17. Wes/Nora

SEVENTEEN

"How were the markets?"Connor asks me when I make my way into the kitchen. I haven't seen him in what feels like months. After the markets, he and Cat kinda disappeared in their little love bubble, and with the holiday's, we've not seen each other much. He got to spend it with his family and I had to painfully sit through a whole day with my mom, distracting her from her very harsh reality.

He's baking Banana bread because he's an old man and has finally managed to make an edible dessert. As much as I love teasing him about it, it actually smells good.

I take a seat on the kitchen island. "Pretty good. It seems like what we're doing is working. Ryan's pissed, and I'm… I dunno, happy for one of the first times in a while?"

Connor hums, adding some chocolate chips to his batter. "Right. And that's what you want, isn't it?"

"I guess. It's making my mom happy, which is a bonus, but my dad doesn't give a shit," I mutter. "I kinda wish he did, but this whole thing proves that he simply doesn't care about me." Connor drops his spoon onto the counter, staring up at me. "Jesus. What?"

"Can you hear yourself right now?" Connor asks, his eyes wide. "That is so fucking sad, man. You need to talk to him."

"No, I don't," I argue.

"You do," he challenges. "What he did was stupid and selfish and fucked up, but he's your dad."

I sigh. "You don't get it. We don't have the kind of relationship that you have with your dad. We don't sit around drinking whilst he gives me some life-changing advice. He's just a normal, regular guy who happens to have a son. He wasn't born to be a dad like yours was, okay? And that's fine. I don't need him anyway."

My own words sting. I can't really think like that, can I? Then why does it feel so easy to say? My dad has never done anything out of the ordinary or done things that stand out to me. He's just done the regular things that dads do – minus the cheating part. We don't have the same bond that Connor has with his parents. My dad isn't built to be loving, caring, sweet or have an abundance of good advice. He's just… there.

"Jesus, Wes," Connor mutters, shaking his head at me.

"Can you stop looking at me like that? I'm not some broken person who you need to fix, Connor. I don't need you to feel sorry for me, alright?" My words are biting, and Connor leans back.

"I'm not trying to fix you, and you're not broken. You're just… sad."

"Like that's any better," I scoff. "Everything's fine, okay? Everything is always fucking fine, so stop looking at me and acting like it's not."

I don't let him respond before I storm out like a fucking child and go to my car. It's New Year's Eve, and after spending the holidays with my mom and trying not to cause an argument with my dad, I can't wait to get this season over with. Going to spend the night with my friends and my fake girlfriend is the only thing I'm looking forward to.

The team is somehow on the road to the semis, and I don't feel the way I should. I should be happy like Connor and the rest of the guys. I should be ready to take our next team and kick their asses, but I just don't care. I don't even want to win anymore. How pathetic is that?

I drive around the block a few times before I get bored of my playlist and turn it off. Silence doesn't do any better, so I pull up outside the gym and hope I can work off some of this tension. I quickly change into my clean gym clothes before I hit the treadmill. If I can't literally run away from my problems, maybe this is the next best thing. I'm listening to the shitty gym music because, for whatever reason, my own music doesn't feel the same. Everything just feels wrong, and everything keeps going wrong, and I hate it.

Just as I'm coming down from a sprint, my phone pings and I welcome the distraction. It's a text from Nora with two photos. They're both of her in front of her mirror, and the phone is held high above her head to get her full outfit in the frame. In the first one, she's wearing baggy jeans that rest comfortably low on her hips and a lace cami top, showing off her toned stomach and her boobs. The second one is her wearing a simple black dress with thin straps and silver cowboy boots. Those fucking legs. Those fucking boots.

My heart restarts when I read the message.

Sunshine

Which one is hotter?

Think you meant to send this to Cat and Elle.

Sunshine

No, I need your opinion.

It's you that's going to have your hands all over me tonight, remember?

The imageshe creates makes my decision about what she should wear. Both options look so fucking good on her, and I know I won't be able to keep my hands to myself. Even in the pictures, she has this unwavering sense of confidence, and fuck me if it doesn't turn me on.

