K.”
“Wait,” I said, unable to believe my ears. “Did you just quote Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure to me?”
Holy shit, I love you more now than I did five seconds ago.
“Did you just catch a Bill and Ted reference?” she replied, those perfect eyebrows scrunching together. “Seriously?”
“Please – for the love of God – sit by me on the way home, Campbell,” I begged, pressing my hands together in front of my chest like I was praying. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
She bit down on the corner of her lip, her eyes moving all over my face in a way that made me feel like a man at his own trial, waiting for the verdict. My heart was racing, and then it shorted out entirely when she said, “Fine. But you have to do everything I say until we land.”
Say less, honey. “Done.”
She tilted her head. “So if I tell you to give me the armrest…”
“It’s yours and I will engrave it with my teeth.”
She coughed out a little laugh. “And, like, if I tell you to stop talking…?”
“I go radio silent like I’ve never learned to language.”
“God, I love the idea of forcing you to be quiet,” she said, full-on grinning now. “I might just use these first-class hours as a massive power trip and not allow Wade Brooks to speak at all. I could die happy knowing that for a brief period of time in my life, I did the impossible.”
My brain must’ve shorted out, just like my heart, because instead of being the obedient guy I’d just promised to be, I said, “Have I ever told you that I love what a mouthy little shit you are?”
A crinkle formed between her eyebrows. “What are you doing here, Brooks? First you give me the ticket and apologize, and now you’re complimenting my assholery? This feels like a set-up.”
“It’s not a set-up, I’m just obsessed with your assholery. It’s a huge distraction, to be honest, and it’d be a lot easier for me if you were boring.”
“Ooh, my bad,” she said with an eyeroll, but her smile was big and gorgeous and all fucking mine.
“See? That’s what I mean,” I said, buzzing from the chemistry. “Quit making me love you, Campbell.”
“Attention, ladies and gentlemen.”
The woman at the counter started doing boarding announcements, and I tried my hardest to stop smiling but it was impossible. I smiled as the lady called for pre-boarding, I smiled as the lady called for veterans, and I grinned like a goddamn circus clown when she called for travelers in boarding group #1.
Meanwhile, Coach Ross and Lilith were passive-aggressively communicating right beside us in low voices that they obviously thought we couldn’t hear.
But we could definitely hear.
“Are you seriously still planning on taking this flight?” Lilith asked.
“I have a ticket and no bomb, so yes…?” Ross replied in a bored-as-hell tone.
Campbell made a face at me, all big eyes, like she couldn’t believe the way they were talking to each other.
“You’re going to leave Wes behind.” Lilith was all judgment when she whispered, “You’re actually going to leave your player at an airport in Dallas while you go home and go to bed?”
“He’s not Kevin Fucking McCallister,” he said, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard him sound so agitated. “He’s in college, Lil. And he’s the one choosing to run around the airport with his girlfriend instead of being where he’s supposed to be.”
“Oh, okay.” She cleared her throat and said, “Well I’ll wait for your player while I’m waiting for Liz. At least one of us can behave like a responsible adult.”
She started to walk away when Ross grabbed her sleeve and yanked her back.
Ballsy move, Coach. Lilith had badass vibes underneath the cool clothes.
“I’m sorry, okay?” he said, looking really fucking sorry as she blinked up at him with her eyebrows all scrunched together like she was confused. He was flexing his jaw while he watched her, looking like he was going to die if she didn’t tell him it was okay.
What. The. Fuck.
“Seriously, Lil. I am really so fucking sorry,” he repeated, and it was so un-Ross-like that I was dying to know the context.
What the hell had happened between the two of them?
“Me, too,” she replied in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “And your forehead…? It’s—”
“It’s fine,” he said, coming as close to a smile as Ross ever came. He touched the Band-Aid and said, “I deserved it.”
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Campbell whispered, distracting me with the fact that Campbell was fucking whispering to me, holy balls. “And what did she do to his forehead?”
“Maybe she headbutted him,” I said, trying my hardest not to inhale her scent and look like a stalker creep. “Maybe they had a WWE-style battle during the layover.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said around a laugh. “That has to be what happened.”
We stood and grabbed our bags so we could lineup, and I still couldn’t believe she’d said yes.
Campbell was all mine for the next few hours and I was going to make it count.
“He’ll be here,” I heard Ross say to Lilith as they started walking toward the spot where all the other coaches were huddled together. “Trust me, Wes Bennett will not miss this flight.”
But when the attendants armed the door for take-off twenty minutes later, there was still no sign of Wes or Liz.
✈ ✈ ✈ ✈ ✈