Falling: A Fake Dating College Hockey Romance (North University Book 1)
Falling: Chapter 3

I scan the house Xavier and I just walked into, and I’m bored and satisfied all at the same time.

I’ve been wasting away my nights, drinking cheap beer at parties like these until I can’t see straight. There’s something strangely comforting about intoxicated and happy strangers. I’ll get caught up in conversations I don’t want to have, and it always settles me a little. It’s like a touch of reality in the empty nothingness that has taken over my brain. It makes this whole “moving on” thing feel a little less daunting.

Xavier peels to meet one of his friends, and I take the beers I brought into the kitchen, grabbing myself a cold one out of the fridge. We’ve not even been here for ten minutes, and the music is already getting to me, thrashing hard against my skull as I take a gulp of my beer.

The liquid goes down the wrong pipe, and I cough over the skin. I gasp and sputter, trying to breathe normally. Maybe this is some sign from the gods that I should stop this pity party I’ve been throwing myself and get my act together.

A soft hand reaches my back, moving in a slow, awkward circle. My entire body tenses at the contact, and I try to pull away, still trying to catch my breath. Only I would be able to embarrass myself like this today.

“Take it easy, big guy,” someone says from behind me, and whoever it is is trying really hard not to laugh just from the sound of their voice.

I turn around, almost stumbling when I see the girl in front of me.

She’s got deep-green eyes, the kind that lure you in,, and thick lashes that are blinking up at me, and a gleam in her eyes that shows the humor I thought was there just from the sound of her voice. Her hair isn’t just blonde, it looks golden, despite the shitty lighting of this house.

I’ve been floating outside my own body, watching myself from afar for so long that I can’t even pinpoint where I know her from. When I look back down to her, her eyes latching onto mine, I realize it.

I take my time to put the pieces together, shaking my head a little to clear my thoughts. She’s Hackerly’s daughter. She must be. The resemblance between her and the girl I saw in the photos is uncanny. The same eyes that followed me around that room are staring up at me now, and I should probably say something.

I blink myself back to reality, and when I do, she’s closer, her arm by my shoulder.

Wait.

What?

“Sorry. I’m just looking for some water.” She lets out a nervous chuckle, snapping me out of my trance, and I move out of the way, clearing her access to the fridge. Jesus Christ. I haven’t been that caught up in just looking at someone in months. She reaches for a bottle, and I finally think of something to say.

“You’re the AD’s daughter, right?” I ask, closing my eyes before opening them again.

As the athletic director at NU, no one has really known what to call Miss Hackerly, and if we’re not calling her AD, she’s usually referred to as “Hacks.” She’s a stick-in-the-mud, but she’s kept the sports department afloat for years.

The girl freezes at my question before pushing a strand of hair out of her face, a tight smile on her lips. “Yeah, I am,” she says. I know I’m the last person she wants to speak to given her expression, but that only makes me want to talk to her more. I’m holding out my hand before I can even think about it. She glances at my outstretched hand, narrowing her eyes. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“Miles Davis,” I say. She hesitates before slipping her hand into mine. It’s small in comparison, but I ignore the electric shocks that travel through my brain from where our hands meet. Getting electric shocks over a girl is new to me.

“Wren,” she replies, pulling back her hand to grip onto her bottle.

Some weird alarm bell is blaring in my brain, saying, STAY, TALK, SPEAK, DO SOMETHING TO MAKE HER STAY. Maybe it’s the thing people say when firefighters get attached to people that they save or the other way around. Maybe her saving me from choking just then has forged some invisible string between us. I’ve never wanted to talk to someone as much as I do her, so, naturally, I don’t say anything. I just stare like a weirdo because nothing comes to my brain to start a conversation with a pretty girl.

“Hackerly,” she blurts out, her face scrunching up before it relaxes. I blink at her, watching all the muscles in her face smooth out, and a splash of color washes against her cheeks.

“What?”

