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

The week flies by in a blur of early mornings and late nights, the usual chatter with the girls reduced to nothing more than half-asleep grumbles. So tonight, reuniting on the couch feels like a celebration. I’ve just tucked my phone away after ordering our favorite greasy indulgence from Nero’s when Matilda begins to light up the flatscreen.

“Wait!” Kennedy’s voice cuts through the opening credits, pausing the movie. She swivels from her spot on the floor, directly below where Scarlett and I lounge on the couch. In a swift motion, she gathers her curls into a makeshift bun, then pins us both with a look that manages to be both stern and teasing. “Before we start,” she begins, pointing dramatically at each of us, “we need to set some ground rules for movie night. No phones, no distractions, just us and Matilda. Agreed?”

Her playful seriousness draws a laugh from both Scarlett and me, but we agree. I reach for the remote, but she stops me. “Okay, first, we need to give our two updates.”

Our first semester at NU was sheer perfection. Our schedules synced up so well that we could hang out regularly, not just during early breakfasts or late-night cram sessions. A scheduling snafu with Kennedy’s classes and mine threw us off our game in the second semester.

We scrambled to find a new rhythm, and once we did, Kennedy came up with a plan for the rare times the three of us could meet up. She suggested we each share three highlights from our separate college experiences to keep everyone looped in. But as assignments piled on and time became a luxury, we streamlined our updates to just two each, cutting out any repetition and keeping our meet-ups fresh and engaging. It’s a highlight of my week whenever we can all manage to hang out, and it brings me a kind of joy nothing else can. After spending the past few days trying to make different posters for the winter showcase and giving up, I’ve spent most of my time either at the library, the rink, or at the gym, hoping that maybe the team will pull through and fix itself.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Scarlett says. “I no longer have that horrible UTI, and I finally beat Evan in the class Kahoot on Monday, so a win is a win.”

We all burst out laughing at the absurdity of her updates. “Two very disconnected but clap-worthy updates, I have to say, Miss Voss,” Kennedy says, and I agree, clapping too.

“I try.” Scarlett sighs, her body melting into the cushions. “What about you, Ken doll?”

“Can you stop trying to make that nickname happen? It’s not going to happen,” Kennedy retorts, rolling her eyes. Scarlett just shrugs, reaching forward to pick out all the purple candies from the jar on the coffee table. “Well, I finished our portraits, but before you ask, no. You can’t see them until they’re ready.”

She’s been working on and off our group portraits, but she’s constantly saying she’s getting close to finishing them and then completely scraps the painting. I think I’ve posed for more photos for Kennedy than I have for myself. She’s the most creative out of the three of us and everything she makes is beautiful. She’s designed all of her own tattoos and Scarlett’s too.

“Which isn’t going to be for another year,” I mutter under my breath. Scarlett hears me and snickers before thinking.

“I heard that, you impatient bitch. True art takes time,” Kennedy states proudly. “And my second update is I finished the new season of The Crown.”

“What? Without me?” Scarlett exclaims, throwing a pillow in her direction.

“I had to! You take, like, a gazillion bathroom breaks whenever we watch anything. You’re the worst person to watch a movie with.”

“You’re the one that stopped Matilda. You can’t spoil it for me now,” Scarlett says.

“I can’t spoil it. It’s literally history. Just pick up a book, you nerd,” Kennedy argues, rolling her eyes. She turns to me, her expression calming down from their short-lived argument. “What about you, Wren? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“I’m just thinking about my updates. Nothing exciting has happened,” I say with a sigh.

The second the words leave my mouth, I feel like I’m lying. Truth is, I haven’t done anything exciting. All I’ve done is go to my classes and train my ass off until I feel like putty. The only thing that comes to mind is Miles and his stupid fucking face and his stupid fucking voice and his stupid fucking teasing. And the stupid fucking date he has been hounding me about since last weekend.

