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

I am able to see the future. All the goddamn time. I know things are going to happen – bad things – but I still do them anyway. It’s like an irritating feeling in my brain that I can’t ignore and have no choice but to follow through with. I’ve seemed to have got used to making bad decisions. I knew sleeping with Miles would be wild and exhilarating but I didn’t expect the very low low I would experience afterwards.

This was a good distraction; spending our days going on small adventures and our nights cooped up in the hotel, believing we were untouchable. Believing that we could ignore every red flag but if we tried hard enough, we could make them green. It was fun. And that isn’t something I get to feel often. That free liberating feeling of not having to worry about tomorrow, my diet or my training.

But when we slept together, something shifted. Sure, if we made out it would be fine, we could go back to Salt Lake and pretend it didn’t happen like we’ve done before. But this? This is something different. Something substantial. He’s seen me naked for God’s sake. He has seen and touched nearly every part of my body. This is something that we can’t ignore. Well, something we can’t ignore any more than I’ve tried to.

As soon as I opened my eyes this morning, I knew I had to get out of that room. I have to stop pretending like this is my life. That living off  room service and good sex was my lifestyle. I need to be in the rink, in the gym, training and eating good. Instead of going for round who-knows-what with Miles, I got my ass up, showered and got myself down to the beach and tried to salvage some sort of calm.

With the qualifiers and the championships, the last thing I need is to complicate whatever me and Miles have. As much as I tried to push it away, I knew I was attracted to him from the beginning. A large part of me hoped that we could just power through the next few months and push away all our desires to focus on the task at hand. That was until the gala, the game, Christmas – where things started to get real. When it was an intense struggle to fight off the feelings between my legs. What’s worse is that it’s not just his looks but it’s everything about him. His selflessness, his support, his care and the way he listens to me. Every fucking thing.

Despite my initial rule, and although ambiguous, Miles was the only one to admit how he truly felt. He made that very clear since the beginning. I was scared. I still am scared of falling into deep and forgetting everything I have worked so hard on. Every time I’m around him, my self-control shrinks and the little devil and angels on my shoulder disappear, leaving behind a cloud of smoke. Being in a real relationship with someone like him would be consuming, distracting and everything I can’t have right now. But everything that a secretly want.

I know I ran off this morning, but I didn’t expect Miles to be gone too. He’s probably freaking out as well. I finally finish cleaning up the bedroom and packing away our things into our suitcases.

Strangely enough, Miles’ suitcase has very little clothes for the week that we’ve stayed here compared to mine. I’m packing up the last of our things, double checking the bathroom when somebody knocks on the door.

Before I know it, it swings open as I cross the living room in my denim shorts and white tank top. My heart drops through my ribs as I take in the sight in front of me. An elderly black lady with kind eyes in a flower sundress stands in the doorway with a very sad and very drunk Miles on her shoulder.

Oh, no. Miles, what have you done?

This is the first time I’ve seen him drunk in months. The lady looks around the room before her eyes settle on mine and they soften. I rush over to them, pulling Miles’ weight off her. He’s sweaty and a lot heavier than I remember. He sinks into me, and I can smell the alcohol. My stomach turns.

“I’m so sorry to bother you. He was wandering around and he said that he was staying here. You’re Wren, right?” the lady asks in a thick southern accent. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Okay, good. He might not look like it right now, but he said some really nice things about you. Take care of him.”

“I’m sure he did, and I will,” I say, my voice sounding foreign as I look down at him, his face buried into my chest. “Thank you so much.”

I try and keep calm as I walk with Miles’ arm over my shoulder, which is hard to do when he’s a lot heavier and taller than me. He stays quiet as I bring him into the bathroom.

This is why I don’t drink a lot. This is why I don’t like being around people that drink because it brings out the worst in them. It gets out of control and sometimes so out of control that a random person has to bring you back to your hotel room. He has avoided my eyes since he got in here and I don’t know how to act around him. What to say. How to make this better. What makes this worse is that he’s a sad drunk.

I get some water from the fridge and bring it to the bathroom and rummage for some painkillers in my bag. He stands, leaning against the sink even though I’ve told him to sit down. He takes a few painkillers and chugs half the bottle of water. Slowly, as if he knows what’s going to happen, he bends down to the floor, leaning over the toilet and he throws up. A lot. My stomach flips as I kneel next to him, rubbing his back while he leans his head on his arm on the toilet seat.

“It’s okay. Just let it out,” I say, rubbing circles on his back. He doesn’t say anything, just indistinct mumbles as he sits back up. What happened to him? We have to get to the airport in two hours. He can’t be like this right now.

He groans as he sits up, hopefully finished throwing up. I pull his arm around my shoulder and wrap my hand around his middle to help him stand up.

“C’mon, let’s get you in the shower.”

Like I expected, he doesn’t reply, just mumbles something in agreement. When he’s able to stand, I stand across from him and part of me wishes I couldn’t see his face right now. Tears that are staring to dry, streak his pale cheeks. He catches me staring and his eyes shoot to the floor.

I inch closer, reaching my hand out to pull off his shirt. He helps me to take of his shirt and his trousers. I lean over to turn on the shower as he takes off his boxers and steps into it. He sits down, pulls his knees to his chest, and rests his head on them. He looks so vulnerable that my heart pinches. He’s always the one helping me. He’s supposed to be the fun one.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Wren,” he mumbles as I run the shower over his hair and his back. I place my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb under his eye. He melts into my touch. ‘I’m trying to be good for you, I swear.’

“I beleive you. You don’t need to be sorry. I shouldn’t have run away,” I respond quietly.

