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

I’ve been feeling on edge all week, so I wasn’t surprised when I freaked out when I saw Augustus. My mom has been on my case more than ever, pushing me to train harder, to make sure the winter showcase goes ahead as planned.

I’ve been spamming my social media, trying to get more people to show some sort of interest. Miles posted a picture of us in the gym which earned me a couple followers but it’s more of a waiting game to see if they show their support by turning up to the showcase. It doesn’t help that Austin is completely AWOL, so my mom has no one else to project on. I was surprised that I broke down crying in the party bathroom and Miles had to save me.

I can’t do that again. I’ve had panic attacks before, but I have never been told how to deal with them. I pushed them down as far as I could, and I ignored them. That’s what I taught myself to do. They were seen as inconveniences more than anything. This one was worse because I already had other things weighing on me and seeing Augustus topped it off.

I’ve always hated parties, so I was expecting the nervousness, the skittishness. I wanted to do it for Miles. He has been training with me all week and he’s not complained about it once. The least I could do for him is go to a stupid party for a couple of hours, but I couldn’t even do that.

We didn’t stay at the party for long after my breakdown. We took a few intimate photos, not showing my face after I ruined it by crying. Miles got a good shot of us in the car, my face buried into his neck as I tried my hardest not to breathe in his scent. The pictures are all very intimate, meaning we had to be very close to each other to take them.

After having his mouth on me at the party, I haven’t been able stop thinking about it. I’m blaming my horniness on the fact that I haven’t slept with anyone in over six months. That’s why when we start driving to find somewhere to eat, I tell him stop at the first one we see to get this over with as quick as possible.

We end up in a secluded diner, called Fries. Where, according to the very short menu, they only sell fries or fries (exploded). We sit across from each other in a back booth after ordering our fries and drinks. I ordered regular fries and Miles ordered the exploded version which I’m terrified to find out what that means. I take a long sip of my Coke, fiddling with my paper straw.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper after our small talk dies down. He looks up at me, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he drinks his strawberry milkshake.

“Sorry for what?” he asks, titling his head to the side.

“I don’t know. Everything,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair as I talk with my hands. “I just feel so useless. This is the part of the deal where I’m supposed to try my hardest. This is the part that should keep me on the team. I just feel like I keep messing it up. My mom has already got in my head.”

“You’re not messing anything up. We’re still getting to know each other and it’s good that we know now what not to do. If college parties aren’t your thing, we’ll find something else to show everyone what a strong couple we are,” Miles says cheerfully. At least he’s being optimistic and understanding. The anxiety in my chest deflates slowly like a balloon.

Our fries arrive and sure enough, his exploded ones look disgusting. It’s even worse that he has the biggest grin on his face while I grimace at them. They’re covered in melted cheese, bacon bits, mustard, and hash brown bites. If I wasn’t so hungry to eat my own food I would have thrown up by now. We dive into our fries, our conversation becoming drawn out by pauses while we chew.

I make the mistake of locking eyes with Miles the second I begin to lick the salt and ketchup that dripped down my fingers. He watches me, his eyes dark and fierce as I pull out my fingers slowly, not knowing where to look. He stares at my mouth for a long second before looking down at his food.

“Sorry. That was gross,” I groan, picking up a napkin.

“Stop apologising.’ I nod, biting my tongue not to apologise again. “I’m assuming you don’t get to do this often.” He gestures to my fries that I doused in ketchup. I laugh as I swallow.

“Yeah. I can’t remember the last time I had food this greasy. If my mom found out she would have a heart attack,” I laugh shallowly.

“Does she, like, monitor what you eat?” he asks, playing with his straw.

“Uh, I wouldn’t say ‘monitor.’ But she does ask when we speak, just to make sure that I’m staying healthy enough to skate. It was worse when I was younger, but I think because I got so used to it, I don’t really think about it that much,” I say shrugging, poking around at my fries.

He nods in understanding, not pushing it any further. He eats more of his fries before pulling out his phone from his back pocket. “Question time,” he announces.

“My absolute favourite time of the day,” I say, sarcastically.

These questions have opened up a lot about us, especially while we take breaks at the gym. Going into this, I never thought I would be that interested in getting to know him, but it turns out he’s really fun to talk to. He knows how to keep things light and where to draw the line.

He scrolls through his phone before landing on one.

