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

“Surfing?”

I have the urge to say yes just to see his reaction, but I don’t have the energy. I came here in the hope of a relaxing vacation, not to go on an adventure every day.

Miles and I are on opposite ends of the huge couch in the hotel room. He’s flicking through a list on his phone while I try to finish reading my book. Which I’ve been trying to do for the last two hours, but he won’t stop bothering me.

“No,” I say again.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Maybe?” he says, leaning over and pulling my book from my hands, grinning at me. “Come on, Wrenny. You’re only in Palm Springs once.”

“I could be here next week if I wanted to.”

“Right, I forgot. Scarlett said that you’ll sugar momma me if I’m good,” he says. “I’ll be a good boy, Wren.”

“Shut up.” I laugh, pushing him away from me, but he’s a lot stronger than me, and he clasps my wrists together, kissing them like he loves to do.

“I’ll be so good for you, baby. So good.”

His voice is so fucking tempting and inviting that I know I won’t be able to fight him off for much longer. I sigh and soften my tone as I say, “Do you really want to go surfing?”

He nods, suddenly excited like a puppy. “More than anything.”

“Fine, but I want to be back here before lunchtime.”

We don’t make it back before lunchtime.

In fact, we don’t make it back until the surf instructor has had enough of us and the sun starts to set. We were both terrible at it, and it only got worse when the instructor suggested we tried tandem surfing. I can’t tell if I’m disgusted or impressed with Miles’s determination to actually catch a wave. We were out there for what felt like hours, sweaty, sticky, hot, and every other disgusting feeling you get after being out in the sun all day.

Instead of going back to our room like I suggested so we could order room service, I’m being dragged down a street to a dive bar, still in my skirt cover-up and bikini top while Miles is shirtless in his swim shorts.

“I need to shower properly. Please don’t tell me we’re about to eat here,” I say, letting Miles pull my exhausted body into the near-empty bar. I take a look around and it’s a nearly deserted space with a few people scattered around and a karaoke machine in the corner. “No.”

“Oh yes, Wrenny,” Miles says, pulling me onto the dance floor.

“Is it Opposite Day or something because it feels like you’ve been ignoring everything I’ve said no to all day?” I say, and he pulls me into him. He doesn’t say anything as he winks over to someone at the bar. “Miles Middle Name Davis, what are you doing?”

“Harlan,” he says, wrapping one arm around my waist and clasping his other hand in mine.

“What?”

“My middle name is Harlan,” he explains, and I snort. “Don’t ask. I have no idea where my mom got that name from. I think she was expecting me to turn out to be some big CEO or something.”

I laugh, throwing my head back. “It’s cute. It’s giving hardcore grandpa vibes.”

“Glad to know it’s grandpa names that get you going,” he starts, spinning me out and then pulling me back into him. We’re not even dancing properly to the fast-paced music that is playing but I’m having too much fun to care. “And not my amazing looks.”

“You’re so full of yourself. You know that?” I say, laughing as he makes me spin again.

“You could be full of me too if you’re nicer to me,” he retorts, and I gag. “I’m kidding. The rules and all that.”

“Glad to know that it’s you putting your dick inside me that will breach rule number three and not this very romantic, very up-close dance we’re doing,” I say when the song changes to slow, smooth jazz. He pulls me into him, and I rest my head on his chest as he holds my hand and I wrap my other hand around his back.

“This,” he says, gesturing between us, “is only whatever you want to call it, Wren.” He continues to sway us, out of beat to the music.

“That’s not confusing at all,” I murmur, wrapping my arms loosely around his neck. I almost forget that we’re both practically naked, our sweaty skin clinging to each other until my front is flush against his. God, has he always felt and smelt this good? He’s almost too perfect that it hurts. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“And you’ve got to be honest with me,” I warn, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Always.”

I take in a deep breath. “Would I sound stupid if I said that I want to stay here, in this little bubble, forever?”

“I think that’s the best thing you’ve said to me all day, Wren,” he whispers. “You don’t have to follow it up by explaining to me how you mean it in a platonic way or because we’re pretending to date because I get what you mean. In whatever way you meant that, I’m right there with you.”

“Okay, good.”

“Great.”

“Perfect.”

“Do you have any hobbies other than skating?” he asks, and I look up at him, resting my chin on his chest. “I know that was a real one-eighty, but I’ve been thinking about it, and I want to know.”

