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

I had no clue what to wear to this thing, and all Wren said was to “wear something nice.” If she had given me more instructions, I would have had more to work with. I can’t show up to a fancy event with my fake girlfriend’s dad looking like an orphan, so I had to go to my last resort.

Evan got me a link to a good tailor who wasn’t too expensive, and I dug into my savings to buy myself a suit and bow tie. It’s nothing flashy, but it should be enough for the occasion and, considering the price, maybe even my wedding.

“Please tell me you brought your outfit in your bag,” Wren pleads the second I slip into her car in my dark jeans and faded tee. I throw my bag into the backseat.

“No, Wren, I’m going to wear this to the event,” I reply sarcastically, gesturing toward my outfit.

“Knowing you, you probably would,” she mutters.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She grins, looking at my outfit and then back to my face. “Have you looked in the mirror? You give off rough around the edges, I-don’t-wear-suits-unless-it’s-for-a-wedding-or-a-funeral vibes.”

“Gee, I didn’t know you paid that much attention to me,” I say, running my hand through my hair. She gives me a blank look. “Obviously it’s in my bag.”

“Good. Did you get something nice to wear?” she asks as she checks her mirrors while backing out of my driveway.

“Define what you mean by nice…” I tease, leaning over to play with the radio until something good comes on.

Listening to Wren’s Taylor Swift playlist while we work out has had its effects on me. Now, I can’t do anything active without some 1989 or Reputation action. Her music cures the soul. It has to be magic or some shit.

“I don’t know. Something charming, smart, dazzling,” she lists, staring out at the traffic we quickly merged into. I watch her dark-blue nails tap onto the steering wheel as she sighs.

“Aren’t I all those things anyway?” She gives me an unimpressed look. Maybe it’s too early for my bullshit. “Yes, I brought something nice.”

“Okay, good,” she says softly. She murmurs something under her breath as she taps her fingers impatiently. The car in front of us stays still when the light turns green, and her face heats up as she pounds the steering wheel with her tiny fists, avoiding the horn. “God! Can you drive your fucking car!?”

“You seem tense,” I whisper, turning down the music. She turns to me for a split second before focusing on the road.

“I haven’t slept properly in almost two weeks,” she bites out, her knuckles turning white as she grips the steering wheel.

“Why? What’s keeping you up?”

“Oh, nothing,” she says cheerfully. I can tell she’s about to go on a sarcastic tangent. Luckily for her, it’s my favorite thing. “Just having a quarter-life crisis over my career in figure skating. Oh, and my sister has been off the grid for almost two months, and my mom is starting to project all of her frustrations onto me, so I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

I blow out a breath. “Jesus.”

“Yeah, it’s starting to get to me.”

“Makes sense why you made me eat shit at the gym yesterday.”

She scoffs. “That was nothing. I could work you harder if I wanted to.”

“Please, be my guest,” I say, crossing my arms against my chest. “Are you and your sister close?”

“We are. Sort of. She was like my mom’s test run before I was born, so if I thought I had mommy issues, Austin has it worse. She’s been in Russia for the last four years at a ballet program. We haven’t heard from her in a while, and everyone’s a bit worried.”

“Are you worried about her? Is that why you’re stressed?”

She groans, shrugging. “I am, but I’m not. Austin is tough. A lot tougher than me. She’s always been independent, and she takes care of herself first, so I’m sure that whatever she’s going through, she’ll get through it. It only stresses me out because when my mom doesn’t have two kids to fuss over, all the weight lands on me. That’s why she’s been so hard on me about getting the skating stuff sorted as soon as possible. I just wish she would at least communicate with us more so we don’t have to worry.”

My mind instantly drifts to Clara. How I’ve been pushing her away over something she was trying to protect me from. How she might be feeling like Wren in her situation. Maybe I should reach out to her. As much as these last few months have sucked, she’s been the best big sister

“She’ll come around. Family is hard. Believe me, I know,” I say as reassuringly as I can.

“You never talk about your family, and you talk about everything,” she points out, glancing at me. Her green eyes flash with worry before she turns back to the road. “But just so you know, you can talk to me about them. When you want to, that is.”

“I know,” I reply. “I just don’t like talking about them much. We’re all in a weird place right now.”

“I get that,” she says, smiling softly. “Well, that door is always open if you ever do want to talk about it, just so you know.”

“I know. Thank you, Wrenny.”

She flashes me a smile that’s both teasing and sincere. “You’re so welcome, Milesy.”

