21. Nora

TWENTY-ONE

I've spentthe last week and a half trying to pack my suitcase for the New York trip. I don't have long I've got until Wes comes to pick me up, but I've had a million meltdowns over what to bring. We're only going for a couple of days, but I need to look my best. Who knows? A casting agent could casually be walking around and want me to star in an upcoming blockbuster. I change my outfit too many times on a daily basis, and I can only imagine how much worse it's going to be in my dream city.

Elle and Cat have been trying to help me pack, but they keep pushing the minimalist agenda onto me, and I completely disagree with their suggestions. If I'm going to spend a few days in my idea of heaven, I've got to look phenomenal. Even if that means packing over half of my wardrobe.

"Do you really think you need to bring your ukulele?" Elle asks, shuffling through my overflowing suitcase.

"You never know when musical inspiration could strike," I say, shrugging.

"Right," she whistles, and I catch her rolling her eyes at Cat, and they both snicker. She picks up a pink lingerie set I'm bringing and hangs the bra off one finger. "And what excuse do you have for this?"

"I want to feel pretty, Elle. Don't judge me." I snatch it off her and shove it back into my suitcase.

Cat snorts. "For Wes?"

"No, actually, for me," I argue. "Anything could happen in New York. I might even give him a show if he's good."

Cat's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I'm pretty sure he would pass out, Nor. I'd save that for someone else."

I shrug, folding up the last of the t-shirts before shoving them into a storage cube. I'm fully aware that I've gone overboard with the packing, but it'll make me less stressed when I'm there. The only issue is going to be repacking this after we've spent a few days there.

"So, any updates on your sexploits?" I ask Elle as she fiddles with a plushie she found in my room. My room is filled with them. It's like a tiny army of assorted fruits and animals taking over.

"Nope," she says, her smile still bright. "Something needs to happen this summer, though. I don't think I can stomach going into my last year here as a virgin."

"You don't have to rush, you know," Cat says, poking her in the knee. "Everyone goes at their own speed. And when you find someone, it'll be worth it."

"I know, but everyone says that before they've already done it. I mean, you can't really complain because Connor is fucking your brains out every other day," she says, sighing. She shoots me a look when I gag. "Sorry, Nor."

"It's cool," I say. "And you're both right in a way. I think you need to find out what works for you, Elle-Belle."

"I don't know what I want," she huffs, running her hands through the ends of her curly hair. "I don"t want a relationship because I've never had that. I don't just want a physical thing because I've never had that either. I don't know how much time I'm going to have if I'm going back to dance camp this summer. I just want to try things out without things getting complicated, but that seems impossible. Don't get me wrong, vibrators are lifesavers, but I want to experience it for real. At least once before senior year."

"We get you," I say, squeezing Elle's hand. "And we're here to help you with whatever you need. We're your wing women, remember?"

"When I figure that out, you'll be the first to know," she says, laughing. Cat throws her a toothy smile, and I smile back.

"Okay," I whistle, looking at my case. "Let's get this sorted so I don't miss the plane."

We get to work and manage to shut the suitcase. Well, Elle and I had to sit on it first whilst Cat zipped it up. When I roll it into the living room, waiting for Wes, I feel lighter already. We might not be thousands of feet up in the air yet, but just the thought of traveling excites me. All of the stress with the show and with Ryan is what I'm leaving here. For a few days at least.

Wes turns up on time, and I jump to my feet when he opens the door. "Ready to go, Sunshine?" he asks, leaning his hip against the counter as he crosses his arms against his chest.

He looks different somehow. I haven't seen him much over the week, but Connor told me that he's been staying at his mom's house. Neither of them has told me why, but it must be doing him some good. His face is fresh and clean. His gray sweatpants sit comfortably on his hips, and my mouth almost – and I mean almost – waters. He looks so comfortable. And his hair looks different.

I walk closer to him, circling my finger in a spinning motion. "Turn around."

"Why? You wanna see my ass?" he smirks, looking down at me.

