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

We only have a week. Seven days. Monday until Sunday. That’s all we get. This is all the time I get with her until next year and things start to get more serious for the both of us. That’s why when we’re on the plane and Wren falls asleep, I make a plan of what to do to make this a really good vacation. A much-deserved break for her. I book us in for massages, hikes, saunas, and I look around for a nice restaurant to go to.

I’m really cutting deep into my savings for this, but I need to do something nice. A grand gesture of some sort. There’s a bar having a New Year’s Eve party that we can go to too. Maybe this is all too much. Maybe I’m in way over my head but I want to do this for her.

On the drive to the airport, on the plane and even when we drive from the airport to the hotel, she ignores what happened last night. Her specialty. Although, a part of me is planning on ignoring it too. I don’t want to ruin these next few days because after this, we could be done. If my first few games go well and she qualifies, we’ll have no reason to be doing this anymore.

It’ll be over.

She’ll go back to skating regularly and I’ll go back to playing. I know how she was before her performances when she avoided me, so I know the same thing will happen again but even worse when competition season comes around. Even if that happens and we’re over, the least I can have are some memories to come back to. Something to hold on to.

By the time we check into the five-star hotel, we’re both exhausted. We throw our bags down and settle in. This room is a lot bigger than the one that we stayed in at the gala. Instead of a massive bedroom, the room is smaller sized, but it has two huge bathrooms as each side of it. The kitchen and living room are connected in another room, with the refrigerator filled with drinks and snacks that Ms Hackerly probably asked for before it was cancelled for her and Mike.

We spend the first few days in a haze, going through all the things that I booked for us to do. We go for massages, mostly for Wren. Hearing her moan with pleasure didn’t help when I had mine right next to her.

We spend our days out in Palm Springs, visiting the most touristy places we can, and we spend our nights binging bad movies and eating room service, talking about everything and nothing.

I could get used it though.

Both of us sat in robes, eating ice cream, slouching on the couch, watching movies. Sometimes, she talks about whatever book she’s reading and I’m only half listening. I just like watching the way her mouth moves. If she’s picked up on it, she hasn’t made it obvious.

This morning, we decided to go down to the beach to read. Although, I’m doing more staring than I am reading. I’m lying on my back, slightly angled towards Wren who’s lying on her stomach, her head propped up on her bag while she reads. The sun has blessed her with small dark freckles along her back and arms and I’m fucking obsessed with every single one of them.

She’s wearing a lilac bikini with a white knitted cover up. She looks ethereal. Effortlessly so. I don’t think I could tear my eyes away even if I wanted to. She looks heavenly. Peaceful. Being with her is like watching the ocean crash against the shore. It’s like looking straight into the fucking sun.

Looking at her now, you wouldn’t guess the number of snarky comments she said to me in the past four months.

“Can you stop ogling?” she asks without looking up from her book. I pick up mine and pretend to read it. I’m still figuring out how she does that. I can’t, for the life of me, decide how she’s always able to catch me watching without looking at me.

“I’m not ogling, I’m reading.”

“Really?” She turns to me, squinting her eyes, her head resting on her hands. “What are you reading?”

“The McDavid Effect.” She snorts, smothering her laugh in her arms. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s not funny. It’s… typical, that’s all.”

“What’s typical about a hockey player reading about hockey?”

“Everything.” I roll my eyes and grab the book out of her hands, and she tries to reach for it.

“And what are you reading? Romance? Isn’t this the book that Kennedy got for Christmas?”

“Yeah, she’s letting me borrow it. Give it back.” She tries to reach for it again and looking adorable while trying to. I push my hand up higher so she can’t see it. I skim the page she was reading, and I gasp loudly.

“Amelia Wren Hackerly, this is straight up porn.” Her face turns even redder than it was earlier from the sun.

Every day, I learn something new about her. Like how she insists on wearing panties and a tank top to bed, knowing I can’t touch her. And how she loves to read romance novels with very explicit sex scenes.

“It’s not. Jasmine is a great author. She writes about her own real experiences with love. It’s entertaining. You could learn a thing or two,” she retorts as she snatches the book out of my hand, putting it into her bag.

“It’s filthy is what is,” I say, and she shakes her head with a soft laugh. “How about this? Whatever you read now, I’ll do to you later.”

“Not going to happen, Davis,” she murmurs before turning her sun kissed face away from me and resting back on her arms.    

Well, it was worth a try.

*

“Why don’t we go out tonight?” I suggest one night after we’re both tired from hiking on the Araby trail. I stand over her from the back of the couch while she lies down, her eyes closed but she’s still awake.

“I’m exhausted, Miles. We’ve done, like, everything on everyone’s bucket list ever in the last few days,” she says sighing deeply. She opens her eyes, and pushes herself up on her elbows, looking at me.

“Don’t you want to go out for some real food? We’ve been living off room service for four days,” I whine, as I walk over to her side of the couch, and her eyes follow me.

“Aren’t we going out on New Year’s Eve? We can wait until then.”

