Falling: A Fake Dating College Hockey Romance (North University Book 1)
Falling: Chapter 6

After Miles gets me an autobiography of some hockey player I’ve never heard of, and I give him one of my favorite romance book recommendations, our deal has commenced. I never expected to agree to talking to him or seeing him more after today, but he’s not bad company.

I’ve found it exceptionally hard to make friends at college. I’ve always been so busy with my classes and practice that I’ve never really ventured out of my circle with Kennedy and Scarlett. I’m too exhausted to go out and make friends, and the fear of rejection has made me want to hide myself from everyone forever. Sometimes, being friends with Scarlett and Kennedy makes me wonder why I’d bother trying to make other friends in the first place.

Miles and I end up in an old 50s-style diner not too far from my apartment and the library. Weirdly, I’ve had a really good time today. Talking to him feels easy. There’s no pressure attached to it. There’s no weight on my shoulders that I have to mold myself into fitting into the perception of myself that he’s probably conjured up in his head. I can be myself around him and talk his ear off about books he’s never going to read. It’s weird how easily he’s inserted himself into my life and how natural it all feels. I can’t remember the last time I made a friend, and whatever we have going on is nice. Comforting.

I take another bite of the burger my mom would murder me for eating as Miles asks, “So, tell me, Wren, did I absolutely rock your world today, or what?”

I study him as I chew, watching the way he covers the entirety of his fries in ketchup before shoving them in his mouth. “I’ve had worse dates,” I say.

“If this is the best date you’ve ever been on, you can easily just say that.”

“I could,” I say, lifting one shoulder, “but I’m not going to.” He groans dramatically, pushing his brown hair out of his face. He mutters something to himself before stuffing his face with more food. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you go to the pole dancing class when it wasn’t part of your terms for winning the bet? You only would have had to go if I won, and we wouldn’t be sitting here if that was the case,” I explain. It’s been bugging me for the last few days. I don’t know any other person who would willingly put himself through that humiliation unless he had a good reason.

His mouth tugs into a grin. “Did you smile?”

“What?”

“When I sent you the video,” he explains, “did you smile when you saw it? Or, dare I say, laugh?”

I snort. “Yeah, I laughed. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He leans back, crossing his arms against his chest. “Well, there you go.”

“There I go, what?”

“My reason.”

“You did it so you could make me laugh?” I ask slowly, really trying to get the hang of this game he’s playing. Is it a game? Or have I just convinced myself that any guy that wants to get close to me is only doing it to fuck with my head?

“Sometimes, people don’t need any other reason,” he says.

Just those words alone make my heart do a weird stutter thing. A thing it hasn’t done in a long time. He says these things so easily, so naturally, as if it’s just supposed to make sense. Everything about our dynamic is still foreign to me. It’s fun, but it’s still strange.

I shake my head at him, fighting off a smile. “You’re ri⁠—’

“Ridiculous, I know. Can we just get to the part where you say that you’re cold, I give you my jacket, I walk you home, you pretend to forget something in my car and I run back up the stairs, and then we make out?”

I almost spray my mouthful of soda over my food but I stop myself. “What kind of rom-coms have you been watching?”

“Only the good ones,” he says. “When I was a kid, my sister would literally strap me to a chair and force me to watch rom-coms with her. She’d point at the screen and make it very clear who I should follow in the footsteps of. I think this was right after One Direction broke up, so she thought Zayn had broken up with her.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Is that why you’re so charming and respectful?”

His entire face glows with pride. “That’s one of the reasons.”

“Yeah? Why else?”

“Because I want to impress you, and I’m trying my hardest not to fuck this up,” he says, the words coming out with such sincerity it hits me right in the gut. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with a relationship, let alone a crush right now. Those things consume me. They turn me into a pathetic, horny monster, and I have too much riding on this year at NU to compromise it.

As I go to eat another fry, a few guys hover beside our table. This must be the third time this has happened in this diner alone. I’ve passed by here a few times with the girls, but we usually just grab a takeout. Maybe if we ate in, we would realize how much of NU’s population likes to hang out here. And we would have realized how much they love Miles Davis.

You’d think he’s walking around with a fucking crown on his head and has twenty-four-hour security surrounding him. I just see him as a conventionally attractive hockey player who seems to have more to him than this playboy personality I’ve been told about. To everyone else, he’s a god.

“Hey,” a ginger guy calls, his group following him over. They seem too young to be in college, and way too nervous to be talking to a normal guy.

“Hey, man. What’s up?” Miles says—the same thing he said to the other two people who interrupted our meal earlier.