I nod, resting my head back down on his chest. “I like to read, obviously. A lot. And I write sometimes.”

“And you find that fun?”

“It’s the best. Getting lost between pages, finding myself within characters, and getting so caught up that I forget to look outside for a second. It’s the best type of consuming feeling. Don’t you ever feel like that about something that isn’t hockey?” I ask

“I feel like that about music. I think,” he says. “Maybe not as intensely as you do, but I do enjoy listening to music. Sometimes, it’s the way certain songs sound and how they make me feel, and other times, it’s the words that are so well written. But most of the time, it’s both.”

It feels like my heart is expanding. Is that possible? Or is that even a real thing? Because when Miles speaks to me, it feels like my heart is about to burst out of my chest, not only because it is beating so fast, but because it’s being talked to, cared for, and understood so deeply that it just wants to jolt right out.

“That’s why you made that playlist for me that you didn’t really make for me,” I tease.

“Exactly,” he says through a laugh. “What’s your favorite song?”

I think about it for a second. I change my favorite song the same way I change my outfits. It depends on what mood I’m in or where I am. “Right now, it’s Carry On by Norah Jones.”

He laughs a little, pulling away from me to hold me at arm’s length. “You’re going to have to sing it for me because I don’t know it.”

“I already told you, Davis, I can’t sing,” I say, shaking my head.

“If you do one, I’ll do one,” he says, walking over to the karaoke machine. He holds out the microphone to me. “Deal?”

I grab the mic off him. “Fine.”

I stand next to the machine, looking at the tiny screen for the lyrics, mentally preparing myself for embarrassment. It’s only Miles and a few other strangers in here, but it feels like everyone’s eyes are on me. In some weird way, the strangers don’t matter because I can only see him.

He stands across from me, his ankles crossed and his arms folded across his tanned chest, grinning. I start to sing. It’s not my best, but it’s something. It’s a pretty slow song, but it’s one of my favorites. I even do a little dance between the small interludes of piano, and Miles dances along with me, clearly enjoying himself.

It’s so easy to just be with him like this. At the end of the day, it’s his bed that I’m going to be crawling into and his arms that are going to wrap around me throughout the night. Because, here, we’re untouchable. And whatever we do or say is going to be contained into this tiny bubble we’ve built, and that makes this less terrifying.

When my song’s over, Miles takes the floor, psyching himself for the song he’s chosen. He does a mini warm-up, jumping up and down and pretending to crack his neck before the song starts. When the song starts, I immediately burst out laughing. Obviously, because Miles is Miles, he chose My Shot, from Hamilton the musical.

He can’t fucking sing to save his life; I’ve known that. But he can sort of rap.

I watch as he has the whole place captivated while rapping every single line of the song. There aren’t many people, but it makes this whole thing feel like a real performance. I’ve never seen him so at home. I never would have pegged him as a theater kid, but from the way he’s clearly memorized these lines, I might have been wrong about him. He keeps his eyes on me the entire time, giving an Oscar-worthy performance, pointing at me at any chance he can get until I’m crying-laughing so hard that I need to sit down.

I don’t know how I didn’t realize it earlier. Maybe weeks ago, when he picked me up from that bar and looked after me, or maybe it was way before that, but I might have real feelings for this guy. Like, feelings I definitely shouldn’t have. The kind of feelings that I have not only between my legs but also in my chest.

When his five-minute rap is done, he stumbles toward me, out of breath and chest heaving. “That was the most tiring workout I’ve ever done in my life,” he says, falling into me.

“Okay. Come on, big boy,” I say, pushing his weight off me and onto the bar stool beside me. “I’m hoping that five minutes isn’t how long you always last.”

He gasps, holding a dramatic hand to his chest. “Are you making a sex joke?”

“No,” I say, fiddling with my straw in my lemonade.

He tuts at me, shaking his head. “Didn’t want to get me a drink?”

“And miss another second of that toe-curling performance? No way,” I say, pushing my drink toward him. “You can have mine.”

“Wow, Wren. Making sex jokes and letting me drink some of your drink? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re finally warming up to me.”

“You don’t know any better,” I murmur. “Plus, I warmed up to you a long time ago. It just took a vacation and a day full of surfing for me to show it.”

“Nah, I think I figured you liked me when you let me finger fuck you until you came on my hand,” Miles murmurs, sipping on my drink innocently.