“My last name. It’s Hackerly,” she confirms. I already got that, but for some reason, I’m making this way more awkward than it needs to be. She must be thinking it too because she goes on. “I felt like I should have said it since you told me your last name, but given you know my mom, I guess you already knew.”

I blink at her again because that’s what I’m reduced to as I try to decipher her word vomit. I’ve only known her a few minutes, but she seems like the put-together, has an itinerary for when she goes to the bathroom type. The kind that schedules every second of her life to perfection, leaving things like parties and random get-togethers in a frat basement at the bottom of her well-crafted list. Having Miss Hackerly as a mom, I wouldn’t be surprised.

I clear my throat, forcing words to come out so I don’t completely embarrass myself. “Thanks for confirming that. I don’t know how I would have coped without that information.”

Her eyes narrow. “Well, you were just staring at me and not saying anything.”

“I didn’t mean to stare, it just started… happening,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut to replace a better response. Of course, nothing happens.

She laughs, and the sound is unnerving. It’s carefree, stupid, and beautiful all at the same time. “No, you just caught me off guard, that’s all. I wasn’t really expecting to interact with anyone today. Let alone save you from choking on a beer.”

“Well, thank you for saving my life,” I say, my mouth twitching up into a smile. She just shrugs like it’s no big deal, and I can tell she’s debating cutting this conversation and making a run for it. I want her to stay. Her company is the most I’ve had outside my team since we lost Carter, and wallowing in a corner is starting to get old.

“Why would you come to a party if you don’t want to socialize with anyone?” I ask.

“My friends can be very persuasive.” She shrugs again, locking her hands behind her back, the bottle crinkling beneath the pressure. Her eyes meet mine, and she sighs. “I got some pretty bad news earlier, so they thought this would cheer me up.”

“Is it working?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m—” A loud screech pierces through the music, and our attention is drawn to the living room, where I didn’t notice a very heated game of Just Dance is being played by a group of girls, some of my teammates mingling around trying not to be obvious as they stare. I turn back to Wren as she buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god.”

“Are those your friends?” I gesture to the two brunettes dancing with their hands in the air, not at all following the instructions on the screen. The girl with curly hair is doing some weird body roll thing while the other one films her, both of their faces red with heat. Wren peeks through her fingers, shaking her head at them.

“Unfortunately,” she replies, grumbling. “They really shouldn’t be allowed outside of the house, let alone anywhere near alcohol.”

The girls look like they’re having a good time, but Wren looks mortified. I can’t help the grin that pulls at my lips at her secondhand embarrassment. I bump my shoulder into hers. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. Those idiots that are checking them out are my friends, Harry and Grayson. I’d much rather have them dance like your friends than be the weirdos in the corner daring each other to do stupid shit.”

She snorts, covering her mouth when the sound leaves her. “Right. So, what’s your excuse for not hanging out with them? You seem like the type to… What the fuck are they doing? Are they trying to drink beer through spaghetti?”

“Not trying, Wren. They are mastering the art of Spaghetti Straw,” I say. She shakes her head, watching them with a curious expression. That’s just the kind of people Grayson and Harry are. Harry’s the youngest on our team, and I’m sure Grayson bribed him in one way or another to do his bidding. “It’s the same reason as yours actually. I got some bad news from my coach, and I’ve been benched, so my friends thought this would cheer me up too.”

Turning to me to echo the same question I asked her, she asks, “Is it working?”

I shrug. “Now that I’ve got someone to talk to, yeah.”

She lets out a snobby little “hm” sound, probably assuming I’m doing some dumbass play to hook up with her. If I had the energy, I probably would. She’s easy to talk to and fucking beautiful, but I’m not interested in doing anything more than having a good time.

I break the silence between us by saying, “Do you ever just wish you could drink all day, say fuck it to the consequences, and spend all the time you want in your room?”

“You can. It’s called alcoholism.”

I don’t even respond to that because I know how stupid I must sound. I can’t remember the last time I had an actual conversation with someone, and it shows.