The ginger guy stutters for a second before his buddy elbows him. “Hey, sorry to bother you. I just wanted to say how much our team appreciates you. We were watching your game at practice last night and the highlights from the Frozen Four last year.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Miles answers, nodding at the guys who might piss themselves with excitement. “You guys planning to go to NU?”

“Yeah, if we get in,” one of the guys says, and the rest of them hum in agreement.

“You guys go to Hollis, right?” Miles asks, nodding at their letterman jackets. They let out a chorus of “yeahs.” “Your coach is one of the best in the division. You’ll be fine. Just listen to what he says, and you’ll be good.”

They all let out a breath of relief as if Miles just admitted them onto North’s hockey team just like that. They make basic hockey small talk as I continue to eat my fries. Miles tried to involve me in the conversation, but I’m as clueless as they come when it comes to hockey. I’m more than happy to listen to him talk about it though. It’s the least I can do after I’ve spent the entire date talking about books.

A brief pause wedges in the conversation, and one of the Hollis kids says, “We’re really sorry about Carter too. He was such a talented player. He would have made it to the pros if he…”

Miles stiffens, and I have the urge to hold his hand. I know the mention of his best friend makes him visibly uncomfortable, but he tries to keep his cool. He clears his throat and says, “Yeah, he would have.”

They easily change topics again, and after a few more minutes, they say bye and leave the diner. Miles and I finish our food in silence until he sighs, saying, “It’s so weird talking about him and he’s not here. I keep thinking in the back of my head that he’s going to be there when I get home.”

A wedge forms in my heart, and I wish I could do something about it. I’ve not experienced many losses in my family, not with any close relatives, anyway. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like to lose his best friend.

I swallow, meeting his gaze. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Miles.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry for dumping that on you.”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah. It’s— Yeah, let’s not.”

So we don’t. We spend the rest of the night talking about everything and nothing until the owner tells us it’s ten minutes until closing time. We’re talking so much I’m afraid that my throat will get dry before we run out of things to discuss. We talk about classes and hockey and his idol, Josh Raymond, and I pretend I know what he’s talking about while he does the same to me as I tell him about my favorite figure skating stars.

As we walk on the sidewalk toward my apartment, I bump my shoulder into his. “Looks like everyone knows you, huh?” I’ve never seen people treat anyone like a celebrity like they do with Miles. Honestly, it was fascinating to watch.

He shrugs shyly, scratching the back of his head. “I guess so. I think it just comes with being the captain and all.”

I turn to him slowly, watching the blush spread across his cheeks. “Oh my god. You love it, don’t you?”

“I don’t hate it.”

His admission only fuels my glee more. “I can just imagine it,” I say, turning my fingers to make a square in front of me like I’m a director bringing a scene to life. “I bet you dream about all these women feeding you grapes while you take turns deciding which one you want to eye fuck.”

He tilts his head down to me, grinning. “That sounds more like your dream than mine.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I mock, shaking my head. I spot my apartment toward the end of the block and I stop, pointing to it. I hook my thumbs into the front pocket of my jeans, rocking back on my heels. “This is me.”

Miles’s eyebrows furrow, pointing at the townhouse behind us. “You live right here? I know it was only a few hours ago, and I’ve got such a teeny tiny brain being a hockey player and all, but I could have sworn you lived in a fifteen-story apartment, Wren.”

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm. “No, you’re right. It’s the apartments right there, remember?” I tap his forehead before pointing down at the end of the block. I start walking, and he follows me. I turn back to him. I thought that signaled the end of our date, but apparently not. “Where are you going?”

“Walking you home, what does it look like? I’m not letting you walk back in the dark. I’m more gentlemanly than that, princess,” he argues.

“It’s literally a five-minute walk. I can practically see it from here.”

He shrugs. “Well, I can’t. I think it’s best I just walk you there.” He continues walking, and this time I have to follow him.

“So, you really are more than just a pretty face then, huh?” I say when I catch up to him. He slings his arm over my shoulder again, a casual move he’s been doing all day that stupidly makes me swoon.

He sighs, shrugging like he’s just way too fucking cool for this. “Something like that.”

When we reach my apartment, he insists on walking me inside and up to my floor. I don’t bother arguing with him. It’s like having an overprotective golden retriever follow me around, and I don’t hate it.

I lean against my door and say, “For losing a bet, I had a really good time today.”

He grins. “Yeah, me too.” I turn to unlock my door, but before I can slip inside and hide myself away for the rest of the night, Miles grabs my wrist and tugs me back into him. The contact of his fingers wrapped around my wrist sends a hum of pleasure through my entire body. It feels a lot like butterflies. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. “Good night, Wren.”

My eyes flicker up to his, and I have to hide the smile that is twitching on my cheek. “Good night, Miles.”