15. Wes

FIFTEEN

The more timeI spent fake dating Nora Bailey, the more I realize how little I knew about boyfriend etiquette.

I like to think of myself as a decent guy. I might have slept around in the past, but I've never intentionally tried to lead anyone on or hurt anyone"s feelings. I'm always clear with what I want and I'm usually the one that's in control. I tell my hookups that I'm not looking for anything serious, but I still treat them with respect, and I have never had any complaints.

Being a boyfriend is not something I have expertise in. Not like that matters anyway since Nora knows exactly what she wants and when she wants it. I'm just the puppet she's playing with, and I hate that I love being bossed around so much. Nora has pretty much controlled every aspect of our relationship since we were kids, so I wasn't expecting it to stop now.

Sunshine

Wear your jersey today.

Good morning to you, too, Sunshine.

Any particular reason, or do you just want me to sit and look pretty?

Sunshine

It adds to your appeal. Got to let everyone know I'm dating a hot football player.

Photo ops, remember?

Right.

Don't think I'm skipping over the fact that you called me hot, btw.

Sunshine

Wouldn't dream of it.

I'll change then pick you up. Cool?

Sunshine

Perfect.

See you then, boyfriend.

The word ‘boyfriend'shouldn't make my heart stutter especially when it's coming from Nora. And especially when I know she's only saying it as a joke. But it does something strange to my insides like they need to be rearranged or some shit.

I ignore the weird tingles I get, change into my Titan's jersey with my last name and number twelve on the back, and get my ass into my car. Per Nora's instructions, taking my truck instead of her Nissan Leaf was better, so I shove all the snacks and blankets into the back before I drive over to campus.

I'm sitting on the hood of my car, waiting for her to walk through the back entrance to meet me, when the swarming thoughts enter my mind again.

I've hardly spoken to my dad over the Thanksgiving break, and despite our game which we managed to win on Tuesday, he"s not said a word to me. Would he even care if I dropped out of football? He's never pressured me into playing, but I've never shown any interest in anything else, which is a whole other crisis of its own. If I don't play, what's next for me? As much as my literature degree is interesting, I'm not about to become a best-selling author or have the same knack for writing like Cat and my mom do. Football might be the only thing I'm good at.

The dark thoughts swirl around my head before Nora walks through the door, and suddenly, things seem to be a little brighter. The road ahead seems a little bit clearer when Nora is beside me. Her eyes widen and I have no idea why she's surprised to see me. I'm wearing the jersey she told me to wear, but I'm just as shocked as she is as I notice she's wearing my jersey, too.

Fuck.

She's wearing skin-tight black leggings and an oversized Titan's jersey, my name and number written on the back. It's not just any jersey she picked up on the school site. It's the one I let her borrow one time after a concert we went to. She had thrown up on her dress, and the only thing I had clean was my jersey in the back of my car. It practically swallows her whole, falling down to her knees, and the sleeves puff out. Her hair is slicked back into a bun, giving her this whole clean look. She just looks good, almost like she was made to wear my clothes.

My Nora. My Sunshine. In my clothes. I could get used to this.

"You should take a picture. It'll last longer," she quips, beaming as she speeds up her walk towards me.

"Already got too many pictures of you in my phone," I say, opening the passenger side door for her. Her mouth curves up at the gesture. I don't usually go around holding doors open for people, but just being with her makes me want to do all this shit.

"Well, then, what's one more?" She winks at me before she slides into her seat.

This woman might actually kill me.

I shut the car door, rounding it until I get back behind the wheel. When I turn to her, she's got this dopey look on her face like she always has happy dreams. Like she's thinking about something that brings her complete and utter joy.

"You're in a good mood," I say when we pull out of the parking lot.

She hums happily. "Maybe I'm just excited to watch my favorite musical."

I scoff because she's seen it a million times. "Or maybe it's something else," I offer.

She turns to me, squaring her eyes, and I realize she's put a bit of makeup on. There's a slight green shimmer around her eyes that matches the jersey. Nora hardly ever wears makeup, but when she does, she looks fucking stunning. She doesn't need it, obviously. She already has the whole effortless look-down pat. Knowing how she is and how her brain races, I can't help but imagine her in the mirror, a tiny brush or something in her hand as she traces the outline of her eyes, her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she concentrates. I've caught her doing that so many times – when she's driving, crocheting, or trying to read something far away. It's fucking adorable.

