Fake Dates & Ice Skates: (The North University Series Book 1)

“So, you’re saying you want to date me?”

She groans, shoving her face into her hands. I hide my laugh by eating more of her scone which she hasn’t minded me eating. I knew she would warm up to me at some point. What I didn’t know was that she’d be so willing to dive into the plan I suggested at the party.

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” she pleads.

I lean my head in my hands and shake my head. I know what she’s saying because I’ve made her repeat it twice already. I just like getting under her skin. There’s something about the way the hear creeps up her neck when she gets angry that I could get drunk on.

To sum up Wren’s very confusing plan, she wants us to fake date in order to create more hype around figure skating. Everyone at NU is crazy about two things: hockey and whoever the hockey players are dating. The team steer clears from most scandals but every now and then Mason Greer, our generations most notorious gossip reporter, will try and make up something to catch someone out on his account.

Being a hockey player has its perks. It means people would love to see me without my jersey on and they’re even more interested in knowing who gets to see me without anything on. Apparently, seeing sweaty guys in gear head to toe, roughing it out on the ice is a real turn on for some girls. Wren has made it very clear that she is not one of those girls. So, Wren wants us to go out a few times publicly and wants me to express my undying love for figure skating all over my social media in hopes that someone will pick it up and repost it.

I’m not against the idea at all because I wasn’t lying when I said I haven’t slept with anyone in months. If this means getting to talk to her more and spend more time with her, I’ll take it. Oh, and I’ll be able to play again soon. Since her hand touched my back at the party, it feels like every thought I had before her doesn’t exist anymore. Like every reason I had to exist has restarted and found true meaning.

“Okay, I get it,” I say, stopping her in the middle of her third monologue. “So, you want us to fake date and we’ll train together in the meantime with your insane plan?”

She pulls her lip between her teeth, nodding, just like she did at the party. My breathing deepens before I force it to settle. “It’s not insane. It’s practical. But this could make or break us.”

“I know,” I say. “Shouldn’t we make a contract or something?”

She laughs, tossing her hair around her shoulder. “Yeah, we should probably lay out some ground rules.” Just as the words leave her mouth, her phone rings on the table. I watch the way her face drops as she stares at the caller ID.

“Is it your nightmare ex-boyfriend?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light as I can see she’s grown uncomfortable by looking at the name. She lets out a small laugh which sounds more like a sigh.

“Worse. It’s my mother,” she groans, pulling out her chair. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sure. Tell Hacks I said hi,” I say, beaming, using Xavier’s contraction.

“I’m not going to do that,” she says sternly but she’s smiling. We exchange goodbyes and she’s gone, leaving me slightly dumbfounded.

This could be it. I might finally get myself together in a way where I can stop being useless and actually help somebody out too. Since she’s so anti-hockey, I’m surprised Wren even wants to do this. With me especially. She has been hesitant to even look at me since the party but now she’s ready to dive into a relationship. Well, a fake one. She must really care about skating and her reputation if she’s willing to give me a chance.

I finish off the rest of Wren’s scone before my phone starts ringing. Pulling it out of my pocket, I see the caller ID. I take in a deep breath and control myself not to throw my phone across the room.

It’s Clara.

We haven’t spoken properly for the good part of four months. Which I thought was better for the both of us. After finding out what she hid from me, I knew we wouldn’t be the same as we were. I knew I wouldn’t be able to let it go.

Clara and I, seven years apart, we’re still really close growing up. She always let me hang out with her friends when they were over, and she would take me and Carter around the Ski Village when she worked there. We grew up in a normal household.

Well, what I thought was normal. My mom teaches middle schoolers, and my dad runs a small garage just outside of town, so we were never rich by any means. We were comfortable. Clara and I both had jobs by the time we were sixteen and worked our asses off to go to college. But that wasn’t enough for my mom.

I only recently found out that since Clara was eighteen, she knew my mom was having an affair with someone she worked with.