The party was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. After being stuck in a metaphorical jail with Augustus Holden for four years, going out of the house has been a chore. I never went out much when we were together, so after we broke up, I never had a reason to. We weren’t the outdoorsy type of couple, and we were way too busy with our skating schedules to entertain that idea. I liked that about us for the most part. We always put our work first.

Scar and Kennedy will find any excuse to go to a party, and I’ll find any excuse to stay inside and read. We’ve always worked like that, and I’ve come to terms with it. I didn’t expect that having a dance battle with three random boys and my friends would turn into one of the most exhilarating nights of my otherwise boring life.

I’ve always felt like my life is constantly going on a loop, doing the same three things every day for the last ten years. It’s like I’ve been stuck in a mundane rhythm, each day blurring into the next with no sign of change. But recently, something shifted. It’s as if someone pressed pause on the monotony and flipped the script, breathing color into my once predictable existence. I’ve always felt like the boring one of my friends. The mild one. The tame one. I don’t know if I want to be that anymore just because I’ve got so comfortable with it.

Kennedy leans in, her eyes drilling into mine like she’s about to unlock my deepest secrets with a stare. “Oh my god, spill it. Right now,” she demands.

“Spill what?” I deflect, stretching my arm behind her to snag whatever snack I can find. I shove a handful of chips into my mouth, hoping to stop any actual words from escaping.

“It’s definitely about a guy. I can tell,” Kennedy says, jabbing a finger at me for dramatic effect.

Chewing loudly, I ask, “How can you possibly know that?”

“Because you’re blushing like you’ve just run a marathon in the Sahara,” Scarlett chimes in, grinning. “Come on, this is a safe space. You can tell us anything.”

I roll my eyes, dodging their questions as I say, “My first update is that I finished another chapter of Stolen Kingdom last night.”

Kennedy gasps, and Scarlett’s eyes widen with excitement. “Oh my god,” they both scream at the same time.

“See, I knew it wasn’t about a guy!” Kennedy says, completely contradicting her last comment. Scarlett shakes her head.

“No, you didn’t. And you didn’t let her finish,” Scarlett explains. “But we need to return to that. I have been dying to know what happens next.”

I started writing Stolen Kingdom, a fantasy series, when I was sixteen.

It follows a young princess, Carmen, who finds out her whole life is a lie and she is not actually the real heir to the throne. She is sent anonymous messages and is stalked around her small kingdom in Estonia, and she is on a quest to find out who knows her real identity and what they’re going to do about it.

It falls into many different categories, and the plot takes ridiculous turns, but Scarlett, Kennedy, and our friend Gigi have managed to keep up thus far. It’s stupid and ridiculous in all the best ways and it’s the passion project I throw myself into when life gets too much.

“And my second update…” I hedge, not sure how to say this. I get it out in one go, hoping that the word vomit will do the trick. “So, that dance-off at the party last weekend wasn’t just a coincidence with the timing. I met Miles, like, ten minutes before that, and we accidentally made a bet that if his team won, he could take me on a date, and if I won, he would go to a dance class. Somehow, Harry won, and now I have to go on a date with Miles.”

They both blink at me for a second, neither one of them saying anything.

Scarlett narrows her eyes. “How do you accidentally make a bet with someone?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It just… happened. If anything, it’s your guys’ fault for leaving me unattended at a party I didn’t want to go to.”

“You’re a big girl, Wren. You were fine.” Kennedy laughs. I frown at her.

“Besides, Miles is a hot commodity. You should be lucky he even graced you with his presence,” Scarlett says, rolling her eyes. I had assumed he was popular since he’s a hockey player, but the fact that Kennedy and Scarlett are both nodding like this is common knowledge makes me feel stupid. Scarlett registers the confusion on my face and says, “Do you guys remember Jake? That dickwad I dated a while back?” We both nod. “Well, he’s on the hockey team too. He and Miles are friends. And he’s Evan’s housemate.”

“It’s interesting how you hate Evan so much, yet this is the second time he’s made an appearance in today’s conversation,” Kennedy teases innocently.