Her sigh is soft and light, and she says, "Maybe I'm just excited for you to watch it all the way through. Every time I try to watch it with you, you fall asleep."

"Not on purpose. You just choose the wrong time, like right after a game or when we've been out all day," I argue. It takes a lot for me to sit through more than an hour and a half of television. If it's something that I need to pay attention to, I often do the opposite.

"Yeah, whatever," she says sarcastically.

I take one hand off the wheel and grip her hand reassuringly. I don't want her to think I don't care about the things she enjoys because I do. I can't help my overactive brain and my attention span. "Hey, I'm going to love it. I'm sure. If I fall asleep, you can hit me."

She grins at that. "Deal." She squeezes my hand back, but as I pull away, she gasps, pulling out her phone from between her thighs. I grip back onto the steering wheel, steadying myself on the clear road. "Gimme your hand."

I glance at her as she opens her camera app and then back at the road. "What?"

"You can drive with one hand. Gimme your other one," she demands, holding out her palm to me. I think better than to question her, and I give her my hand. I don't even want to look at the size difference of our hands because it'll make me spiral. I think I've had enough Nora-related spirals in the last twenty years of my life to endure any more.

She guides my hand to where she wants it to be, which happens to be the inside of her thigh. My hand instantly flexes before I force myself to relax. Her thigh is so warm, and from where she placed my hand, it feels too fucking close to parts of her I have no business being close to.

"What are you doing?" I breathe out.

"Just relax," she says, not even a waver in her voice whilst I sound like I've just run up thirteen flights of stairs. "It'll be a cute photo."

"Right," I say. Obviously, it's for a picture. That's what this whole thing has been about. It's fake. She wouldn't just invite my hand to touch her for no reason. I keep my eyes on the road, not daring to look at her. "And what exactly am I supposed to do now?"

She snorts. "Nothing. Just let me get a few pictures. I'm trying to get one with both of our shirts in it. Real coupley."

I glance at her then, noting the faint redness on her cheeks. Then I make the dumb as fuck decision to look at the position my hand is in. My veins are pronounced, my whole hand practically covering all of her thigh. The material of her leggings doesn't feel thick enough the more I look and the more I touch. It feels like I can touch her skin. And it makes me realize how fucking badly I want to.

"All done," she says, clearing her throat. "Nice work, boyfriend."

All I get out is a hum in response as I continue driving.

How have I been missing out on this for years? Having a girlfriend fucking rocks. She can wear my jersey, and I can touch her thigh for stability as I drive along the road. I might have a raging hard-on, but who cares? Everything about this – about us – just feels good. And I haven't had that feeling in a long time.

When my thumb absently rubs against her, she whispers, "Wes?"

"Yeah, Sunshine?"

"You can– You can move your hand now," she murmurs.

"Do you want me to?" I ask gruffly. I can only imagine how comfortable this is for her if it feels like heaven for me. I feel like she's closer to me like this, and I love that.

"I mean, I've taken all the pictures, so…." She trails off, but she doesn't go to move my hand. If she wanted my hand gone, she would have moved it by now. That's just the kind of person she is.

"That's not what I asked," I taunt. I don't know what the fuck I'm inviting. Friends can rest their hand on the other"s thigh whilst they drive, right? There's nothing completely wrong with that.

As I turn to her, ready to ask her again, her eyes widen, and she grips onto the steering wheel. We swerve on the road, and my heart thrashes against my chest. The sound of a blaring horn takes over my hearing for a second, and I almost lose control. I immediately put my hand across her chest, pushing her back as I regain control of the car again.

I sigh when my brain catches up. It wasn't anything major. I was slowly swerving between the lines, and it could have gotten ugly if I hadn't indicated or completely changed lanes.

"Are you okay?" I ask Nora, my voice filled with concern. I keep my eyes on the road for everyone's sake.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she huffs out, a slight bit of panic lacing her tone. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good," I say, blinking a few times.