“Yeah, but it’s going to be packed with people,” I groan as I crouch down next to her, batting my eyelashes at her. “Don’t you want to go out somewhere nice? Somewhere where we can eat good food. Just us. Just one night, Wren.”

“Jesus, you’re so fucking dramatic,” she groans before standing up.

I’m feeling giddy as I go into one of the large bathrooms to get ready. I’m lucky I packed a nice outfit in case something like this was to happen. Okay, nice might be stretching it but it’s decent.

I try to brush out my hair, but it still looks wild. I’ve never known how to deal with my curly hair, so it just does its own thing. I put on a white button down and black pants, trying to look smart casual. I’m sure Wren is sick of seeing me in jeans and hoodie and honestly, so am I.

I wait in the kitchen for her to finish getting ready because, as always, she takes hours to get ready. I stick my head into the fridge to find something but they’re only tiny bottles of tequila which doesn’t seem like a smart idea right now. This feels like a night I want to remember.

“Ready to go?” a breathy voice from behind me calls.

I turn and the wind is knocked out of me. Literally. I think I’ve died and come back to life.

Wren is dressed in a silky black evening gown with tiny straps. She holds a silver purse in her right hand which matches with her stilettos and earrings.

Her hair is slicked behind her ear as it falls onto her back. I have to back myself up into the counter for stability, so I don’t fall over. I swear fucking music starts playing as she walks towards me, painfully slowly.

Jesus fucking Christ she is incredible.

‘Cocktails for two’ by Betty Carter instantly comes to mind when she gets closer to me. I blame Wren for her stupid headphones that meant I could hear her jazz playlist on the whole flight.

“You look so beautiful,” I whisper, my voice sounding breathy and almost unsure. She blinks up at me and I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her into me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. My hands feel so at home on her body. As if they just belong.

“So do you,” she murmurs. Watching her try to fight herself just makes me want her even more. She stares at me as she takes in my outfit, her eyes roaming all over me. God, I could sit down and let her look at me all day. “Like, really, really good.”

“You know, for someone who complains about my ego, you sure do feed it a lot,” I coo, and she throws me a funny look. She rolls her eyes as she presses a kiss to my cheek before turning around and slipping out of my grasp.

I got us a table at the hotel we’re staying at, so we only have to walk down past the lobby, but I still hold her hand even though we don’t have to pretend out here.

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking at our linked hands and then at me.

“I just want to hold your hand,” I admit, squeezing her small hand in mine. “That a problem?”

“No,” she says quietly and doesn’t bring it up again, latching onto my fingers.

The restaurant is built to hover just over the LED pool with a cosy cabin vibe. Our seats are on the patio outside, giving us a perfect view of the live band who play smooth blues music. People gather around them, glasses in their hands as they sway to the music under the sunset.

When we sit down, we both order steak and fries and a cherry blossom lemonade. I’m starting to think that my bad eating habits have rubbed off on her. We go through the never-ending list of questions to ask each other as we eat.

“Okay,” she says, popping a fry into her mouth before scrolling through my phone. “These are getting a lot deeper than the other ones. Is that okay?”

“Sure. These are my favourite type of questions.” I grin at her, but she frowns a little as she locks my phone and slides it over to me.

“What’s one thing you would change about your family if you could?” She bites her bottom lip as if she’s regretting asking the question. I chew on my steak for a few bites to think it over before answering.

“I wish my family were more upfront with each other. Instead of being too scared to say things, y’know?”

She shakes her head gently. “Hm. What do you mean?”

“Like, I’ve always been a pretty dramatic kid. I would get really attached to things. To people. And I wasn’t afraid to express that, but my family have always been weird about it. My dad ignores things that he can move on from, my mom pretends like they don’t exist and Clara… She always finds some way to diminish my problems and to make them seem smaller than they are. I don’t know, I think they just feel better hiding things,” I admit.

As I said it out loud, my stomach twists as if I’ve just finished binging McDonalds. I hate how uncomfortable it makes me. I hate how whenever I talk about them, I can feel my chest tightening. That’s why at the Christmas dinner, I kept quiet.

Even when my dad and I were alone, we stuck to talking about sports and boring things instead of what we were really thinking. I knew that if I tried to say anything, I’d ruin the night. Or they’d back me up into a corner and tell me to calm down. That I was overreacting. Wren’s quiet as she waits for me to continue.

“I think they just find it easier to ignore problems. They’ve been treading on eggshells around me since I found out about mom and since Carter died. You know how much I talk. I can’t just do that. I can’t move on easily and I can’t just ignore things that are clearly there. I know my parents love each other but sometimes that doesn’t feel like enough. They’re not happy. It’s worse to be unhappy with somebody and still stay with them.”

“I’m sorry,” Wren says quietly. I shrug, smiling. “But you know you can always talk to me, right? Even if it’s utter nonsense. I like hearing you talk.”

“You do know I’m going to use this against you in the future. You can’t ever tell me to shut up again,” I joke. She smiles wide. “What about you?”

“I don’t like the pressure,” she says without missing a beat. She tries to laugh but the noise doesn’t come out properly as she fiddles with her fork. “Austin’s pregnant and she told me to tell my mom for her.”

