24. Nora/Wes

TWENTY-FOUR

After the show last night,Wes and I got ourselves stupidly drunk with the drinks in the mini-fridge in our hotel room and spent the entire night tripping out over conspiracy theories. We failed to hook up our phones to the TV screen, so we lay in bed, sharing the tiny screen with our bodies pressed extremely close to each other. So, I have no idea how I end up at the opposite end of the bed when I wake up.

My head throbs when I turn over to see the bright lights of the sun peeking through the blinds. I try to sit up, but my proportions are way off, and I almost fall off the edge of the bed. I settle for sneaking under the covers and burying my head into my hands with a groan. I should not be allowed to drink again. Ever. I must choose the sober route from now on.

The sheets rustle before they open, and Wes's head pops through. He's grinning like a loon. "Morning, Sunshine. Sleep well?"

"No," I grumble.

"Neither did I. You were hogging the sheets all night."

"No, I wasn't."

He tilts his head to the side, judging me with his eyes. "I don't think you even know what city we're in, Nora, so you're not necessarily at liberty to say what you did last night."

"Can you stop shouting? You're making my head hurt," I groan, opening the covers completely and sitting up. "You need to stop letting me drink."

"Like always, it was your idea." He reaches over to ruffle my hair, and I slap his hand away. When I look up at him, he looks so put together that it makes my head spin. Or that could just be the alcohol that needs to get out of my system as soon as possible. His face looks fresh and clean, his hair still damp like he's just come out of the shower, and he's wearing baggy jeans and a sweater.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes. "What are the plans for today?"

"It's our last night here, so something fun?"

"Like?"

"I dunno. That's kinda where all my ideas end." I snort. He moves to sit down beside me, crossing his arms against his chest. I notice the hot mug of coffee on the bedside table. He catches me eyeing it, and he nods to it. "This is for you."

"Thanks," I mutter, and he hands it over to me. I take a long sip, letting the warmth soothe me. "Maybe we can go for lunch and then go to a bar later?"

"Didn't you just say not to let you drink?" Wes asks, squinting his eyes at me.

"We don't have to drink, you idiot," I retort, "I just want to experience a bar in New York. It's on my bucket list."

"Sounds good to me," he replies. I search around the bed for my phone, but it's so fucking big I must have lost it. I've always been a chaotic sleeper, so I'm not surprised that I find my eye mask on the opposite end of the bed. Wes catches me frantically searching, and he rummages around behind him before he throws me over my phone. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a workaholic."

I fake gasp as I immediately swipe open my phone, checking through my emails. "Why do you think that?"

"Because your screen time for your email app and Google is insane," he replies.

"Who knows, I could be streaming lots and lots of porn and using the emails to manage my subscriptions," I say, still scrolling through my messages. Nothing extremely crucial – like usual.

"Now that sounds more like it," Wes says, laughing to himself. I blow him a raspberry, but my face falls when I look back at the reminder email Max sent following up his phone call the other day. Something weird churns in my stomach, and it's hard to tell if it was the alcohol or the thought of filming another audition. "What's wrong?"

"I've got to do another audition tape, but I'm feeling pretty weird about it," I admit, sighing. Wes pats the seat down next to him, and I flip onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. "I feel like I'm still rusty. Acting in musicals is so different from acting for the screen. I have my singing to back me up and choreography to hide my awkwardness. I don't know… I just want it to go well, and I'm on a deadline."

"First of all, you need to take a deep breath," he instructs, and I do. The motion distracts me for a second, but not completely. "Good. What kind of role is it?"

"It's just a side character, but they have their own separate story arc. She's a college student, but her side gig is picking up guys at bars. She's supposed to be doing it to gain some sort of control because of her shitty childhood," I explain, hoping what I said was right. It's been a while since I looked at the script, but the new scene is a monologue that Layla gives to her friends about why she does what she does.

Wes chews the inside of his cheek before he turns to me. "That"s perfect."

"What's perfect?"

"We can practice your scene at the bar tonight," he suggests, his eyes filled with wonder.

"It could work," I mumble. I've not done any sort of immersive acting in a while, and it usually helps me out of these funks. But with people like Wes, we always mess around too much, and I never get any real work done. With that thought, I turn to him, pointing. "You've got to take it seriously, Wesley. This could make or break my career."