She takes a deep breath. "Just keep both eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel, okay?"

I nod, and I spend the rest of the drive wondering what would have happened if we hadn"t been interrupted.

Pullingup to the field where the Drive-In is being held makes me think that the five-hour drive wasn't so bad. There's nothing interesting in our small town just outside Fort Collins, anyway. Nora had told me that it was so far away I wouldn't have wanted to come, but of course, she only let me know once we were on the interstate. We spent most of that time listening to different music. Whilst her music taste is upbeat and poppy, mine is a bit more mellow with some slow rock songs thrown in there. She was lucky enough to get some sleep for an hour since she had ‘tired herself out from thinking.' Whatever that means. She had fallen asleep right after she said that, and I desperately wanted to know what she had meant.

We set up our blankets and snacks into the cargo bed as a short film plays on the screen in front of us. We've got a pretty decent view, and the fairy lights that are weaved around the spotlights above us make this whole place look dreamlike. When we get comfortable enough, Nora snaps some more pictures of us before going to find the closest porta potty. I salute her for good luck before she disappears. When she's gone, my attention snags onto the couple in the car next to us.

I hate to be nosey, but they're not exactly talking quietly, and this short film that is playing is not interesting. Their truck is similar to mine in style, but a different style and color. It's silver, and it has a sticker on the side that reads Folkwhores. What the fuck does that mean?

"Miles, we did not drive all the way here for us to have sex in your car," the girl whisper-shouts at her very unbothered boyfriend. She's got blonde hair and bundled up in a scarf and a jacket.

The guy – Miles – pulls her into him regardless of her chiding and kisses her on the forehead. "We can be a bit reckless sometimes, baby. You've just got to trust me."

She scoffs. "I do trust you. That's the scary part."

They continue to chatter quietly, and I do my best to tune them out. I don't want to be caught being the weirdo who listens to couple"s conversations because he's bored.

I don't know if they can tell I'm listening, but I try my best to look innocent when the guy stands up and gets a little closer to my car. I do the normal thing and whistle and look away to not give myself away.

"Hey," the guy says, and I have no choice but to look at him. I nod in response. He looks around my age – curly brown hair and a tall enough frame, but he's got a face that looks like a model. I look over to his car, and it's now empty. "Would you mind taking a picture of my shirt for me? My girl's refusing to do it. She thinks it"s stupid."

"Yeah, sure," I say, and he hands me his phone. He turns around, and I immediately start laughing. There's a picture of the dude who created Hamilton in a very odd position with the words ‘I am not throwing away my shot' written above it. It looks like a DIY project gone wrong. "Who wouldn't want to take a picture of this?"

After I've taken a few pictures, he turns around, looking through them with a cheesy grin on his face. "My girlfriend, apparently," he murmurs. "Thanks for that, man. Are you a fan?"

I shrug. "No, but my girlfriend is."

Just as I say that, Nora appears back from the bathroom, and she slips into the car beside me, smiling at the stranger. I look at her like I haven't seen her in years, and my heart does that weird soaring thing again. Jesus, I'm pathetic.

"Opposite way around for me," Miles says to me as he walks back to sit in his car. We're close enough together that he doesn't have to shout. "Wren, my girlfriend, is absolutely embarrassed of me. She couldn't even handle watching you take the photo so she got up to do a lap. Real pain in the ass sometimes, but I love the hell out of her."

I laugh at that. "Same with this one."

Nora swats me in the arm. "Hey, I am not a pain in the ass."

"See what I mean," I mock and Miles bursts out laughing. Playing pretend with her isn't just easy, it's fun. We make basic small talk with Miles and he tells us he's a hockey player at North University and how his girlfriend is a figure skater. We tell him a little about us too, which Nora takes the lead on.

As we're wrapping up our anecdotes, his girlfriend turns up again. Her back is to us as she walks straight up to Miles, not noticing that we are talking. When she climbs into the truck, I get a better look at her face. She's stunning. All blonde hair and bright eyes. Who the fuck made these people? They should be in a TV Show or something.