“I thought…I thought you hated me. That you regretted last night and that you didn’t want me — this — anymore. And I saw- I thought I saw Carter.”

It feels like someone has taken a pin to my heart and deflated it. He talks about Carter all the time, I’m not surprised that he thought he saw him, especially when he’s intoxicated. I should say something. I should tell him that it’s not true. To tell him that all I want is to be there for him. To make sure he’s okay.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay? We need to get you feeling better right now.” He nods, some of the colour coming back into his face as I run my hand through his hair. “I’m here, Miles. I’ve got you.”

‘You’ve got me?’ he mumbles and my heart tears.

‘I’ve got you.’

We don’t talk much as I help him to feel better. After his shower, Miles gets ready sluggishly and I order him some room service. He takes a few more painkillers and once he’s eaten, he starts to look better. We don’t talk about what happened. Why he went somewhere to drink or why he thought he saw Carter. I don’t push him to tell me, so he doesn’t bring it up. I ran away from the problem and so did he. In some ways, we’re both to blame.

His humour starts to return on the flight, along with his sobriety. He makes continuous plane jokes which I can’t help but laugh at. Even while I’m trying to watch The Lion King, he somehow managed to make terrible puns out of every character that comes onto the screen. The only thing missing, is the way he would make flirty jokes or try and touch me in some way or another. It doesn’t feel real that it was less than twenty-four hours ago that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

When we get back to Salt Lake, the winter air hits us as we run to find an Uber to take us back to our houses. The second my body warms up to the temperature in the Uber, we’re already outside Miles’ house and I’m struck by another brush of cold air. Miles takes my luggage out of the car, along with his and we walk up to his door.

I almost forgot it was New Year’s Day until I take in all the decorations in the house. Gold and silver banners hang from the ceilings and beer cans and Solo cups litter the floor. I take notice of the makeshift photo wall that I saw in Kennedy and Scarlett’s pictures from last night.

They were not happy with me missing New Year’s with them, but I convinced them to go to Xavier’s party and from the way Kennedy was cuddling up to Harry Butler I can tell they had a good night.

“Finally,” Xavier exclaims when he sees me and Miles. “Dude, it’s been hell without you.”

“Can’t talk. Head hurts,” Miles mumbles, acting worse than he is. He sulks and brings his drama queen ass up the stairs. I laugh and Xavier pulls me into a side hug.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks, looking at me with a funny look.

“He’s hungover. Kind of,” I reply with a shrug. He laughs and walks in the other direction. I run up the stairs after Miles. He’s shuffling around in his bathroom when I walk into his room.

“You’re such a drama queen, you know that right?” I shout to him as I fall onto my back on his ridiculously comfortable bed. I’ve missed this so much.

“I’m not. My head does hurt,” he whines, walking back out of his room in nothing other than grey joggers. He sits beside me on the bed, his legs crossed next to my head. I gulp, trying not look at his toned stomach. Miles ignores the dismissive look I’m trying to give him as he leans over me. “Are you going to stay here tonight?”

His lips are inches away from mine. I lean up on my elbows and press a quick kiss to his lips and he smiles. I pull away, not ready to go any further but his lips catch mine again in a passionate struggle. It feels so natural to be this close to him after the week we’ve just had. My mind instantly flashes to last night and the hundreds of other places his lips were.

“I think we both know that’s not a smart idea,” I breathe when I pull away again. “I don’t think my body could take it and I miss my girls.”

“That’s true,” he laughs. He moves from over me and rests his back against the windowsill next to his bed. I push myself up next to him. “I’m sorry, Wren. About earlier. I was freaking out and the last place I should have gone to was a bar. Especially after we’ve spent so much time trying to avoid that. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“It’s okay. It’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have just left,” I admit. I turn my head to him, but his heavy-lidded eyes are already on me. “I meant what I said, Miles. I am scared. I know you said you’re going to be there but what if one day you’re not? I can’t depend on someone for them to let me down.”

My own rambling voice catches me off guard. It’s the first time I’ve said that out loud. To him. Not everyone can understand that overwhelming fear that constantly wells inside me when I’m around him and I’m close to letting go. He pulls my hand into his lap and encloses his hands around mine.

“No. That isn’t going to happen. Even if this is for the fake relationship or our real relationship, I’m going to be there. I’m all in. For real,” Miles says, turning over my hand in his. He traces the lines in my palm with a long finger.

“I’ve got qualifiers coming up. Then the competition season begins, and you’ve got the hockey team counting on you. If we do this and something happens, we’re both going to go down. What did you call us? Falling stars? That’s what’s going to happen,” I ramble, my voice wavering. “Aren’t you worried about that?”

“Oh, I am,” he replies cheerfully. “But I know that this is what I want. The good, the bad and the ugly. It’ll be worth it.”

“What if you change your mind?”

“I’m not going to.”

“But what if you do?”

“I’m. Not. Going. To,’ he snaps, looking at me with fierce eyes.

He brushes a strand of hair out of my face. I nod but it’s still a hard pill to swallow. It can be easy to say you’re not going to stop feeling this way, but it happens. I’ve seen it happen right in front of me. It can dissipate in an instant.

“Why don’t we take it light and breezy? If it makes you feel any better, we can still keep the contract in effect but with some adjustments. If this gets too much we’ll tell each other, okay?” Miles suggests. I nod. He holds out his pinkie to me. “Promise?”

I link my pinkie to his. “Promise.’ I try and let the idea settle for a second, wanting to believe him so badly.

‘I know you’re scared Wren and I know you have priorities. I would never ask you to change them for me but I promise you, I’m here. Me and you.’

There it is again. Those two words.

I’m here.