“Are we talking about the same thing because I remember you were the one who begged for it,” I say, my cheeks flashing at the memory. We both asked for more, but I’m not going to admit that right now.

“Okay, fine. I’m admitting it because I’m not going to deny the fact that I wanted you badly that night, and you let me have you,” he whispers so low that I can feel it in my stomach.

All I can focus on is that night because that is all it was. It was a moment of weakness. We were both turned on and reckless. That’s it. It might have driven me insane for weeks, but I’m over it now.

I think.

When we get back into the hotel, Miles immediately goes into the bathroom, desperate to get the smell of the ocean and the bar off him. I’ve become comfortable in my sticky bikini top over the past few hours, and I don’t want the smell of the beach—or the smell of him—to come off me just yet. Instead, I sit outside on the balcony, letting the last of the summer breeze flow through my hair.

I pull up my phone and call Kennedy, knowing that she should be with Scarlett right now. They pick up on the second ring, their bright faces filling up the screen.

“Hiiii,” Kennedy coos. “We miss you!”

“I miss you guys too,” I say, smiling at them. “What are you doing?”

“We just came back from Miles’s house. Apparently, hockey players want to party every night. You should know the kind of lifestyle you’re getting yourself into,” Kennedy warns.

“Well, it depends on how long you’re planning on keeping this up for,” Scarlett adds, trying to keep her whole face in the tiny screen.

“Yeah. I’m not exactly sure where we’re going with this,” I say, glancing back into the bedroom to make sure he’s still in the shower. When I turn back to the screen, both of the girls are looking at me confused.

“What does that mean?” Scarlett asks.

“You guys have to promise not to kill me,” I say. They both cross their hearts, holding up their Girl Scout promise.

Before I can speak, Kennedy pipes up. “You’re falling in love with him, aren’t you?”

My eyes widen, and I turn down the volume on my phone. “No! God. What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You totally are,” Scarlett adds in.

“I’m not,” I say as confidently as I can. “I just like him a lot more than I thought I would, okay? He actually listens to me and makes me feel valued and seen. He forced me to go surfing with him, and then we went to a bar to do karaoke, and I think I’ve had one of the best days of my life.”

“And your tan is looking gorgeous,” Scarlett says, pulling the phone closer to her face. “I bet those freckles are driving him insane.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t⁠—”

“You’re getting off-topic,” Kennedy chimes in. “Are you going to tell him?”

“Are you stupid? I’m not going to tell him anything. I don’t even know what I would say. It’s not like they are even real feelings anyway,” I say.

“Who said they’re not real? Because if you’re telling yourself that then you are fucking stupid,” Scarlett says, and I hate how right she is. “Don’t tell him if you don’t want to, but don’t invalidate your own feelings. If you don’t know what those are yet, that’s cool. But that doesn’t mean you have to pretend you’re not feeling them.”

I nod, taking in her advice. “When did you get so wise?”

“I always have been, you’re just too stupid to realize it,” she says with a shrug. We really are throwing around the S word today. “Anyway. We’ve got to go and binge-watch Love Island. We’ll see you in a few days.”

I say my goodbyes and end the call, trying my best to listen to what Scarlett says. I hate how she’s able to see right through me and understand exactly what it is that I need. I don’t need to tell him right now, but I do need to figure out my feelings before they start to turn into something bigger. The glass door to the balcony opens, and I flinch, turning around to a freshly showered, topless Miles, who is leaning against the door frame.

“Hey. You okay?” he asks, crossing his arms against his chest. “You seem a bit jumpy, so I’m guessing there’s going to be no scary movie tonight.”

I laugh. “No, because then I’d have to put up with your screeching.”

“That was one time,” he says. It happened more than once, but I don’t say that. He scratches his stomach, and my eyes are desperate to memorize every inch of his chest. My mouth practically salivates at the sound. “Are you hungry?”

Yes.

“What?” I say, snapping out of my trance.

“I asked if you were hungry,” he says, coming closer to me. He places his hand on my forehead. “You sure you’re okay? Are you sick?”

I shake my head, letting his hand fall. “I’m perfect, Doc. Just tired. All that singing and surfing has really got to me.”

My face splits into a huge yawn and so does his. “Me too. I’ll set up the TV in the room and we can have an early night.”

He walks back into the room, and I’m left with no idea what to do.