Black dress and boots.

Sunshine

Perfect. Do I go full commando or not?

That's definitely not a question you want me to answer, Sunshine.

Sunshine

I'm kidding.

See you later, cowboy ;)

Since we gotto the bar, my eyes have not left Nora's. Just like we agreed, she's wearing the black dress and boots. Her hair was wild, flowing down her back, and the second I picked her up, she stole my cowboy hat and plopped it on her own head. It looks way better on her, though, anyway. She's been on the dance floor for what feels like forever as she dances with her hands in the air, screaming lyrics into Kiara and Elle's faces.

I don't think I could look away if I had a person holding a gun to my head, begging me to. She's moving around the small space as if she owns it. Everyone is looking at her like she's the fucking sun, gracing us with her presence. She's shining brighter than anyone else in this joint, and it makes my heart ache. It also makes me regret not asking if she really did go full commando tonight.

I let her do her own thing whilst I sat with a few of my friends in a booth. Being here is a good enough distraction than being at home with Connor. I don't know why his comment got to me. It shouldn't. As easy as it is for him to suggest, I don't exactly want to talk to my dad. It's the very last thing on my mind. If he wanted to reach out and spend Christmas with me, he would have, but he didn't. So why am I going to go out of my way to try to mend something that's never going to be fixed?

Red's arm nudging me brings me back to reality. "Your girl's got a mouth on her."

"What?" I follow his line of vision, and sure enough, Nora is arguing with the DJ to play a song she wants. Elle and Kie are standing awkwardly at her sides, not sure if they should intervene or not. "Ah, she's got a very particular music taste."

"Nice ass, too," Red mutters. I hit him in the back of his head.

"Don't talk about her like that, Mikey, or I'll kill you," I say, my jaw clenching. He just looks at me with an amused smile on his face. "Sorry, that sounded like a joke. I will actually just murder you."

Red gulps, and he drops his gaze to the table in front of him. He knows when to back down when he's told. Most of the time, he just acts like a teenager who has never been in proximity with a woman before.

"Wild one she is," Sam says under his breath, shaking his head. "So is the other girl with her. She's been giving me the fuck me eyes all night."

I try not to laugh at the way Sam sounds sad that Kiara has been checking him out. She's forward as fuck, and Sam is clearly playing dumb. "Why don't you go for her? She seems like your type."

Sam just shrugs, looking past me and staring right at her, but when Nora's argument with the DJ gets louder, he snorts. "You might want to tighten the reins on that one."

I lean back, admiring the way she's sticking up for herself. "Nah, I'm good. Besides, she's got my hat on right now. You know the rules."

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy," Oli murmurs quietly.

My face splits into a grin as I clasp him on the shoulder, slipping out of my seat, "Exactly."

I'm about to throw another jab at the long-haired DJ before Wes's voice pulls me back down to earth. I might be a little bit tipsy, and Elle and Kie are doing the very unfriendly thing and are not indulging in my chaos. They've disappeared, dancing together in the corner to whatever song is playing now.

"Darlin.'" I spin around at the country accent Wes has adopted for the day. He's dressed up to match the party"s theme, and he's wearing black pants and a huge belt buckle, his brown button down untucked, and his hair is a mess. He just looks good.

He holds his hand out to me, and I don't need him to tell me anything before I slip my hand into his. "Honey," I coo, stepping away from the DJ's station. He can deal without my wrath for a few minutes.

"Care to join me for a dance?" he asks, gently squeezing my hand. I giggle as he pulls me into him. My hands instantly drop to his chest. And maybe it's the music and the bit of alcohol in my system, but for one of the first times, I find myself actually feeling Wes. Or wanting to feel him. His chest is hard beneath my palms but soft against the fabric of his shirt.

"I would love nothing more," I say, looking up at him.

His grey eyes hood as he clasps my hands in his, pushing me out to pull me back in. "Did you manage to bully him into letting you play a song?"