We watch our respective friend groups from this side of the kitchen, both of them so different yet so similar at the same time. Neither of us have said anything, and I’ve forgotten how to make friends. How to talk to people without being awkward. It’s never been hard for me, but Wren doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would want to be friends with someone like me anyway.

When her friends—Kennedy and Scarlett, I figured out when she yelled at them to calm down and neither one of them listened—have moved on to a different dance, roping in some other girls, I turn to Wren.

“Do you wanna dance?”

She looks taken aback at my question, and her eyebrows shoot to her forehead. “What?”

“You got taken out to have a good night. If us silently standing here while we watch our friends have a good time is what you call fun, then excuse me, but I think we should give tonight a shot,” I explain. She surveys my features, probably to see if I’m being serious. I sigh, reiterating my point. “You got taken out to have a good night, so you’re going to have a good night, Wren. I promise you.”

She scoffs. “Is this your thing? You just go around replaceing girls who are in need of a good time?” I tilt my head to the side playfully, and her eyes widen. “Wait. No. That didn’t come out the way it was supposed to.”

“Sure it didn’t,” I say, slinging one arm over her shoulder and pulling her to my side. My arm sizzles with the warmth of her skin, the proximity doing weird things to my insides. She smells good too—like fall and summer rolled into one. I point at our friends, who are now arguing over who should play in the game. “Let’s play against them and see who wins. Me and my friends against you and yours.”

“What’s the point? I’m going to win,” she says. So fucking bold and confident. If that isn’t a turn-on, I don’t know what is.

“You are, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ve been taking dance classes since I was four, and I’m a figure skater. It’s basically in my blood,” she explains. I look down at her, and she tilts her head up to mine.

“You skate?”

“Yeah, I’m on Darcy’s squad at NU.”

That catches my attention. “What do you study?”

“Literature and creative writing,” she says.

“Huh,” I murmur. I try to place a face on the girl I’ve seen skating around at the rink when I’m on my way to practice, but I can’t tell if it’s her or not. It makes sense. She’s built like a figure skater, snarky and confident in all the ways that I replace stupidly attractive. “Well, I’m captain of the hockey team, so I’m a pretty good dancer.”

She laughs again, and I want to keep making her do that. “Those two things don’t relate to each other, like, at all.”

Her eyes sparkle, and I replace myself saying, “Wanna make a bet?”

“That depends.”

“If you win, I’ll go to a dance class of your choosing. I’ll do pole dancing if you want, ballet, hip-hop. I don’t care. Anything you want and I’ll do it.” Her eyes widen with mischief at the mention of pole dancing. I can tell she’s imagining what that would look like, and her lips curve into a smile.

“And if you win?” she asks.

“I get to take you out on a date.”

She snorts again, and this time, making her laugh hurts a little. I know what everyone thinks the second I tell them I’m a hockey player. They think I walk around campus with a crown on my head, beckoning girls toward me like I have no soul. I usually let people think that. I let them make up their own judgments of me and don’t do anything to make them think otherwise. It’s better that way. But I don’t want Wren to think of me like that. For whatever reason, I want to impress her, and she doesn’t seem like the kind of girl that is impressed easily. I want her to see me for who I truly am, even when I’m losing sight of who that is.

“Why would I agree to that?” she asks breathlessly.

“Because you’re going to win, remember?” I wink at her, and she mumbles something before walking off to her friends.

I watch as she explains what’s going on, and I do the same to my friends. Grayson and Harry are already talking about strategies, and I cast a glance over at Wren. She looks serious, like she really doesn’t want to lose. Like she really doesn’t want to go on this date with me. Her poker face is admirable, really. And downright adorable.

The space in the living room clears out, and Grayson, Harry, and I are up first. The three girls watch us like the Chippettes from the Alvin and the Chipmunks movies, arms crossed against their chests as the music starts.

The game loads, and it’s all flashing lights and wild avatars dancing across the screen. We line up, our shadows flickering in the colorful glow from the TV. The room around us cheers, a few phones already out, capturing the moment.