"We've been playing pretend for the last two and a half months. I'm sure I can handle some more acting," Wes says. He swats my finger out of his face as he sits up. He turns back to me. "Now come on. Let's get a late lunch."

"It's lunchtime already?" I gawk, my eyes widening.

"It's way past lunchtime, Sunshine," Wes laughs, slipping off the bed. "You sleep like the dead."

Sometimes, I wonder how in the world the universe managed to put me and Nora Bailey in the same place. As much as everyone jokes about me being attached to her hip at all times, she just feels like an extension of me. She's the only person who has truly cared to get to know me and understand me in ways I don't understand myself. The times when I want to stay inside my brain and feel sorry for myself, and she lets me do that, or she helps me get out of it. She doesn't make me feel like what I think or what I say is invalid. She lets me exist, and that's more than enough for me.

Which is probably why my jaw hangs to the floor when she walks out of the bathroom after a day of lounging around for our last day in New York. We both agreed that we'd put some effort into our outfits tonight, and the hotel bar below us looked fancier than we could comprehend. But I wasn't expecting this.

This is breathtaking. She is breathtaking. Painstakingly perfect and beautiful in all the best ways. She's a fucking dream.

Nora walks towards me in a midnight blue, floor-length dress with a long slit in the side. Her legs look so fucking long and tanned, and I can't help but imagine what they'd look like wrapped around my waist. Or my face. Her brown hair is flowing down her shoulders in that natural wavy style that I like. Her face is slightly done up with a glittery glow on her eyelids and that simple star necklace that makes my stomach flip right over. Her tits are pressing against the silky fabric, and just the thought of them makes my breath catch.

Her eyes lock with mine, and I swear I almost pass out. I'm also dressed up in black pants and a white button-down, but I'm nothing compared to her.

She's fucking magnificent. Every curve of her body. Every inch that I selfishly get to see. Every single thing about her has been sculptured to perfection, and I want to punch anyone who has ever been able to look at her like this.

"Can you help zip me up? I've been fighting with it for the last twenty minutes," she says, her voice tight. I nod because words aren't able to escape me right now. I'm not so sure if my brain is even functioning properly. I scan her body again, trying my hardest to commit this sight to memory. "Wes."

"Hm?"

"You're not moving," she whispers, and it's only then that I realize that she's turned her back to me as she looks over her shoulder.

"Right. Yeah. Me. Move. Now," I say, stepping towards her because I'm only capable of speaking in mono-syllables now. She's standing in front of the full-length mirror, and I get to see what we both look like together. The words are out of my mouth before I even register it myself. "You are stunning, Nora."

Her mouth parts, but nothing comes out. I keep my eyes on hers in the mirror before she finally whispers a soft, "Thank you."

I've complimented her a million times. I've flirted with her so many times that I've not only lost track, but it's second nature. But saying it like this: outside of our town and in a place where we're almost untouchable, everything feels different. Everything feels real.

She brushes the hair that's fallen down her back to one side of her shoulder, holding it in place. I catch a few loose strands and push it over, too, so my view of the zip is clearer. "Thank you," she mutters, and I have the urge to tell her to stop thanking me, but instead, I get to doing what she called me over for.

I move my hands, and my thumb and forefinger clasp on the tiny zip that's just above her ass. Her whole back is on display to me, and I find myself wanting to run my fingers all over her. I want to know what her skin would feel like against mine. To finally have her.

I grip onto her hip for stability as I pull the zip up, and she lets out the softest sound. It rushes straight to my dick, and I freeze before zipping up the dress the rest of the way.

I clear my throat, stepping back from her. "All done."

"Thank you," she whispers again.

"Is that all you're going to say, Sunshine? Thank you?" I tease, pulling her hair to fall down her back. She tilts her head back, shaking her head slightly to fan out her hair. I run my hands from her shoulders down to her arms, watching the goosebumps that arise in the wake of my touch. She doesn't answer me, but her fingers slowly clasp over my right hand. The movement is so simple, but it fucks me up inside. "Nora."