I roll my eyes. "No. Just turn around." He does as I ask, and he turns. Holy fuck. I thought I was wrong, but I'm not. Wes has naturally wavy brown hair, but he never really styles it. Sometimes, he gets it trimmed, but never like this. This is something else. "You got a mullet."

It's not long, but it's shaven in all the right places, and it looks insanely good on him. He turns back around and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I told you I'd do anything for you, Sunshine."

Confusion fogs my brain. "I didn't tell you to do that."

"Yes, you did. In your sleep," he explains. I just blink at him, and he laughs. "Remember? A few weeks ago, when you stayed over."

I cross my arms against my chest. "I don't sleep talk."

"Well, you do when you're sleeping with me. Must be because of all of my hair products that you used. Got you dreaming about me and shit," he says lazily. I roll my eyes. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah. You look good," is all I manage to get out. Who am I kidding? This man looks hot. Like, hotter than I've ever seen him. "It suits you."

He steps closer to me, his mouth lifting up. "Yeah?"

"Mm-hm." I press my lips together, smiling brightly. "Now help me with this suitcase so we can get on our way, big guy."

Gettingon the plane was a lot less stressful than I thought it would be. Surprisingly, Wes is a good travel buddy, and he didn't make me want to pull his hair out when we went through security. He is making me antsy now as we're buckled into our seats for the four-hour plane ride.

He wanted to sit by the window, but I'm not so sure that was a good idea, considering his fear of heights. He's looked anxious since he sat down, and I don't know how to pull him back to reality. I haven't flown much, but it doesn't bother me when I do. If I close my eyes enough, I can make it feel like a train ride in my mind. Wes hasn't got that memo, apparently.

"Do you want to hold my hand?" I suggest once I've had enough of his fidgeting.

"Huh?" He's still looking out the window, his hand gripping the armrest between us.

"Do you want to hold my hand?" I repeat, and he turns to me. "You said you didn't like heights, so I can imagine how hard this is going to be for you."

His eyes narrow. "Should I be concerned that you're being nice to me? Are you and the pilot in cahoots, and you're going to crash the plane?"

I bark out a laugh. "Oh, shut up. I'm always nice to you."

"You're not really putting up a good fight, Sunshine," he mutters, tutting at me. I hold out my hand to him. He looks at it and then back to me. After he's finished debating what he should do, his huge hand slips into mine, and I link our fingers together. He sighs and rests against the headrest.

"Better?" I ask.

"Much better," he replies, a loopy grin on his face.

An hourinto the flight Wes's hand is still clasped onto mine. I'm sure he can tell that both of our hands are sweaty now, but he isn't moving. Trying to read a book with one hand is not for the weak, so I've had to listen to music for most of the journey. Before I doze off into another nap, I spot a tiny hand peeking through the seats in front of us. I can't help but smile at the tiny human on the other side. I've always loved kids. They're like little comedians without even realizing it. Wes and I give each other a look before the hand turns into half of a little boy's face as he squishes his cheeks between the seats.

I don't know how long he switches between waving at us and pushing his face between the seats, but Wes and I can't stop laughing. I can't tell if the kid knows he's making us laugh so hard or if that"s just how he is.

"Hi," he says when he chooses what he wants to do.

"Hiya, buddy," Wes says, his voice extra sweet and gentle as he leans forward a little. "Are you spying on us?"

The little boy nods. Then he shakes his head. Then he nods again. His eyes widen before he decides what he's doing. "No. My mommy said it"s bad to spy on people, so I'm not spying. Promise."

"Okay," I say slowly. "Then what are you doing?"

He sighs heavily like he really needs us to hear his frustration. I try not to snort. "I'm scared," he whispers. "And my mommy's sleeping. And she sleeps through everything. Even a plane crash."

Wes scoffs. "Well, that's not going to happen."

The kid frowns. "Says who?"

"Says me." Wes's smile is bright as he leans in further to the kid, and my chest does a weird flip thing. "Can I tell you a secret?" The little boy nods, his eyes fresh with tears that haven't fallen yet. "I'm scared, too."

Wes leans back as the kid gasps. "Of what? You're a grown-up. You can't be scared."