"Ohmigod," she's basically wailing, pulling on Miles's arm. "You should have seen the concessions stand. They only had Oreo's. I was going to send a video to Evan to see if he has a meltdown, but I'm pretty sure he still doesn't know that we–"

"Baby," Miles says, cutting her off, and his mouth clamps shut. He hikes a thumb over his shoulder, and her eyes widen, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

"Oh, shit, sorry," she says, giving us a wave. Nora snorts. Wren nudges Miles in the ribs, wiggling her eyebrows. "I didn't know you made some friends, Milesy. Found someone to take a picture of your shirt?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," he says to her before gesturing to us. "This is Wes and Nora. They go to Drayton Hills."

Wren's eyes spark with something, and I can't tell if it's just the fairy lights now that the film is about to begin or if it's something else. She glances at me for a second before her gaze lands on Nora. "Oh, isn't that where E–"

Miles cuts her off, rubbing her back as he gets completely engrossed into the opening credits of the movie. "Shhh. It's starting."

Nora and I decide to leave them alone after that and I actually manage to sit through the first half of the musical. I knew it was good from the way Nora talked about it, but I found myself on the literal edge of my seat. If all my history classes in high school were like this musical, I'd learn a lot faster.

During the interval, Nora snuggles closer to me under the blanket, our legs touching. She doesn't look at me like she notices. Or like she even cares. She nuzzles her cheek into my chest and snaps a few more pictures of us. I can't help but smile in every single one of them because having her here, happy, watching something that makes her happy, somehow makes me just as happy.

When she's taken the photos, she looks over into the couple's truck beside us. "They're literally like us," she whispers, looking at them with a soft smile. They're taking similar pictures to ours, too, but there's a lot more kissing and groping involved. We both turn away, deciding to give them a bit of privacy.

"Yeah, well, that seems a lot more real than what we're doing," I mutter, turning to her. Her eyes light up, humor dancing within them.

"Are you saying you want to palm my boobs, Wes?" she asks innocently, pretending to be shocked. Nora Bailey saying my name and ‘boobs' in the same sentence has to be some sort of dream. I just blink at her, my throat drying at the thought alone. I cannot go down this road again. I can't start fantasizing about all the things I would do to her or all the places I want my hands on her body. When no words come, she says, "I'm kidding. Besides, who knows, they could just be really good at faking it too."

I take another glance over at them. Wren is now on her back, and Miles is on top of her. "I'm pretty sure his tongue is lodged down her throat." I grimace, turning away. "Nothing fake about that, Sunshine. That's two people fully in love."

Her eyes dart away, and she looks back up at the screen. "Yeah, I guess you're right," she says quietly, and we don't say much for the rest of the night.

The second halfof the movie wasn't half bad. I retained enough information to answer some of the questions Nora asks me as we drive back, and I even listen to the soundtrack with her, singing along. Apart from the very loud makeout session between Wren and Miles, it was, all in all, a good day. I know my phone is going to blow up with texts once Nora and I post the pictures online, so I try my best to hold onto the parts of the day that are kept just between us.

When the sunset has faded, and we're still driving, I work up the courage to say, "Okay, I have a confession to make."

I don't have to turn to see how quickly Nora's face whips towards mine. "Okay…"

I leave a long pause for dramatic effect, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel and staring out into the line of cars ahead of us.

"I love Hamilton."

Nora lets out a noise between a sigh and a laugh. "Fucking hell, Wes," she breathes, "You gave me a heart attack. I thought you were about to confess your crimes to me or some shit. Of course, you loved it. Who wouldn't?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I think about what we just watched. "Don't you feel any pressure playing Eliza? Those are some big boots to fill from what I've seen."

She sighs. "I'm not trying to beat or compete with Phillipa Soo. That's literally impossible. I'm just going to put my own spin on it. You'll see."

I look over at her, and she's got this smug look on her face like she has a million secrets and things she can't wait to show me. "I can't wait, Sunshine," I say, and her smile doubles. She turns to look outside the window to hide how big she's smiling, and I love that about her.

I'd watch Nora Bailey do just about anything. If she wanted me to watch her watch a three-hour-long movie, I'd do it. If she wants me to sit around in a waiting room just for the thought of seeing her, I'd do it. I'm quickly beginning to realize that I'd do anything she asked me. Even the things she's afraid to ask me out loud.