Falling: A Fake Dating College Hockey Romance (North University Book 1)
Falling: Chapter 11

“Can everyone get out so I can sterilize the environment before she comes over?”

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve tried to get my friends and their BO out of the house before Wren turns up.

I knew it would be a bad idea letting my teammates come over tonight. Usually, Friday nights are pretty laid back with me, Xavier, and Evan, but I was persuaded into letting Harry and Grayson come over too. I haven’t seen them much since I’ve been avoiding the rink, and they put up a good fight about how much they’ve missed me. They’ve been playing on the PlayStation for the last three hours, and I don’t think they’ve looked away from the screen once.

“So, are you going to tell us who this mystery girl is?” Grayson asks through a mouthful of mini pretzels as I pick up an empty chip packet from next to him.

“Not really,” I say, moving into the kitchen.

“It’s Wren Hackerly,” Xavier says. I shoot him a look through the open kitchen, and he shrugs. There goes my plans to keep it a secret until we announce our relationship. I haven’t told Xavier about our plan yet, but he knows I’m hanging out with her tonight. If Wren tells me I can let him in on it, I’ll consider it, but right now, it feels like something that should stay between the two of us.

“Wait. Is that Miss Hackerly’s daughter?” Harry asks in his thick Australian accent, which I still haven’t gotten used to. He’s a freshman, and he’s ridiculously good in goal. He’s probably been the best addition to our team this year. We met a few times during hockey camp over the last two summers, and he quickly became one of my closest friends.

“Yeah. We played Just Dance with Wren and her friends at that party, remember?”

His eyes widen as he turns to me. “That was the Wren Hackerly?” I nod and he shakes his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I saw what happened at that competition last semester where that idiot dropped her. It was all online the second I turned up here.”

I hum in response.

Her words have been ringing in my head since I bumped into her at Florentino’s. I know what happened circled around social media, but she always seems so unaffected that I didn’t even question how badly she must have taken the hit. I can only imagine how it would feel to have everyone talking about you and your relationship.

“Yeah, that looked like it sucked,” Grayson adds. “She’s hot, but she acts like she’s got a cork stuck up her ass.” Grayson laughs, and my chest tightens.

I flick him on the back of his head. “Shut your mouth, Gray.”

“I’m just saying, if you’re replaceing someone to sleep with, you’re better off looking somewhere else,” he says.

“Well, it’s a good job I’m not trying to sleep with her, isn’t it?” The room erupts into laughter like they think I’m joking. I don’t think Wren even tolerates me just as a human. I’m sure sleeping together is the last thing on her mind. I sit across from them and pull out my phone.

I wait a while for a response, but ten minutes go by without anything. Panic slowly starts to build in me as I pace around the house, making sure everything looks presentable. She’s either bailing on me or something has happened. I consider reaching out to one of her friends, but I don’t want to seem desperate, so I sit and wait for something to happen.

An hour goes by, and the house is empty when she finally responds.

Ten minutes of more completely chilled and not dramatic panicking later, I’m opening the door to a sweaty and puffy-faced Wren. She’s wearing cycling shorts and a sports bra, a duffel bag in her hand. Her blonde hair is tied back into a messy ponytail, flyaways sticking to her forehead. With the way her chest is heaving, I can see the faint outlines of her abs, and I’ve never seen anything more attractive.

My smile widens as I open the door, letting her walk in. She waves her hands around frantically, shooting out apologies. I stop in front of her, resting my hands on her shoulders to force her to take a deep breath. She’s still panting, and it takes her a while to focus on my eyes.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I was at practice, and I went to the gym after and lost track of time. And God, I smell like ass.” She rambles, all of her words merging into one. She scrunches her nose, shaking her head, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Hey, just take a deep breath,” I whisper. I rub my thumb against her collarbone, and she relaxes slightly, taking in a deep breath. “Are you okay? You seem a little…” I give her another once over.

“Tense? On edge?” I nod. She rolls her eyes. “My mom’s just getting in my head this week. It’s nothing. I was planning on working off my energy on the ice, and it just got too much. I’m sorry, again.”

“You don’t have to apologize; it’s okay,” I say. I drop my hands from her shoulders, leading her into the kitchen. I try not to focus on the fact that this is the first time that she’s been in my house. I’ve got nothing to worry about now that I’ve spent the last two hours stress-cleaning. “We can do this at another time if you want.”

“No! It was my fault I was late.” I turn, raising my eyebrows at her outburst. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. I pull out a glass and pour her some water, handing it to her. She downs it in three gulps and places it back on the countertop. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and sighs deeply.

God. It’s like she’s begging me to fall for her.

“Sorry, that was gross.”

“It was hot.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Can I use your shower? I came straight here, and I really don’t feel comfortable talking about our plan as I’m drenched in sweat.”