"Of course grown-ups can be scared," Wes says before lifting our interlocked hands up and giving them a shake. "See? I'm having to hold my girlfriend's hand so I don't start crying." The boy"s mouth pops open in an ‘O' shape as he marvels at the two of us. Wes shakes his head. "But I'm scared of something worse than crashing. What if we turn into a spaceship and end up flying into outer space, and there's aliens that live there!"

The kid's eyes widen, and his face turns a deep red. "That would be so cool!"

Wes gasps, holding our hands to his chest in fake shock. I can't help but continue watching them interact. He's a complete natural. "What? No, it wouldn't. The aliens would attack us."

"No, they won't," the kid argues. "I'll protect us."

"You will?" Wes asks, hopeful.

"Yeah! My dad and I play astronauts and aliens all the time. I know what to do!"

Wes sighs, wiping his free hand across his forehead. "Oh, thank goodness. That makes me feel a lot better."

"Me too," the kid replies before turning back around. And when I look back over at Wes, it seems like the interaction has actually calmed him down, too, because he doesn't grip my hand as tight. Instead, he just rubs small circles of his thumb against my hand right until we land.

By the timewe're in the elevator to our room at the hotel, my messages start to come through, and my heart drops at my dad's text. My head is already spinning from being in the air for a few hours and the rush of the airport has finally caught up with me.

Daddy-O

I hope you got there safe. Sorry for not being able to be with you, but I upgraded your and Wes's room for you. My treat. Have fun, honey.

As expected,my dad upgraded us to the couple's suite. So, instead of two single beds, there's one large king-size mattress in the middle of the room with rose petals in the shape of a heart. When Wes walks over to the bedside table, fawning over the bottle of champagne, I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Don't get any ideas, Wesley," I say, dropping my carry-on at the end of the bed.

"And what kind of ideas would those be?" he asks, reading the label on the bottle like he actually knows what it means.

"Alcoholic ideas," I say, pointing to the bottle in his hands and then to the bed. "Cuddling and spooning ideas."

"What?! No spooning?! My day has been ruined," he exclaims, placing the bottle back down before sitting on the bed. "If there's no spooning, then what's the point? At least that way, you won't hog the covers."

I scoff. "I am not a cover hogger."

"I hate to break it to you, but you are," he says as I walk over towards him. "You sleep talk, you hog the covers, and you always end up sprawled all over me whenever we share a bed. If anything, I'm the victim in this situation."

My cheeks heat at the thought of sharing a bed with him, especially if that's really how I sleep. Knowing Wes, he'd never really complain about me sleeping on top of him. I bet there's some weird part of him that enjoys it, which is mortifying for me.

"Whatever," is what I settle on saying instead.

This trip was never meant to be a romantic escape, despite my dad"s last-minute attempts to spin it that way. But can't complain because the window of our twenty-first-floor hotel room, the New York City skyline stretches out like a vast, twinkling canvas. That"s the real reason I"m here.

As I gaze out at the city, my eyes light up with excitement. It"s a quiet moment, yet the energy of a thousand possibilities buzzes in the air like electricity. The city feels like it"s pulsing at my fingertips, and I"m eager to dive into the heartbeat of it all.

We spend the rest of the evening unpacking our stuff before we order room service. It's like we've been floating around all day, but when the food arrives and we're sitting on the floor watching a random game show, everything finally feels settled. We're quiet as we eat, and I couldn't think of anything better. Still, there's a thought nagging at me that I can't tell to go away.

"Hey, Wes?"

The side of his mouth tips up. "Hey, Nora," he mocks before giving me a suspicious glance as he takes a sip from his drink. We're sitting across from each other, our carefully selected platter covering the space between us.

I rip the Band-Aid right off. "What's going on with you? And I know you're going to say it's fine and that I don't need to worry about you, but you're my best friend, and I do worry about you. Since that day we were at your mom's house, you've been off. And you've not brought up the semis once since the game." I sigh as I lean over and clasp both of my hands at the sides of his head, shaking him. "Just let me into your brain, dude."