“This is a good one. Do you have a flaw that you think I might not be okay with?”

I think it over for a minute while I chew. “I think this will work better if we say what each other’s flaws are. It’s harder to point out your own flaw.”

“So, we’re just going to be telling each other what we don’t like about each other?” Miles asks, titling his head to the side.

“Don’t think of it like that. You asked the question. I’m just trying to make it easier,” I suggest. “Do you want me to go first?”

“Sure,” he says, slurping his milkshake.

“It’s not really a flaw but just something I’ve noticed,” I start tentatively. “You get very attached to things.” His face doesn’t move, as if he’s already been told this before. ‘I mean, you literally had a full-on meltdown when we switched to a different gym.’

He throws his head back laughing and god, I hate how much I love the sound of it – It’s masculine and airy and you just want to melt into it. I can’t help laughing too.

‘What is it that you said? That I was hyper-fixating on you instead of dealing with my problems?” he mocks. I nod my head, suppressing my laugh. “I don’t disagree. It’s just something I do but if it wasn’t for that, we wouldn’t be doing this right now.”

“That’s very true,” I say, raising my glass. He clinks his milkshake carton with my glass. “What about me? What’s my fatal flaw?”

“Woah, it’s not fatal. Like you said, just something I’ve noticed,” he says, leaving a dramatic pause. “You are a very stubborn person, Wren Hackerly.”

I gasp in fake shock. I have been told this my whole life; that I can’t let things happen without putting up a fight no matter how ridiculous it seems. I’ve always stuck to routines, traditions, order. I’ve never felt the need to branch out of that. To get out of my comfort zone. Everything has always seemed so black and white.

Until him.

“You refused to do this in the beginning, but it wasn’t until your friends pushed you that you realised how irresistible I am. And now look at us,” he grins, moving his hands between us.

“And how well is that working out for us so far?” I raise my eyebrows. He shakes his head, a serious expression taking over his face.

‘Wren,’ he presses. ‘We had one set back. We’ve been out one time. It’s going to take a while for us to get used to each other.’

‘I know,’ I murmur. ‘I just really want this to work.’

‘I know. And it will,’ he says certainly before digging back into his fries. I pick up his phone off the table, looking for a question.

“Which of my qualities do you like the most?” I ask when I land on one. He chews thoughtfully before clearing his throat.

“I like that you are what you get, you know?” he says. I draw my face into a puzzled expression, not fully understanding him. “Like, I knew from day one that you were brutal. I knew that I had to earn it, to deserve it, for you talk to me. You weren’t going to let me have you so easily.”

“I’m glad you think it’s a good quality,” I say softly.

“What do you mean?”

I take in a deep breath, my chest shaking on the exhale. “For as long as I could remember, I’ve kept my card to my chest. Never letting anyone get too close to avoid getting hurt but that was always such a dealbreaker. That’s why Augustus left.”

‘Why do you think you do that?’ he asks. ‘Push people away, I mean.’

‘Hey,’ I laugh. ‘This isn’t a therapy session.’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s just a question, Wren. You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to. I’m just trying to get to know you better.’

I sigh. I want him to know me. The real me. If we’re going to pretend to date, the least I can know is make it seem like he knows me. I can deal with us being friends at least.

‘I think I’m just always trying to be good enough. To keep people interested. Then I started to realise that if I act the same all the time,  no one will expect anything different from me.’

“You don’t seem to be like that with me,” he says after a while.

“That’s because I know you’re not going to break my heart. And you’re easier to talk to than most people.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know. I just do,” I lie.

I do know. It’s because he’s one of the first people to treat me like an equal. To seem genuinely interested in getting to know me. To see me as a normal person and not just someone who can skate on ice. Someone who trains all day every day. He sees me as me even when I don’t like who that is.

“What’s your favourite quality about me, Wrenny?” he drawls.

“Definitely not that nickname,” I mutter. He nudges my knee under the table. I nudge him back. “I like how quick you are. I would not have admitted this the first time we met but you keep me on my toes. You’re funny in a way that can be seen as annoying, but I don’t meet many people like you so to me it’s just — sort of endearing. I think?”

His smile doubles as he beams at me. “And to think you didn’t even like me a few weeks ago,” he says bashfully, shaking his head.

“You’re growing on me.”