The fucked-up part was my dad knew. Apparently, he always knew, and he never said anything. He loved my mom, more than anything and I thought my mom did too. They still live together now, after going to couples therapy, and everything is supposedly handy dandy. I haven’t forgiven my mom yet, and I haven’t forgiven Clara either. As much as I’d like to ignore her call and shove my phone into a box, it will only give her leverage to use against me or to continue calling me until I pick up.

“Miles, what the hell are you doing?” is the first thing she asks when she answers the phone. I have to close my eyes and feel my chest rise and fall before speaking.

“Oh, hello to you too, sister,” I deadpan, knowing that if I sass her in some way, she might save us both the torture of pretending. “I’m just having coffee in a cute café on campus.”

“Don’t be smart with me Miles,” she spits. “No one has heard from you in months and in case you forgot, I’m your emergency contact. The dean called me. Why aren’t you going to your classes? And how the hell did you get benched? Hockey is the only thing keeping you there.”

I feel the bile rise in my throat. “Since when do you care? It was easy for you to lie to me half my life. Excuse me if I want some mystery in my life to remain.’ I know it’s a low blow but it’s too late now. I hear her huff over the phone, growing more agitated.

“Get your shit together or you’ll lose your scholarship. We both know that your savings will barely keep you alive for a month. Just go to your classes and don’t fuck this up,” she warns.

I don’t know how many more people are going to say this to me before it fully sinks in. It’s so easy for me to say, ‘yes, fine,’ but it’s the doing that I can’t do. I can’t even pick up a hockey stick for God’s sake. The thought alone makes me shiver.

“I’m going to figure it out,” I say after a while. “Bye, Clara.”

“I hope you do. And Miles…” She pauses, taking in a breath. “I love you.”

My chest suddenly feels tight. Suffocating. This feeling has been happening a lot since Carter died and I can’t seem to get rid of it. It makes my breathing quicken, and it feels like something heavy is weighing on my chest, like I can’t get up.

It shouldn’t feel like this. It’s supposed to feel normal. I’m not supposed be suffering like this. All consuming.

I can’t bring myself to say anything other than ‘You too,’ as I end the call, my hands slightly shaking.

I need to get my act together. It feels like everything in the universe is telling me to but as much as I believe Wren can help me what if I can’t help her? What if this whole fake dating thing blows up in our face and ruins her more than she started out? Or worse; what if the uncomfortable feeling that makes me shift in my seat whenever I’m around her isn’t nervous jitters and it’s something else. Something that, if I ever put into play, could ruin everything before it even begins.

I pull up my phone to find her Instagram account to DM her, but I an IMessage from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hiii, it’s Wren. We should meet up soon to talk.

My heart swells. She read my mind. My fingers fly over the screen. At least she’s finally using my number. I change her contact and text her back.

Me: Yeah, sure. You can come over to my place. Does Friday work?

Wren: That’s perfect. See u then.

I can’t ignore the way her texting style makes my stomach flutter. Fuck. Since when did I start to get butterflies over a girl? That’s new for me but I’m not surprised. In the short time that we’ve known each other, I’ve felt more and more out of control of my body.

My mind seems to wander when her mouth moves, especially when she’s saying something sarcastic. She doesn’t just let me get what I want because she must be able to tell that I want her. I want her in any way I can have her. She’s like a magnet.

A destructive thought is telling me that what Wren said earlier was true. Maybe I am hyper fixating on her to avoid my problems. I’m supposed to be stronger than this. I’m almost twenty and I can’t even deal with the death of my best friend in a healthy way. There will be worse days than the day I lost him, so I need to get over this feeling in my chest. I need to get to the other side.

*

When I get home, no one is there. Xavier is at practice and Evan is probably doing some rich boy shit somewhere. The darkness of the house just makes the gnawing feeling worse. It closes me in, suddenly making the dark thoughts clearer. I try to ignore it.

Although we haven’t got a full plan, yet, I know I’m going to stick to it. I’m going to have to. I can’t let her dreams die because I’m willing to let my dreams slip. I can’t do that to her. If I have one drink tonight, I won’t have any until Friday. That way I’ll be able to let these feelings simmer and when it comes to talking to her in a few days, I should be fine. That’s how these things work, right?

Just one drink.