"Okay," he whispers as I continue shaking him. I slowly drop my hands and shuffle away as he closes his eyes for a second before opening them. "I haven't brought up football because I'm glad that we lost."

I take a second to process his words. "What?"

He meets my gaze. "I don't want to play football anymore, Nora."

"Oh," I whisper. I catch the hurt in his eyes, and I try for a softer approach. "That's okay. You don't have to keep playing if you don't want to."

He sighs. "I know, but if I'm not playing, then what am I?"

"You're… Just Wes."

"Just Wes?" he repeats, grimacing.

"Not in a bad way. I mean, you're still you without football. You're not your sport or your passion. No one is." I explain, putting it a bit gentler.

"I guess." He shrugs, reaching over for a chip. "I don't have a plan for my life like you do. I think I never did, and now I'm realizing that I've never been good at anything else, and maybe it's too late."

"It's not too late."

He shrugs, running a hand through his hair. "Let's just forget about it for the next few days, okay? When we get back, you can do all your manic overthinking thing then."

"I don't do that," I argue.

"Sure, you don't," he teases, throwing me a sarcastic wink.

"I just want you to be happy, Wes."

"I am happy, Nora. Being here, with you, I'm happy. You've just got to trust me." He holds my gaze, and I try my hardest to believe him. I want so desperately to believe him. "Okay?"

"Okay," I say.

I don't press him anymore on it as we clean up all of our shit, and I go in the shower. I let the clean water wash away all of my feelings and anxieties for the day. I don't want to spend the entire trip thinking about what's going to go wrong or what's going on in Wes's head. Well, that's what I keep telling myself anyway because my mind is still spinning once I'm settled in bed and the door to the bathroom opens.

Wes walks out in nothing but his boxers, and I don't know how I don't burst into flames. I've seen him topless before, but this somehow feels different. I'm blaming it on the sleep deprivation because there is no way I'm absolutely eye-fucking Wes Mackenzie right now. It's like I've just noticed how tall he is. How thick his thighs are. How broad his shoulders are. How toned his stomach is and how many fucking abs he has.

When I think he's going to put me out of my misery and put on a shirt, he doesn't. He just walks around like he fucking owns this place. I sit up properly, placing my book on the bedside table. "What are you doing?"

He turns to me, stretching as he scratches his stomach. "Going to bed. What are you doing?"

"Since when do you sleep without a shirt on?" I gawk, trying my absolute hardest to keep eye contact with him as he walks to my side of the bed.

"Since always," he says, smirking. He catches the way my cheeks flush, and he tilts his head to the side. "What? Is it a problem?"

"No. No. I just forgot you have all… that." My own words make me cringe, and I clear my throat. When I was with Ryan, it felt wrong to even look at another man besides him. Clearly, that was never a problem for him to be looking at other girls. Looking at Wes now, I want to punch myself for not looking before.

"All what? A chest?" he teases, gesturing to himself.

I roll my eyes. "You know what I mean."

My breath hitches when he slides onto the bed beside me. The heat of his body sends electric jolts down my spine, and I try my best to ignore it as I slide down until I'm on my back. Wes does nothing to put any distance between us and instead cages me in with one arm on the side of my head, the entirety of him obstructing my view.

"I don't think I know what you mean," he teases, brushing the hair that's fallen in front of my face. My mouth instantly dries. "You're going to have to spell it out for me, Stargirl."

If he wants to play, I'm more than happy to put on a show.

I bring my index finger to the top of his chest, feeling the warmth right on my fingertip. "I mean," I drawl, slowly dragging my finger down the middle of his chest. He's flexing beneath my touch, and it makes me feel like a fucking God. "I guess I'm just so incredibly turned on by you. All this muscle is really getting me going."

His eyes flash to mine. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I echo. I continue trailing my finger down his stomach, and he doesn't move. I tip my mouth right to his, and he's so close I can practically taste him. He leans into me, but I keep the game going right until I punch him in the stomach. He groans, clutching his abdomen as he keels over onto his side of the bed. "Sweet dreams, Wes."