“Of course,” I say. I nod at her to follow me up the stairs. It’s weird with the house being so quiet and even weirder having Wren actually in my space. I’ve always thought my house was some sacred cave that I could escape to, and now she’s here, and nothing has ever felt more natural.

She gasps when she enters my room.

The walls are painted a dark gray, filled with movie and hockey posters. My dresser is stacked with textbooks and sports magazines, and the romance book that Wren got me is on the side of them. I highlighted a few of the scenes I actually enjoyed, and I plan on giving it back to her for her to see when I’m done. I got rid of the alcohol in my mini fridge, and it sits in a corner, stocked with soda and water.

“Did you clean this just for me?” Wren asks as she walks over to my pile of books. She snorts when she sees The McDavid Effect sitting proudly on the top. She turns around, leaning against the desk as she crosses her arms against her chest.

“This is actually the only room I didn’t clean,” I admit, stepping toward her. “Clean room equals clear mind.”

“Is that right?”

“Yup,” I say. She nods, tilting her head up to me, and her green eyes lock with mine. My hands itch to do something. To touch her. To help erase whatever stress she feels in this moment. “Are you surprised?”

“Actually, yes,” she says, “You’re making it very hard not to like you, Miles.”

I tuck the few strands of hair that have fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear, and her breath hitches. “As a friend?”

“Yes, as a friend,” she says, flashing me a sarcastic grin as she slides away from me. I turn to replace her ruffling through her duffel bag, her ass molded in those tight fucking shorts. She groans, dropping her head between her shoulders. “Fuck me.”

Believe me, I want to.

I clear my throat. “Is everything okay?”

She turns. “I left my clean clothes in my locker. You’re going to have to put up with me smelling like shit.”

“You don’t smell like shit, and you can just wear something of mine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to, like, invade your personal space,” she mutters, looking through her bag again before giving up. I’m already looking through my drawers before I reply.

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal. You can invade my personal space whenever you want as long as you let me invade yours,” I say, turning to her with a towel, faded white NU Bears tee, and some shorts. I hand them to her and nod to the door in the corner of my room. “The bathroom is just through there.”

She walks over, and I drop back on the bed, dragging my hands down my face. I’m going to need to learn how to focus when she’s around. If I want this to work, I can’t get caught up thinking about her ass or the millions of places I want to touch her.

“I don’t usually do this,” she says softly.

I sit up. “Do what? Shower at your fake boyfriend’s house?”

“I mean, I’m usually more put together than this,” she explains, grimacing at herself. I nod in understanding, not sure what else to say. I don’t care if she’s messy or not put together. I think it’s one of the most admirable things about her.

Maybe letting Wren shower here wasn’t the best idea.

It was an even worse idea letting her borrow my clothes because she looks too good in them, and she smells like me. My shirt clings to her body in places that haven’t dried properly, and I can see through it.

Right through it.

She walked out, crossed her arms against her chest, and told me not to laugh. I don’t think I could even get any words out with how hard I am. This celibacy is not doing me any favors the more that I think about it.

Now, she’s sitting beside me on the bed, and I was smart enough to put a pillow in my lap.

“No one can know that this is fake apart from our closest friends,” Wren says, writing down another rule in her notebook. We could have just typed them up, but she says this will help her remember better. “Scarlett and Kennedy only know because they suggested it.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “Xavier will probably figure it out eventually, and I trust him to keep quiet about it.”

She hums, writing that down too.

We’ve agreed to do this whole fake dating thing until her showcase at the end of December, which gives us around two months. If it doesn’t work, we’ll reevaluate to prepare to get me into some of the winter games so I can help get us into the regional semis and the finals. The hockey season is just beginning, and the quicker I can get myself back into training, the faster I can get back on the ice. I’ve got more than enough time to convince Coach Tucker to let me back onto the team.

“Okay, so what about our families? Are we fooling them, too, or should we rule that out?” she asks.

My body stiffens, and I shrug. “We can come to it when the time comes.”

Her eyes soften, and she nods. “My mom kind of already knows. I didn’t even tell her anything; she just knows these things. My dad is probably going to be interested, too, and I haven’t caught up with him in a while. Are you okay with that?”

I nod. “The last time I spoke to your mom, she was close to kicking me out, so I’m sure she’ll be thrilled that I’m dating her daughter.”

“Trust me, no one is going to live up to her precious Augustus,” she mumbles, and I pretend that the comment doesn’t get to me. From what I’ve gathered, the guy is a dick. He was stupid enough to let go of the best thing that probably ever happened to him. “We should make a big deal of us hanging out a few times a week and staying over at each other’s houses. It just shows it’s more serious than casual sex. If we go to parties, we need to attend and leave together to give no one a reason to suspect anything is wrong.”