I almost choke on my food. “What?”

“Yeah, she told me a few weeks ago. It was just after we, y’know, made out. Anyway, that’s why I was so off with you before the show because I was planning on telling her after. I had to do my absolute best so if I told my mom, it would fly right over her head. Then, I saw her miss my performance and I got angry, so I didn’t tell her and now here we are.”

I’m quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say. That’s really messed up. I can’t imagine having that weight on your shoulders. She looks out at the crowds of people, smiling softly at the music playing. Something in her face changes when she speaks next.

“Do you want to know what the worst part is? She didn’t even think about my side of it. Austin wanted me to tell her after the showcase because she thought that if I told her then, she’d have all of her focus on me and forget it. It’s like me skating trumps her getting pregnant. Like she knows that mom would fixate on me instead of her.”

“That really sucks. I’m sorry. Do you know when you’re going to tell her?” I ask after a while.

“I don’t know,” she sighs, falling back into her chair deeper. “I’m hoping that Austin will suck it up and tell her herself. I can’t deal with that kind of drama. Not so close to comp season.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

We both dig back into our food before it gets cold, neither of us asking any questions before she sits up on her chair, her arms resting on the table, her head in her hands. “Next question.”

“They just get worse,” I say, picking up my phone to scroll through it.

“I’m a big girl, Milesy. I can handle it.” She gives me a wicked grin as she nudges me under the table. I push back, chuckling at her.

“Okay.” I close my phone, mirroring her position. “Do you believe in love?”

“That’s easy,” she laughs, pushing her hair over her shoulder before giving me a dead look. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? You look like a person who does. Considering the kinds of books, you’re always reading.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love love. Does it exist? Sure. But do I want it? Definitely not.”

Her candour shocks me. This whole time I thought she was a romantic underneath all the stubbornness. A hopeless one at that. I thought that after reading all those romance books, she’d aspire for that. That she would crave it. Hope for it at least. She looks out to the band again, her eyes not braving mine, as they play ‘At Last’ by Etta James with wicked timing.

“I love the idea of love. The way it’s written about in books and in movies. But actually, being in love — it’s scary. It’s all consuming. Falling in love is so easy but it’s just as easy to fall out of it. My parents did. They acted like everything was fine. They went on pretending. And then just one day, it was gone. All the sparks, all the reason they had to stay together just seized to exist. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be constantly waiting for the day my partner doesn’t want me anymore. The torture. The anticipation. I just couldn’t live like that.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I get that, but I don’t think you should be scared. It’s a powerful thing; being in love. We’re young and we’re going to feel things that are more than lust and sometimes the only word to describe that is love.”

She turns to me now, tears lining her eyes. “Can’t there be another word? We use the word love for everything. I love my friends. I love my shoes. I love this food. It doesn’t mean anything anymore. Can’t there be something that has the same meaning, carries the same weight but doesn’t feel indefinite. Binding. Something that doesn’t have to tie you down to that person and suddenly change everything. When you’re in love with a person romantically, you can’t go back. But when you change your mind, as humans do, it becomes a big thing. But I guess that’s what people want though. Something tangible to change in their relationship. To make it more serious or some shit.”

We both look at each other for an extended moment. The way her brain works blows my mind and I’m obsessed with it. I want her brain. Her mind. Her everything. Anything that she’s willing to give me. I wait for her to continue. There’s something lost in her eyes, something distant as she doesn’t break eye contact with me.

“If I ever feel anything remotely close to being in love, I just want to exist with that person. I don’t want to ruin it by binding us together by a word. An emotion.”

I’m shellshocked for a moment, not sure what to say. This girl has flipped around nearly every single thought that I had about her. I finally muster up the courage to ask, ‘Did that mean you were never in love with Augustus?’

She shakes her head. ‘Not really. I knew he loved me and I appreciated it. I knew I had some strong feelings for him but I didn’t want to let us fall into that.’

I nod. ‘Do you think you feel this way about love because you feel like you don’t trust it or because you don’t deserve it?’

‘Both?’

‘Well, that’s bullshit, Wren. You’re worthy of everything good in this world.’

She still holds eye contact with me but I see the way her eyes glimmer. ‘Even love? Even if it breaks my heart?’

‘Esepecially love,’ I say, ‘even if it breaks your heart.’

We’re quiet for the rest of the day. Neither one of us wanting to say more than a few words after we just bled out our emotions onto the table. Something shifted. I don’t know when or how but something else had changed between us. Like the string that was holding us together has pulled us even closer without us realising. The silence that could be uncomfortable, feels welcoming.

Even after we’re back in the hotel room, sat on the couch watching New Girl re-runs, we don’t say much. When we get into the bed, practically meters separating us, our backs to each other, she finally breaks the silence.

“Do you think I’m insane?”

“What?” I ask.

“Do you think I’m insane for not believing in love? You always say that – that I’m insane. Don’t you think it’s weird that I’m scared?”

“No. I think it’s smart. Practical.”