Evan is two things: filthy rich and blond. He’s a gorgeous man, and no one could deny that, but his personality is where the faults lie. He’s managed to get a rise out of Scarlett every day for as long as I can remember. They’re in most of the same classes, and he has been trying to upstage Scarlett since we started college. There’s been constant competition between them since day one, battling for the best grades and the best answers. Scarlett is not afraid of any competition, but there is something about Evan that makes her skin crawl.

I look over to a red-faced Scarlett, her expression lying somewhere between a blush and pure anger. “You’re getting us off topic,” Scarlett hisses at Ken. She turns back to me, smiling. “Anyway, he’s a hockey player, so I’m sure he’s just doing his playboy ritual.”

“Really?” I ask, the surprise coming off way too strong. “That’s hard to believe.”

“What are you talking about?” Scarlett asks.

“I dunno,” I mumble, “He didn’t give off dickish energy. Just sad, brooding, miserable energy when he wasn’t trying to flirt with me.”

“Oh, that’s hot,” Kennedy says, nodding.

“Not really.” Scarlett grimaces. “He was the nicest of Jake’s friends, I’ll give him that. Since Carter passed away, I think the whole team has been on edge, so that checks out.”

Kennedy nods again, and I feel totally out of the loop. Have I really had my head so far up Darcy’s and Augustus’s asses that I don’t know the basic social standings of people in my school?

“How do you know about these things, and I don’t?” I ask them.

Scarlett rolls her eyes. “Because you refuse to gossip about people who don’t concern you.”

“Right, and that’s a bad thing, how?”

“Because now you don’t know about one of the most important things that happened last semester,” Kennedy adds in, stuffing her face with Cheerios that somehow materialized in her lap.

“I know about Carter,” I argue, my throat burning at the thought. I didn’t know him, or anyone on the hockey team for that matter, but what happened was terrible. I didn’t have to know him for it to hurt when we were told what happened. He sounded like a nice guy and was way too young to die. “I just didn’t know he was friends with Miles.”

“Best friends,” Kennedy says through a mouthful, nodding at me.

“Right. Well, I didn’t know they were best friends. It’s not like he was going to bring that up to me at the party. All we talked about was how he got benched and how I had some bad news from my mom,” I say. They both hum in agreement. “I feel shitty for not knowing, but it wasn’t my utmost concern last semester.”

“I guess you were too busy with Gus-related things,” Scarlett says.

I groan. “Can we not? Just thinking about him gives me the creeps. I can’t believe I stayed with him for that long.”

“I can’t believe you stayed with him, period. He was a walking red flag when he tried convincing you to cut us off so he could have you all to himself,” she adds.

I sigh, feeling the regret rot in my stomach. “Well, sixteen-year-old me didn’t know that.”

“Neither did eighteen-year-old you,” Kennedy mutters. I throw a cushion at her, and as she throws it back to me, my phone pings from beside me.

Miles and I have texted a few times since the party. It was fine at first when we were trying to get to know each other, but now, I never know what to say. He just sends me random memes and songs he’s listening to. It’s usually something stupid and related to whatever TV show he’s watching. The other morning, he sent me a link to “The Only Exception” by Paramore and captioned it, I feel like an indie pop princess in a coming-of-age movie for teenagers on Netflix. Send help. I asked why I needed to know that, and he just said that I did. There was no argument, and we fell into some weird rhythm of sending each other songs and how they make us feel.

There’s a weird comfort in the randomness of our chats. It’s like we’re both tossing bits of our day at each other, seeing what sticks. It doesn’t feel like much, but there’s something about these snippets that makes me look forward to a text from him. I only ever text Scarlett, Kennedy, or Gigi, so having a new contact in my phone feels like a win.

This time, there’s no text, and it’s just a video. I shake my head before it even starts playing. Miles backs away from the camera, and I notice the room that he’s in looks like a dance studio with three poles in the middle. A few older women are in the background, cheering him on before Needed Me by Rihanna starts playing in the speakers.

No.

No.