I pout, shaking my head. "Nope. Apparently, I'm not scary enough."

Wes scoffs. "You're barely five-five. Of course, you're not scary enough." For that, I purposely stand on his foot. "Okay, okay. You're terrifying."

A loopy grin spreads across my face at his words, and the noise from the bar starts to fade. Everything about us stupidly dancing together in a bar as we wait for the countdown to start just feels right. Everything about him just feels right. It always has. He manages to look at me like I'm special. Like I mean something to him. He makes me feel like what I have to say and what I think matters. So when the pop song changes to something more sad and mellow, I rest my head against his chest and feel him sigh.

My arms wrap up around his neck as his hands find my waist, pulling us together and making our bodies fit perfectly. He sways us side to side as ‘Wondering Why' by The Red Clay Strays plays over the speakers, fitting tonight"s theme perfectly.

I could stay like this forever, swaying on a dancefloor with my best friend. His fingers trail down my spine, and my breath hitches. The movement is so small and insignificant I'm sure he doesn't even notice he's doing it. But I do. I feel it everywhere. I feel him everywhere. It's the small kind of intimacy I never experienced with Ryan. It's like something I never knew I needed.

As if on instinct, my hands curl into the hair at the bottom of Wes's neck, and he lets out a sigh. There's a slight tension in his neck, but as I continue to move my fingers, he slowly relaxes.

"You having fun, Stargirl?" His voice is low and hoarse it feels like there's nothing else in the room other than the two of us.

"The most fun," I say, and then a thought pops into my head. I lean up off him, but our arms don't detangle from each other. "We should take line dancing classes."

He lets out a soft chuckle. "Whoa. One step at a time. That seems more like a fourth date kinda thing. I don't want to be offering up all my good dancing skills so quickly."

A smile stretches across my face. "Guess I've got to stick around for the good stuff, right?"

"Yup." His answer is so matter-of-fact and goofy that I can't stop the laugh that escapes me.

I tilt my head. "How about you? Are you having fun?"

"With you, Nora, I'm always having fun."

There's something hidden in his sentence that makes me want to panic, and I try my absolute hardest not to. This whole thing between us is fake, so why can I feel butterflies swarming in my stomach that I hadn't felt before? Maybe it's because of how well I know him. How well I know he can make me feel. How easy it is to be with him and have fun and not worry about him breaking my heart.

My body moves on its own accord, and I step back from him, ready to make an excuse to find my friends. I'm panicking for no reason. I know that. I have freaked out in too many situations to know that that's just the way I am. The way I'm wired.

"Where are you going? Why are you so far away from me?" Wes whines, shredding the small bit of space that I put between us.

"I'm not. You're just possessive," I say, slowly making my way back to him.

"Wanting you close to me doesn't make me possessive, Sunshine," he taunts. Before I can get to where we just were, he wraps his arm around my waist, making that decision for me. My hands find their way right back around his neck like they belong there.

"Where did you learn how to do that?" I mutter, looking down between us. His head quirks. "The whole grabbing my waist thing. It's hot and I hate it."

He lets out a deep laugh. "Friday nights with my mom, remember?"

I sigh wistfully. "Ah, how could I forget?"

I've walked into Wes's old house too many times as a kid, watching him watch romantic movies with his mom. I remember how she'd try to instill some good manners into him and make him the perfect man. He'd give me a full rundown the Saturday after, and we'd sit and watch the movie together. He'd then proceed to tell me every single thing that's going to happen, and I could never get him to shut up. So, I guess he's picked up on a few ways to make a girl swoon.

When I come back down from the daydream, and we're still dancing to another slow country song, it starts to fade out, and the countdown from fifteen starts around us. Without saying anything, Wes pulls me into his side, lifting up the cowboy hat that has fallen into my face. He pulls out his phone and opens the camera app, getting us both in on the screen.

Ten.

I lean up towards him, wrapping my hands around the hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes hood as his mouth parts.

