3. Nora

THREE

Everyone saysthey want a brother until the second they have one. Because when you have a brother, you know they're going to annoy the living crap out of you at any chance they get. You also know they're going to be breathing down your neck when you do something wrong or try to murder anyone who even looks at you. There is usually never any in-between for them.

Connor has always been the protective type — that much isn't new. He's always been a worrier for me and for his football team. Dating Cat brought him out of his shell a lot more, but he's still getting there. Since my breakup with Ryan, he's been extra cautious and protective over me wherever we go.

Part of that is my fault.

I'm known to sort of… disappear sometimes.

Most of the time, I don't realize I'm doing it. I get caught up with whatever I'm doing and could end up in the next town over. More times than not, I'm in a separate building on campus, fooling around with Ryan.

Nope. I'm not going there.

No more talk about Ryan if I can help it.

I'm supposed to be having a good time. I'm supposed to be getting as shit-faced as possible to distract myself from the shit show my life has become and the looming results of the auditions for this year's musical.

"Are you okay? Do you want some water?" Connor asks, fidgeting with the sleeve of his Drayton football hoodie. Before I can respond, Cat wraps one of her arms around his waist, her eyes wide. "How many drinks have you had?"

"She's fine, Connie," Cat says. If there's one person that can make my brother relax, it's got to be Catherine. He looks down at her and lets out a deep breath. She turns to me. "You're good, right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. You can both stop treating me like a baby," I mutter, sulking like… Well, like a baby. Both of their eyes zero in on me, not listening to my bullshit. I try again. "I'm fine, seriously."

"Well, when you stop feeling ‘fine,' let us know," Connor says as he tugs Cat to his side.

"Thanks, Dad," I say, smiling wide. He rolls his eyes at my comment, and I bark out a laugh. "I'm going to the bathroom. Do either of you want to escort me?" They both shake their heads. "Thought not."

I slide past them, trying to navigate around the new bar we've been hanging out at.

Ignoring the 2000's sounds playing from the speakers that would usually get me hyped up, I make my way to the bathroom, shutting myself in a stall.

I've got this.

Flirting and talking to guys is my thing. If I can do it on stage and write about it in my screenplays, I can do it in real life.

I don't know how Ryan is still inside my head.

No matter how hard I try to move on, something goes wrong whenever I try to talk to a guy. It's been years since I've had to try to get anyone"s attention, and it turns out I'm just as boring as I vowed not to be. The best way I'm going to get over this is if I can get over him emotionally and physically.

After a quick pee and a spruce-up of my makeup in the mirror, I smooth out my black dress and hope that my cowgirl look with my boots gets me in the bed of some handsome stranger tonight.

My life goes from bad to fucking unbearable when I push open the bathroom door and collide right into Ryan's chest.

Why does he have to smell so good? He has that signature man scent – woodsy, dark, and spicy. He recently got a buzzcut, but his dark green eyes have always been the same. They're the kind of eyes I could lose myself in.

Despite the stereotypes of what theater kids are like, he has the slight bad-boy energy about him that always drew me in. Especially now in the confines of dim lighting in the back of a bar where everything slips away for a second.

"Hey, Nor," he says, his voice gruff and low. He steps back, steadying me with one hand on my shoulder. "How are you?"

I blink up at him, words failing me. I can't remember the last time he touched me. The last time anyone has touched me. His tight grip on my shoulder sends electric jolts through my body, causing me to shiver despite the heat.

I need to get my body under control immediately.

I hold my head up. "I'm great."

That's all I can get out. No matter how attractive he is, no matter how many times we broke up and got back together, he hurt me more than anyone that I know. I shouldn't be getting tongue-tied over him and letting him distract me from my goal.

Right now, that means getting away from him and finally conquering the irrational fear I have about moving on.

He tilts his head. "Really? You looked a bit distracted at auditions last week."

I hate how right he is.

This year, we're doing a famous musical to perform at Drayton, as well as working on our individual end-of-year projects. The class is divided into writers, directors, actors, and editors. It gets us right in the jist of what it would be like on a Hollywood set or backstage on Broadway. This year, we're doing Hamilton, which just so happens to be my favorite musical. I always felt like I was born to play Angelica, but I completely butchered my audition. I've been so out of it recently, and the auditions came at the wrong fucking time. I'd be surprised if I even get to play an extra.

"Maybe I was just repulsed by seeing your face," I challenge, locking my eyes with his and keeping my voice calm.

He scoffs. "Using insults to hide the fact that you're upset. Nice one, Nor," he whispers, stepping closer to me. My back hits the wall. I try to say something, but the words fail me, and my lips part. "I think you're forgetting just how well I know you. You always do that when you're lying about how you feel."

My heartbeat increases, and my palms instantly gather sweat.

It's just the bar.

That's the only explanation as to why my body is reacting like this to him, of all people.

And it might have to do with the fact that he has known me longer than I can remember. He met me as an awkward teenager, and he loved me instantly.

Or, I thought he did.

I told him things I never thought I would tell anyone, and he listened to me. He understood my dreams, and he promised to help me get there. He took care of me, and when he did something wrong, he'd apologize. It was the bare minimum, but then, it was enough for me. It felt like it was more than enough. I would have done just about anything to feel loved.