She sighs, closing her eyes before opening them and keeping them locked with mine. "You're making me nervous," she admits.

"I'm making you nervous?" She nods. "How?"

"Because…" I watch her search for the words, biting on the inside of her cheek as she scans my face in the mirror. I watch her eyes travel over the two of us. Her fingers drop from my hand, and she smoothes out her dress. "Forget it. Let's just go."

With that, she brushes past me and leaves me wondering what she was going to say.

For as long as I can remember, I've imagined what my life would be like. Some parts of that would change, like the way I'd style my hair, the way I dress, or even the way I talk. One thing I never imagined was to be wearing a new dress while I waited in a bar for a guy to turn up. I don't think I've looked that deeply into my future yet, and this is the last thing that I saw coming.

I swish around the ice in my glass, tapping my nails against the bar. The fancy stool beneath me isn't uncomfortable like the ones I'm used to. This one feels like it was made for me. Made for the silky fabric of my dress to slip comfortably on it.

I watch him finally take a seat next to me. He doesn't say anything at first, and I let myself inhale his manly scent, reminding me of wood and the outdoors. He's wearing a crisp white button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled up. He leans forward on the bar, and I'm convinced the muscles beneath his shirt are going to pop right out. The veins on his arms distract me for a second before his piercing blue eyes clash with mine.

I take the opportunity by the horns and pull my glass to my lips after asking, "What brings you to the city?"

The bartender returns with his drink before disappearing again. The guy turns to me, a small smile on his lips that makes my stomach trip over itself. "Business."

I hum in response. "Business, huh?"

"Yeah. It's been a busy week closing up deals," he replies, his eyes flashing mischievously. The air suddenly feels thick when I bring myself closer to him. I trail my finger on the skin showing on his arm, feeling the warmth right on the pads of my fingers.

"Can you make me your business? That way, you can take care of this business," I reply, gesturing to the very obvious cleavage I'm showing and even lower. Our eyes lock then.

And we burst out laughing.

I push myself away from Wes, feeling stupid and ridiculous. I knew this wouldn't be able to work with him. I can't seem to take myself or this whole situation seriously. I'm trying to go off-script to put myself into the character's head, but that isn't going well. I can't seem to make myself feel like I'm in her shoes, and it's going to fuck me up for this audition.

"God, you're so bad at this," Wes snorts, crossing his arms against his chest. I roll my eyes, taking another swig of my drink. Maybe some liquid courage could help me out for once instead of making me make stupid decisions. "Let me lead."

"Are you being serious?" I spit out.

"Yeah. You need to get in the mood," he whispers, his voice dropping. The sound rushes right through me, and I feel like I'm back in the hotel room for a second when he has his hands on me. I've never felt that out of control in my life, and I don't know why I enjoyed it so much. I felt both beautiful and scared under his gaze at the same time, and I couldn't figure out if I wanted him to stop looking at me or not. "You're too in your head. We should try it another way."

I scoff. "Fine. Let"s see what you've got, big guy."

He slips out of the chair, ready to re-enter the room. I move from my seat, too, bringing my glass to one of the secluded booths in the bar. The seats close people off from the other end of the bar, and it makes me feel a lot better. Maybe the privacy will help with my confidence. I wait patiently, crossing my legs as I grow more anxious until Wes remerges.

I have no idea what he did in the two minutes he left the room, but my skin prickles when he comes back into view. From the lower position, he looks a fuck ton taller and just all man. His chest looks broader, his arms still veiny and thick and incredibly delicious. It's a crime that he's able to look this good, and I'm basically keeping girls from climbing all over him. If I had no idea who he was, I would certainly be pouncing on him right now. But I do. So, I contain myself and swallow when he slides into the seat beside me.

He puts a small space between us, and it only makes me want him closer. "I saw you sitting here, and I thought I'd join you," he whispers, his voice low and frustratingly sexy.

I swallow again. "Do you like what you see?"

Wes gives a very suggestive perusal of my outfit, rubbing his thumb against his bottom lip as his eyes rake down my body, landing on the bareness of my legs that my dress fails to cover up. "Fuck yeah." His voice is a rough caress against my skin. My stomach dips. "What are you doing here by yourself?" He goes to pick up my drink, bringing it to his lips.