On the drive there, I try to remember the countless stories she has told me about her dad. From what I’ve heard, he’s probably the only person that Wren truly loves apart from her friends. When she talks about him, she doesn’t hold back anything like she does with her mom. She doesn’t talk about him as if he’s simply just the person responsible for creating her.

She told me about how much she adores him and how grateful she is to have him as a dad while her mom was hard on her. Over the last three days, she’s been quizzing me on the things that her dad likes and what he doesn’t.

“Cream cheese,” she says, keeping her eyes focused on the road.

“Like or dislike?”

“Loathe,” she growls, slowly turning to me, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Okay,” I whistle. ‘No cream cheese.”

“Never any cream cheese.”

The hotel is a lot fancier than I imagined.

I have to crane my head back to take in all the stories of sleek black glass from top to bottom. The inside is a mix of gold and black, and it’s fucking breathtaking.

Wren navigates us around as if she works here. She seems so natural at this, linking her arm in mine and walking us around. She talks to the staff as if they are old friends that she needs to catch up with. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they are.

We make our way through the glass elevator to our luxury suite. There are three main rooms: the master bedroom with a California king, a huge bathroom, and a living room space with a mini bar. Obviously, we’re not legally allowed to drink so everything is empty, but it’s still cool.

“So, I guess I’m sleeping on the couch,” I say when I return to the bedroom. Wren has started unpacking her things onto the hangers neatly, walking back and forth from her suitcase on the bed to the closet. I don’t understand why she insisted on bringing so many clothes for such a short trip.

“Miles, I had to go through the trouble of explaining to my dad that I wanted separate beds. He’s doing the whole ‘I trust you’ thing. Plus, this bed could fit, like, three times the size of us on here and there would still be room. We can share it for one night, right?” Wren turns to me, hands on her hips. “You probably won’t even notice I’m there.”

“Okay, but no funny business,” I say, mainly reminding myself to keep it in my pants. I could never not notice her. She laughs and walks toward me.

“How about you go and repeat that in the mirror?” she whispers.

After we take turns in the bathroom, we’re finally getting ready for the event. I’m standing in front of the mirror that takes up most of one wall, watching a YouTube video on how to tie my bow tie.

I don’t know how I let Evan talk me out of getting a clip-on one. He said something about making a good first impression even though I doubt Wren’s dad would be able to tell the difference between a real bow tie and a clip-on.

I’m grunting with frustration when I catch a glimpse of her in the mirror behind me. Wren’s eyes lock with mine, and I forget how to breathe.

She looks devastating.

She’s wearing a dark-blue evening gown, her blonde hair is tied back into a neat bun with a small silver clip. Her silver earrings dangle elegantly, matching with her heels. She walks toward me slowly, and my hands fumble around my tie when I remember that it’s there.

“Need help with that?” she asks, gesturing toward my bow tie. I nod, basically foaming at the mouth. When did I forget how to speak? “I asked my dad to teach me how to tie ties once and it just stuck.”

Her hands come toward my neck as she unties the knot I made. Very slowly. Too slow. I watch as her hands work at the mess I made, and I try to swallow. She looks up at me, smirking before looking back down to my tie.

A soft smile tugs at her lips. “What?”

“Promise me you’ll come back here with me tonight,” I get out when I find my voice. Her eyebrows furrow. She looks up at me, but I watch her in the mirror.

“What do you mean?”

“You look fucking stunning, Wren,” I whisper, and I make the mistake of looking her in the eye. Her wide eyes stare into mine, her lips slightly parted. “I’m just saying, I won’t be surprised if someone tries to take you home with them.”

“The only person taking me home tonight is you,” she murmurs. My heart skips multiple beats. I know it shouldn’t take this long for her to tie my tie, but her hands are still on me, even when I can see it’s done. “You clean up nice in a suit. You look good.”

I grin. “Say that last sentence again.”

“You look good?”

“Just wanted to double-check I’m hearing you correctly,” I say. She rolls her eyes and drops her hands after smoothing out my shirt. “Are you sure your dad will like me?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She looks up at me as she takes a little step back. Her heel catches with the carpet, but I wrap my hand around her waist to steady her. Her hands come to the lapels of my blazer, pulling herself up into me. “Now stop worrying.”

“What if I bring up cream cheese?”

“Why would you ever need to bring up cream cheese?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I might get nervous and say something about it.”

“If you do, I will go home with someone else tonight right after I murder you.”