“That’s good,” I say.

This whole thing is making me feel stupid. I have no clue what’s on-and-off limits, but Wren has been taking the lead on it. I’ve just been agreeing to everything and trying not to look at the outline of her tits under her shirt.

“What about PDA?” I ask, clearly thinking with my dick.

“What about it?”

“Is it going to be a problem?” I ask. She continues writing whatever it is in her journal. “I’m an affectionate person, princess.” Again, she doesn’t say anything. “Okay, so I’m just going to assume that making out, hand-holding, ass-grabbing, and anything up to second base is on the table.”

That grabs her attention. Her head shoots up, her cheeks flushed, and I can’t help but smirk to myself.

“Only if absolutely necessary,” she says, pulling down the shirt to cover more of her thighs. “And we don’t need to be affectionate with each other if we’re alone unless we’re taking photos. Got it?”

I ignore her last addition as she writes it down. “Shouldn’t we at least kiss once so we know what we’re doing?”

I press my hand to her knee, and she tenses beneath my touch. Her skin is warm and smooth and so fucking tempting. She closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath before placing her hand over mine. She lets out a noise between a groan and a laugh as she takes my hand off her.

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?”

“Plenty.”

“Then we should be fine.” I roll my eyes, pushing myself up against the wall beside my bed. “Okay, my last and most important rule.” I dip my head to her to continue. “Rule number five. If things get too real for either of us, we have to tell each other. I mean real feelings beyond attraction. It could mess things up, and that’s the last thing either of us need.”

A wicked grin spreads across my face as her cheeks heat up again. “Worried you’ll fall in love with me, Wrenny girl?”

“No, Miles. It’s you that I’m worried about,” she replies.

I hate how right she is. All she has to do is look at me and I’m a goner. One look and I’d devour her. If she wasn’t so committed to keeping our friendship purely platonic, we wouldn’t be sitting on my bed talking right now.

“What about my side of the deal?” I ask.

“You’ll come to the gym with me, and we’ll figure out a good food plan for you to follow. I’ll do my own research on hockey training in the meantime and see if we can get you back on the ice,” she says, grinning. She’s clearly very enthusiastic about working out, and I couldn’t think of anything worse right now.

“Sounds good to me,” I say. “It’s Sophia Aoki’s birthday party this weekend, so we could go to that as our first public outing.” The second I say the word “party,” she groans. “What? Don’t tell me you’re against parties.”

“I’m not against them, I just don’t like them. I hate the feeling of being drunk, and I hate being around strangers who are,” she admits, shuddering. She leans into me and whispers, “Barcelona.”

“What the fuck happened in Barcelona?” I ask. She shrugs. “You keep giving me these tidbits of information, Wren, and it’s not that useful when I’m trying to get to know you. Please tell me what happened in Barcelona.”

She laughs. “It was the last time I got drunk, and I haven’t been to a party since.”

“You were at one the day I met you.”

“That’s because my friends forced me to go and it’s their idea of a good time,” she argues, and I don’t push her on it. “I’m fine with going along, but just don’t expect me to drink and have a blast of a time.”

“A blast of a time?” I echo. She nods. “Is that what you think I’m having when I go to a party?”

“I mean, yeah, don’t you? You go, have a few beers, take off your shirt, and run around with your friends. Some girl will replace that pathetically attractive, you’ll sleep with her, go home, and then do the same thing every weekend.”

A laugh rumbles out of me. “Wow, you’ve really got me all figured out, huh?” She shrugs again, but I can tell that the idea of going to a party is worrying her. She must think she’s got this whole I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude down pat, but I can see right through her. She’s been on edge since she got here, and I’d do just about anything to help her feel less alone. To help ease any worries she has. “If I ask you something, will you promise to answer me?”

Her eyebrows crease as she traces a pattern on her knee. “It depends what it is.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask gently, not trying to pry but to get her attention.

Her eyes lift to mine, and I catch the hurt in them. It’s only now, with how close we’re sitting, that I notice that one of her eyes is more blue than green. Is she just going to get more beautiful every time I see her?

“What?”

“You said you’re going through something with your mom, and today is the first time I’ve seen you out of control,” I explain. “You’re always in control. You’re always organized and put together. Even on the ice, your movements are sharp and perfect. I want to know that you’re okay. If I can help you in any way beyond this, I just want you to know that you can ask me.”

I watch her features transform and her lip quiver. “Fuck, Miles,” she says, tilting her head back. My heart races, and I reach out to comfort her because she’s clearly about to cry. I squeeze her knee reassuringly, but she crosses her legs, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them. “No. Don’t. I just— If you touch me, I’m going to start crying, and I hate crying.”