"I'm just seeing where—" my voice trails off when he plucks the ice from his mouth, holding it between his fingers. The movement of his lips confuses the butterflies in my stomach with my best friend and the person he's pretending to be. He shuffles closer to me. "What are you doing?"

He answers by pressing the ice onto my exposed collarbone. My body betrays me as the sensation makes me shiver before I sigh. The coolness on my skin makes my head spin until I come back down to earth. "Do you trust me, Stargirl?"

"Yes," I breathe out almost too quickly, dropping my head to the leather behind me.

"Perfect," Wes whispers, moving the ice to the other side of my collarbone as it melts against my skin. "Hot?"

I swallow as he moves the ice to the top of my shoulder. "Very."

He tilts his head to the side, clearly having way too much fun with this. "How come?"

"I met this guy earlier," I manage to get out. He continues moving the ice down my arms as I try to find the right words. "He, uh, he said he was here on business."

"Yeah?" I close my eyes at the roughness of his voice, trying to breathe normally.

"Mm hm," is all that leaves my lips before another shiver racks through my body. "I made a complete fool of myself and I asked him to take care of my business. If you know what I mean."

Of course, Wes absolutely enjoys torturing me, so he trails the ice along my knee, watching it melt completely before picking up another cube. This time he pushes the ice into my mouth, letting me suck the alcohol off it before pushing it back out. He keeps our gazes locked together, his eyes hooded and hungry. "I don't think I know what you're talking about. You're going to have to spell that one out to me."

With the fresh ice cube, he brings it to the slit in my dress, running it on my thigh. I gasp, gripping on to his hand. "Wes."

"Do you want me to stop?"

I take in a deep breath, shaking my head. "No. Don't stop."

Wes nods, continuing to tease the ice against my thigh, leaning right into me so that I can just taste him. "Tell me what you meant, Nora."

I clear my throat. "I was suggesting that I let him go down on me and take care of business down there instead."

"Down here?" he teases, bringing the ice higher up my thigh. My vision blurs and everything that once felt fake feels so incredibly real.

"Yes," is all I manage to get out. He's managed to make me feel weak and completely out of control. For one of the first times, it's like my brain has finally switched off, and I'm completely immersed in the moment. It's terrifying and liberating all at once.

He continues raising his hand, and I don't know what I want him to find. The ice is getting smaller because of the heat of my body, and Wes's breath against my neck almost makes me drop into a puddle at his feet.

"Do you like it when a guy goes down on you, hm?"

I instantly feel lightheaded at his words. And all I get out is another breathy "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it…" My breath catches when he presses a soft kiss on my neck. "It feels good."

"How good?" The ice no longer exists, and it's just Wes's hands on my body. I don't know what he's talking about anymore. If he means what he's doing to my body right now or what I prepositioned the guy he's pretending to be with. His hand moves up higher until he almost reaches the cleft of my thighs, and he rubs his thumb there.

"Wes," I whimper. His movements are soft and gentle, but they make my heart race. He just continues leaving soft kisses on my neck as his hand works wonders on the most sensitive part of my body. "Fuck. That feels so good."

He inhales, dragging his lips down my neck. "Do you like this game, Nora?"

"Yes," I answer immediately before I run out of air.

I look down at him as he kisses across my chest where the ice was, sucking it into his mouth. My hands finally have something to do, and I curl them in his hair, pulling his head up to face me. My eyes zero in on his lips, and they're slightly red from the ice. He doesn't say or do anything. He just lets me hold his face close to mine. I bring myself as close to him as possible, getting lost in his blue eyes. My breathing is erratic. Almost desperate. My control is this close to snapping, and my fingers tighten in his hair.

"Are you going to kiss me?" I whisper.

My question hangs in the air. "Do you want me to?"

"I don't know. It might seal the deal, you know. I'll have to kiss people on the show, and you're–" I swallow when his eyes dip to my lips, and he licks them. God. "You're right here."

"I am," he agrees. He leans into me. Finally. But he completely dodges my lips and brings his mouth to my ear. "But I'm not going to."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Why not?"

"Because it's not supposed to go like this."