I watch Miles back up to the center pole, a determined look crossing his face. He’s wearing the most ridiculous neon-pink gym shorts and a tank top that says “Pole Legend in Training.” The bass drops, and he starts his routine, a series of awkward shimmies and hesitant spins that have me desperately gasping for air. His hands clutch at the pole, his feet trying to find rhythm where there’s none.

The older ladies in the background are clapping and hooting—clearly the cheer squad he never knew he needed. As the song hits the chorus, Miles attempts to hoist himself up the pole. His efforts are more comical than sexy, his face scrunching up as he focuses. Then, with a grunt, he manages to lift himself off the ground for a brief, glorious second before sliding down with a thump that probably didn’t feel as funny as it looked.

The camera shakes a bit—probably because the person filming is laughing too. Miles looks directly at it, blows a kiss with a huge grin, and says, “For you, Wrenny girl. Bet I’ve got your attention now.”

I’m laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my face. This video, this ridiculous, endearing effort just to make me laugh—it’s the stupidest thing I’ve seen all day. It’s not just funny, it’s weirdly endearing. And as I wipe the tears from my eyes, I ignore the looks Scarlett and Kennedy are giving me and type out a message to him.

I don’t know what I’m asking. If I’m wondering why he wants my address or why he’s done playing the nice patient guy. Either way, he responds with:

I don’t have any excuse for why I sent him my address, but I did. He responds with a random TV character pumping their fist into their side and a bunch of book emojis. We’ve talked a few times about my minor obsession with romance books and my literature degree, so now he thinks that it’s all I do. I don’t stop the snort that leaves my lips, and when I look up, Kennedy and Scarlett are both looking at me with a puzzled expression.

“Who was that?” Scarlett asks, leaning over to peek at my phone.

I push it to my chest. “Just Miles being an idiot.”

“Is he your new best friend? Are you going to make matching friendship bracelets and replace us?” Kennedy asks, sulking.

“What?”

“I haven’t seen you smile that hard in months, Wrenny baby. Honestly, it was kinda terrifying,” she mumbles.

“That’s not true,” I say, knowing it is.

After the breakup, things got hard. It was difficult to do all the things I used to love, and Scar and Ken were constantly watching over me like helicopter parents. If your ex-boyfriend and skating partner dropped you on the ice and ruined your reputation, you would swear off men too. I just didn’t expect to fall into one of the worst depressions of my life. Doing mundane tasks became hard, and shutting myself off from the world to keep my heart safe felt like the best option.

It wasn’t my finest moment, and I’ve slowly been making my way out of the fog. Very slowly. Focusing solely on my performance and my classes has given me an excuse to ignore my non-existent sex life, but with the added stress of trying to work a way around the new bump in the road on the team, I know I’m going to need some sort of fun in my life.

“Whatever,” Scarlett says, waving her hand at us. “Can we circle back to Stolen Kingdom? I need my Carmen and Marcus fix immediately.”

Since I started writing this series, we’ve established a ritual: Every new chapter I finish, I perform a live reading for Kennedy and Scarlett. It’s like our own exclusive book club, keeping me motivated to write and leaving them on edge for what’s next. Initially, reading aloud felt a little awkward, but they love how I bring the characters to life, and it helps me spot any gaps in the narrative.

Tonight, we sprawl on the living room floor, blankets beneath us, forming our cozy little circle, movie forgotten. Kennedy flops her head onto my lap, her curly hair a ticklish contrast against my skin. Scarlett faces us, chin cradled in her hands, eyes eager for the story to continue. I open my laptop and dive into the world we’re all hooked on.

When I get another text from Miles reminding me to be ready on time, I swipe it away from the screen. Not before Kennedy looks up at me with a knowing grin. I don’t know how I’m going to convince them that he’s not been all I’ve thought about since the party. I also don’t know how I’m going to manage to sit through an entire date when I have no idea how to act on a first date. The old Wren would have run off and said “fuck no” to this idea, but the new Wren is moving closer and closer to saying yes to everything. Even the things that scare me the most.