"I'm not," I whisper finally.

"You are."

I hold my chin up higher. "Why don't you go and talk to your new girlfriend and leave me alone? Or have you forgotten about her already? Seems to be your thing, doesn't it?"

His jaw grinds together at the mention of Daisy. He leans into me again, his hand dropping on the wall beside my head. I inhale a sharp breath, my eyes dipping to his full lips for a second before meeting his gaze.

"You're jealous." I stay quiet, hoping my eyes are telling him enough. "You need to get over it, Nor."

His statement lands the blow he intended, and my stomach coils tighter with anxiety.

Again, I can't speak because he does the one thing he knows will make me weak.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and brings his mouth close to my neck.

I'm letting him get under my skin again, and I shouldn't. But the gentle way he handles me makes my legs feel like jelly. When he presses the softest kiss to the tattoo just under my ear, I sigh, melting back into the wall.

"As hot as it is seeing you get jealous, baby," he whispers, his mouth still against my neck, "We both know we're not getting back together. You really need to get over this."

The force in his voice snaps me back to reality.

I push against his chest, feeling the embarrassment on my cheeks as I am this close to kissing him for real. "I am over it," I say with conviction, needing to believe it as I rush away from him.

What was I thinking?

I have nothing to use as an excuse. He was just there with his usual charm and sexy face, saying all the right things… Until he didn't.

When am I going to get it into my head that he doesn't need me anymore? He doesn't want me. He just wants to mess around with me and watch me fall like a star out of the sky while he takes center stage. That is his plan, and I can't let it follow through. I really–

"Hey, hey, hey. Where are you going, Sunshine?"

I stop my tantrum at the sound of my best friend's voice.

Taking a deep breath, I pause in my tracks before I turn around.

Wes Mackenzie is standing in front of me in a red shirt and black jeans, a blow-up microphone in his hand, and blue, hugely oversized glasses over his eyes. Just the sight of him causes me to calm down, which is weird, considering every time I'm around him, he's doing something stupid enough to give me a heart attack.

He steps closer to me, pulling off the glasses and tucking them in his shirt when I don"t say anything. He holds up the blow-up microphone to himself, talking into it. His voice is softer this time, less urgent. "Where are you going, Sunshine?"

I roll my eyes as he holds out the microphone to me. "Home," I answer into it.

His eyes narrow, pulling the mic back to himself. "What? I can't really hear you. You're going to have to talk louder than that, Nor."

He holds out the microphone to me again. "I said I'm going home!"

"Jesus, you don't have to shout," he retorts. I lift my arms in disbelief. It's like being friends with a child. Wes shakes his head at me, pulling my hand and dragging me towards the bar, sliding into the stool. I sit in the one next to him. "Why do you wanna go already? You guys just got here."

I shrug, pulling out one of the straws from the cup and twisting it until it pops. "Yeah, well, I've got no reason to stay anymore."

"You do. You've got me." How did I know that would have been his response? Wes fully believes that he can solve every problem to ever exist with himself as the answer. Unfortunately, I don't know how much he can help right now other than distracting me from my overthinking brain for a few hours. He's pretty good at that.

"Right. How could I forget?" I pull out another straw. I hand one to him, and we twist them again until they pop.

He bumps his shoulder into mine. "Don't be such a grump, Nora."

"I can be a grump if I want to," I say, turning in my chair.

His gray eyes meet mine. "You could, or you could try to move on. To someone better than him, perhaps." He taps his chin, pretending to think. "Come to think of it, it shouldn't be that hard because he's an asshole."

The anger in his voice makes me want to laugh no matter how right he is. Wes is such a loveable guy that it's weird to hear him talking shit about someone. He usually saves all his bad-mouthing for characters on a TV show or on the football field. But he makes special reservations for Ryan Valla. Reservations I wish I had taken more notice of before.

"Yeah, I know," I reply, trying my hardest to ignore the ache that has been weighing on my chest for months. I change the subject. "How is training going? You know… With your dad and everything."

Talking about Wes's dad has been a sore topic since he found out his dad has been cheating on his mom with their assistant football coach. Oliva Hardon somehow had the balls to wreck someone"s family when she knew his son played for the team she coaches. She has some fucking nerve. I can only imagine how hard this season will be for him, with his dad coaching the team.

"Well," he sighs, "It could be worse. Pre-season is fine for now, but I know he's going to be on my ass come October."

I groan. "This doesn't look like our year, Wessy boy."

"Says who?"

"I did. You kinda just did. The universe is clearly against us. I also saw a video saying something about how Scorpios and Geminis are going to go through it this year, so we're pretty much fucked." I list them off on my finger lazily, watching as his mouth turns into a frown.

"Me and you, Stargirl? We're going to have the best fucking year of our lives now that you've said that," he says, gripping my shoulders and shaking me. "Reverse psychology works."

"I don't think that–"

He cuts me off. "Wanna get drunk?"

When Wes Mackenzie asks me a question as stupid as that, I usually think of all the things that go wrong. I was already this close to crawling back into bed with my ex today, so maybe getting drunk with my friends will cure it.

Fuck it.