Nine.

His eyes dip to my lips, and my throat instantly dries.

Eight.

I try to get closer to him, and I don't know how to. I don't know why I want to.

Seven.

I settle on tugging his face closer to mine.

Six.

"Are you ready to play, Stargirl?" His voice is soft and hushed. His mouth is so achingly close to mine.

Four.

"I'm always ready to play with you, Wes," I whisper.

I don't mean it to sound suggestive, but it does, and by the time the words are out of my mouth, his lips are on mine. The kiss isn't like the other ones we've shared for the sake of this plan. The only way to describe this is desperate.

Our mouths fight over each other, and my hands tighten in his hair. He tastes like he's constantly showering in sweet products. As if he's always just eaten something sweet. I'm getting dizzy just thinking about how his hand feels in my hair, the way the cowboy hat no longer exists, and we're just gripping at each other as if we need the release.

Then his phone falls. The video might still be recording. I don't know. But he doesn't go to pick it up. And neither do I.

We must both be aware that we're just standing in the middle of the dance floor, making out for no reason. People might be watching us. That's a good thing. But the whole point is to take pictures and videos, and neither of us are caring about that aspect of it.

Now that both of his hands are free, they curl deeper into my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp. The softness of his hands is so foreign, and I crave more of it. More of him. His hands move around my face like he's trying to feel every part of me, and I let him. His thumbs caress my cheeks, sliding down towards my neck, where he squeezes me softly.

Holy fuuuckk.

I did not expect to like that so much, but I did, and I'm craving more of it. He must know the way my body reacts to it because he keeps his hand on my neck, holding me there, squeezing me hard enough that the pleasure ripples through my entire body.

My tongue slips into his mouth, and that's when I know for sure that this is something else. He groans in response, tasting me back, and my knees go weak. We keep going back and forth, pushing and retreating, tasting and claiming. I don't know how long we keep doing that, but I eventually come up for air.

I'm panting. My chest is heaving, and from the friction of rubbing my chest against his, my nipples are pebbled. And Wes looks… So fucking good. His hair is even more of a mess than it was before. His pupils are dilated, and his lips are slightly swollen. We both look at each other for a second before he leans down again.

And he kisses me.

There's something significant about this second kiss, but I don't give myself a chance to overthink it before I pull apart from him and turn around. I need to get my head on straight. I'm clearly drunk and gripping onto him for dear life because he's the only person giving me attention right now. I'm being selfish and taking more of him than I'm allowed to have. That's it.

"No," Wes bites out, his hand gripping onto my forearm. He pulls me back into him, and I stumble.

"What?"

"We're not doing that," he says simply. "You don't get to run away every time we kiss, okay?"

I catch myself and swallow. I look up to him and I can't place the dissatisfied look on his face like this has really been bothering him. "Wes… That was–"

He grins. "Insane."

"Yes, but…" I shake my head, trying to find something to say. Something to blame my mood on. "Your phone fell."

"And?"

"And what's the point of us making out when no one is going to see it," I argue.

"There's around a hundred people in here, Nor, someone must have seen," he says easily as if he didn't just stick his tongue down my throat.

I don't bring up the fact that we clearly indulged in that for ourselves. If he's not saying anything, why should I? Maybe it didn't mean anything to him. Maybe it's just me and my brain that loves to over analyze every single interaction I have and turn it into a big deal. Maybe I'm just too in my head and confused about what's real and what"s fake.

Wes has always been upfront, and I don't see why that would change now. So when I look up at him and I say nothing, I wait for him to ease the weird feeling I have in my chest.

He doesn't.

He just picks up his phone and his hat, plopping it right back on my head before he kisses my cheek. "This suits you, Stargirl. You should keep it."

"Don't say that, Wesley, or I might start taking more of your things," I tease, tipping my hat to him.

"You can take anything you want as far as I'm concerned," he says, winking, and I burst into a fit of laughter.

And just like that, we're back to pretending that kiss didn't just happen.