*

We fire out more questions on the drive home, each question getting more ridiculous. The stupider the better, he said. His house and my apartment are actually a lot closer together than I thought. Realistically, I could jog from my house to his and back in fifteen minutes. I just don’t know how I didn’t pay more attention it before.

It’s like he’s been hiding in plain sight.

He insists on walking me to my door after parking. I’ve found myself warming up to him a lot more after tonight. It finally feels like we’re actual friends. Not just fake dates. Especially after he helped me. Most guys would have run the other way if they saw their girl having a full-blown meltdown in a party bathroom. But he didn’t. Yes, it’s the bare minimum but he stayed.

“I hope this is your last question,” he groans when we get out of the elevator to my apartment door. I lean my back against my door, and he towers over me, his dark eyes boring into mine.

“It is, I promise.” I pause. “What is your love language?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Okay,” I whistle at his expected answer. “So, physical touch? Got it.”

He nods. “Anyone who says anything else is either a virgin or a liar. Or both,” he drawls, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “What’s yours?”

“The same. And words of affirmation,” I say, my voice suddenly quiet, remembering the way his hand felt on my stomach at the party.  His breath on my neck. He raises his eyebrows while brushing away one of my stands of hair from my face. He shakes his head a little. “What? Are you surprised?”

He brings his head close to my ear.

Too close.

His hot breath tickles my throat. His thumb traces small ovals from the sensitive part of my collarbone to the side of my neck where I’m sure he can hear my pulse hammering. I take in a shaky breath, my legs suddenly ready to give out beneath me.

“No, I’m not surprised, baby. I heard the noise you made when I touched you earlier,” he murmurs, each syllable reverberating through my body. I close my eyes quickly before placing my hands on his chest, gently pushing some space between us.

“You just called me ‘baby.’ Unironically, might I add,” I say defensively, blinking up at him, trying to ignore the rest of the sentence.

Miles grins. “Sure did, baby.”

I shudder and pretend to gag. “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.” He laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s heard all day and I can’t help but join in.

‘If you call me ‘baby,’ I’m going to call you Milesy.’

‘Call me whatever you want, baby. ‘Daddy’ is also acceptable,’ he replies, smirking. I laugh at him and shove him in the arm, and he laughs too.

When we calm down, I say, “I had a good time today. Shitty food and all.”

“Me too, but I don’t think the food was that bad.”

“This is why we changed your diet,” I laugh as I open the door from behind me. “Good night, Milesy.”

“Good night, baby,” he whispers before turning on his heels.

When I slip into bed later that night, I feel lighter.

I’m trying to convince myself that these sorts of panicking feelings just happen. They aren’t going to determine my life and this fake relationship. I tried to shake off all those feelings in the shower, but my hands still shake a little when I reach for my phone.

When I unlock it, it’s instantly flooded with followers and tags. I knew Miles was popular, but I didn’t know the extent of it until now. I’ve got follows on Instagram from people that I’ve never spoken to before and likes from the people that shunned me after regionals. A strange sensation runs through my body when I click onto Miles’ profile and there it is.

The most recent post in his grid is a picture of me in the diner we went to a candid of me nudging around my fries as I look down at them, my hair almost covering my face, but you can tell it’s me. I don’t know how I missed him taking the photo. I look over it again, take note of what I can see before my eyes wander down to the caption.

Eating bad fries in the middle

of nowhere with my girl ❤️.

My heart bottoms out.

Jesus Christ. My girl? Why do those two words make my heart constrict and breathing stop? They shouldn’t. He doesn’t mean it, obviously, but I don’t hate the feeling of pretending he did. I wander down to the comments which are a mixture of You guys are so cute, When did this happen? and Who is she? From this picture alone I’ve gained a shit ton of followers. I check my DM’s and I scroll to find any names that I can recognise. I pull up Gigi’s chat.

Gigi: I thought you were lying at first.

Gigi: Were you guys really in the middle of nowhere?

Gigi: Also, why are you covering your face? You seem  happy.

Me: I don’t know exactly where it was, so I guess so. It was a candid and I’m glad to have tour approval, G.

Gigi: You don’t need my approval but it’s good to know that you care about what people think.

I know Gigi enough to laugh it off and shut off my phone. When sleep pulls me under, I have the biggest and most ridiculous smile on my face.