I nod in understanding. “Will you talk to me at least?”

I hate the idea of her thinking that she’s alone or that she can’t talk to me. We can joke around, and she can make fun of me all she wants, but she’s got to know that I actually care about her. I value her. I care about her opinion and what she wants.

“You’ve met my mom. You know how she is,” she starts, resting her chin on her knees. “She’s basically been my coach since I was four. She’s always had my back when my other coaches would push me too far, but I think it just gave her an excuse to handle the situation. She had a bad accident when she was in her early twenties and there’s no way she could dance or skate again. So when my sister and I came along, we wanted to follow in her footsteps. Austin does ballet, and she’s one of the best in the world. Figure skating always stuck with me. It always just felt like my thing, even if my mom tries to overpower it. There’s just this constant struggle between who is in control of my life, and sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be me.”

My heart breaks for her, and she continues talking, the words rushing out of her. “I don’t think I’m being used by my mom because she loves me, and she cares about me enough to know what my limits are, and she wouldn’t do that to me. But sometimes, instead of her holding my hand, it feels like she’s got her hand on my neck. She’ll say things, leave little comments about how she wishes I was still her little girl where I’d spin for her, dance for her, and do everything for her. But my perceptions of my childhood and the ones she’s tried to paint for me are two very different things.”

My hands itch to hold her. “Jesus Christ, Wren. I’m sorry.”

She shrugs, a smile twitching on her lips as she meets my gaze. “I don’t know why I’ve let her get under my skin this week. I think it just makes me do better. It pushes me to keep going, you know?” She sighs, shaking her head with a wry laugh. “Maybe I should unpack in therapy.”

I swallow. “You should.”

“Are you telling me to go to therapy, Davis?”

“I go to therapy. It’s not that big of a deal, and it could help,” I suggest.

“But that’s different,” she says. “You lost your best friend, Miles. I just have stupid mommy issues, and I often think of emancipation.”

“And you don’t think that deserves a therapist’s attention?”

She shakes her head firmly. “Not if it takes away spaces from other people who really need it. I’d hate to be the reason someone else doesn’t get the help they need because of the problems I’ve pretty much brought on myself.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Who takes care of you?”

She shrugs. “I do.”

I stare at her, and she looks at me like she really means it.

I want to change that. In whatever way I can, I want to be the reason why she doesn’t have to be alone anymore. I can’t even fathom the idea of this girl believing that she always has to be responsible for taking care of herself instead of sharing that burden with someone else.

She drops her knees from her chest and slides off the bed, picking up her duffel bag. “I think I should go. This therapy session has been great and all, but I’ve got to get up early tomorrow.”

“And we’re on for the party next week?”

“Of course.”

“And you’ll tell me if you change your mind?”

“I’ll tell you if I change my mind.” She smiles. “Thanks for the shirt. I’ll give it back next week.”

“Don’t bother. It looks better on you anyway,” I say. She rolls her eyes, smiling before turning to leave. I jump to my feet, gripping onto her forearm, pulling her toward me. “Wait.” Her eyes flicker to mine, searching my face for an answer. “Can I give you a hug? You look like you need a hug.”

She nods, and I think she doesn’t speak to stop herself from crying. I hold my arms out, letting her make the decision, and she steps into me. It might be the best feeling I’ve had in my entire life.

Her body melts into mine, and her head rests against my chest, where my heart is beating fast. She inhales, and when she sighs, it’s like I can feel the weight slowly being lifted off her shoulders. I wonder how many times she’s been hugged in her life. How many times has someone seen the sadness in her eyes and taken the initiative to give her a hug?

I don’t ease up on her, and I let her take control. I hold her tight and let her decide how long she wants to hug me for, and I don’t care if we stand here all night. She clings to me like she’s never been held before, and just that thought is enough to break me. Her arms tighten around my back, her nails digging into my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll let go.

She sniffles, and I cup the back of her head, smoothing my hand down her hair, and her shoulders shake. “I’ve got you, princess,” I murmur, holding her as close as possible. The sound of a sharp sob rips through my heart, and I know she doesn’t want me to look at her while she cries, so I don’t. I keep her pressed to me, whispering, “I’ve got you.”

We stay like that for a while until she’s stopped crying, but her face is still pressed into my shirt. I thread my fingers through her hair, and she doesn’t tell me to stop. Her hair is soft and silky, and I can tell doing this relaxes her. She lets me do it for a few more seconds before she pulls apart from me, swiping at her eyes, and she gives me a weak smile.

“If you tell anyone about that, I’ll murder you,” she croaks out, her voice heavy with emotion.

I hold my hands up in defense. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

When I walk her downstairs and to her car, I make it a personal mission of mine to be the support she’s never had.