As the song starts, we jump into action. I try to mirror the frenzied movements of the dancers on the screen, swinging my arms and sliding my feet, slightly off-beat, but I’m too far in now to care. Harry is surprisingly good, nailing almost every move, and Grayson is all over the place, his long limbs a hilarious hazard as he spins and jumps.

When the song ends, we’re breathless, our scores pop up on the screen. Harry throws his hands up in victory, a wild cheer escaping him as he beats us by a narrow margin. Whoever wins out of the girls will have to go up against Harry, and he needs to take this victory home so I can take Wren out.

We step back, and the girls come onto the makeshift dance floor, fiddling with the screen. I’m catching my breath, folded over the couch, and Wren steps between my legs, looking down at me. “I thought this was your thing, Miles. Or are you really all talk and no play?”

I look up to see Wren with a playful smirk on her lips, her arms crossed as she watches me struggle for air. I can’t help but smile, the rush of the game still tingling in my veins. “Oh, it’s definitely my thing,” I reply, trying to muster some of my earlier confidence. “Just warming up, you know? We might have to do a few more rounds to reach peak performance.”

Wren laughs, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Peak performance, huh? So, should I stick around for the grand finale or save myself the disappointment?”

I sit up straighter, waving to her to sit beside me. “Stick around. I promise you won’t be disappointed. I might even let you win a round to make it interesting.”

She raises an eyebrow, accepting the challenge as she settles down next to me. “Let me?” she echoes, her voice full of shock. “Miles, you’re out in the first round. You didn’t even come second place.” I roll my eyes, and she pats my chest before standing back up. “I’ll show you how it’s done, don’t worry.”

And she fucking does.

The dance is ridiculous and over-the-top, but she looks good doing it. Scarlett and Kennedy aren’t that bad either, but it’s Wren who steals the show and has the whole crowd cheering along with her. When she’s up against Harry, I almost forget which team I’m on. I replace myself stealing glances at Wren when she’s not looking, marveling at the way her eyes light up with each dance move and the way her laughter fills the room.

She catches me staring; something switches in her expression, and she stumbles a little. Her gaze snags on mine, and I tilt my head to the side, but she recovers quickly, shaking her head to try to get back in the game. Harry uses the opportunity to dance his little heart out, doing the best he can to catch up with her. After her misstep, she falls behind, and Harry takes the lead.

Grayson and I jump up in unison, cheering on our friend while Wren and the girls sulk at the side of us. Wren walks toward me, cheeks flushed a rosy pink, and her blonde hair that was slicked into a tight ponytail now flows loose on her shoulders. Kennedy points at Harry and starts accusing him of cheating even though we all watched the game and he won fair and square. Scarlett tries to back her up, and Wren just studies me.

“Now what?” She bites out the words like they’ve personally offended her.

“Now, you give me your number and I’ll pick you up on Friday at 5.”

Her eyes widen for what must be the tenth time tonight. “Are you being serious?”

“As the plague.” I hold up my fingers in the Scout’s Honor, my other hand on my chest. I pull out my phone, handing it to her, and she blinks at it before taking it up.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she mutters, typing her digits in.

“You better believe it, Wrenny. I’m going to rock your world,” I say, the nickname fitting her perfectly. She looks like sunshine, all cute and pretty, but her attitude is more like a storm.

She swats me on the arm. “Please don’t call me that.”

I nod at Gray and Harry to come with me so we can get going. “Friday at five, princess.”

“Did you just call me princess?” She runs a frustrated hand through the ends of her hair, shaking her head like she can’t believe this is happening. “You don’t even know where I live.”

I turn on my heels, and she lets out a frustrated breath-growl thing that has me laughing to myself as I walk toward the door. She shouts after me, and all I call back is, “Friday at five, Wrenny girl. I’ll see you.”

I walk out of the house, feeling a lot better than I did when I walked in here. For one of the first times in months, I know I’m going to be able to sleep without a drink in my hand and the memories of March might start to float away.