Fake Dates & Ice Skates: Chapter 6

“It’s not that hard, Wren,” Kennedy sighs, taking a sip of her iced coffee. “Just tell him you want to hang out and then bring up the plan. Easy peasy.”

“But then he’ll get excited and think I actually like him,” I groan.

“Why are you making this hard for yourself? What isn’t there to like? He’s hot, you’re hot, you both… like ice.”

“He doesn’t take things seriously. The last two times I’ve had a conversation with him, he reeked of alcohol. And not to mention he’s a hockey player. I don’t date hockey players. In fact, I don’t date anymore, period.”

“You’re a skater too. It’s practically the same thing.” Kennedy dismisses with a wave of her hand. I throw her a rude look but instead her eyes widen. “Did you hear about what happened with Millie Trainor and Ty on NoCrumbs?”

NoCrumbs is a notorious gossip page based around colleges and universities in Utah, primarily in Salt Lake. There’s a chain of them up and down the country, most likely run by Mason Greer and his little minions.

NoCrumbsSLC posts almost daily updates on the latest scandals our school and nearby schools have had. It’s a pathetic waste of time for people who run it, but it gets everyone glued to their phones. I used to be one of those people: refreshing the page to wait for an update, numbly scrolling through the account to read what teacher said what about whoever. It’s easy entertainment and a perfect icebreaker for any conversation with people in the area.

“No, Ken, I haven’t.”

“You’re so chronically offline, I swear,” she huffs, pushing her brown her over her shoulder. “She basically catfished him for “I don’t see how that’s relevant to anything we’re talking about….”

“It is but it isn’t. Look, all I’m saying is you should give him a chance to see how this could work. You know how insane everyone gets around hockey players.”

“I want to preform again, that’s it. I don’t want anything more than that. I “A bit of romance wouldn’t hurt, y’know? Even if it’s fake. You need to loosen up a little,” she presses softly. I try and let the idea go down for a second, but it doesn’t sit right.

“I don’t know anything about him,” I protest when it’s the first thing to come to mind.

“Like what?”

“Like, where does he stand on basic human rights issues? Does he care about climate change? That sort of thing.”

“Wren, do “I do,” I say slowly, pushing my plastic coffee cup away from me. She watches the movement, and she shakes her head disbelievingly.

“Well, you’re about to find out,” she singsongs when something behind me catches her eye.

“What?”

“Mm-” she starts but she doesn’t need to finish before I see him.

With lethal timing, just as we’re talking about him, Miles is here, looking devastating. To his credit, he is looking for a lot less dishevelled than he has the last few times I’ve seen him. Maybe he’s even showered. He’s dressed plainly in dark jeans and a white top, his curly brown hair falling down his neck. Fuck. Why can’t I tear my eyes away from him? I need to keep myself in check.

“Hey, Wren,” he says with a wicked grin.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I ask, bored.

Kennedy shoots me a disappointed look as if I’m a naughty kindergartener. He plucks a seat from an empty table nearby and takes a seat to my right, his long legs coming dangerously close to mine. He looks so out of place. Not only are we at a table for two, but his tallness and roughness doesn’t seem to fit into this dainty café.

“Are you not going to introduce me to your friend?” he asks, gesturing to Kennedy. She gives a sheepish smile, practically blushing.

“I hardly know you. There’s no point introducing you to someone you’ll hopefully not see again,” I say. I don’t know why that whenever I’m around him I feel the need to be more bratty than usual. I kind of like the way he challenges me.

“Oh, but you’re dying to get to know me, right?” Miles whines, leaning towards me. God, why does the noise make my stomach swarm with butterflies? Hearing a man groan is one thing but hearing them whine or plead is another. Unfortunately, my weakness.

“Must have slipped my mind,” I say with ease. Kennedy is unimpressed, practically pouting like a child as she crosses her arms across her chest.

“Why do you have to make this so hard, Wrenny?” Kennedy sighs. Before I can retort to her use of my worst nickname, Miles jumps in.

“Yeah. Why do you have to make this so hard, Kennedy’s face lights up as she extends her hand dramatically. “Kennedy Wynter. Like the season but with a ‘Y.’ Nice to officially meet you.” Miles takes her hand and shakes it before turning to me.

“Officially, huh? You talking about me already, Wren?” Miles asks cheerfully. I roll my eyes and when he catches it, he smirks.

“You’re infuriating,” I say, holding my hands up to him and then closing them into fists with a sigh, dropping them on the table.

We stare at each other, talking with our eyes. His face puzzled but amused, searching my face for something as the crease between his eyebrow deepens.

“I’m sensing some tension here. I’ll see you later, Wren. I need to get back before I get fired,” Kennedy says, sliding out of her seat and picking up her coffee. She comes over to my side of the small table and whispers ‘Play nice’ before flashing a smile to Miles and leaves.

“I’m always nice,” I mutter as Miles takes over Kennedy’s seat, crossing his arms on his chest, spreading his legs out further so he’s manspreading. If I didn’t find him so agitating, I would find what he’s doing right now to be incredibly attractive. I fiddle with my straw of my nearly empty coffee cup.

“Soo,” I drag out, not sure what to say now we’re alone. The side of his mouth twitches but he doesn’t let it turn into a full smile. It was easy to talk at the party because I could run to Scarlett and Ken and I could skate away at the rink but here, it’s like we “Just doing what everyone else is doing; getting coffee.’

“Oh, so your first non-alcoholic drink of the day?” I say, keeping my tone light. He laughs quietly and for some reason I want him to do it again.

“What?! Coffee doesn’t have alcohol? My day has been ruined!” Miles exclaims melodramatically. I like that he’s quick. He’s able to keep up with my sarcasm which isn’t something that I get a lot. Always keeping me on my toes. I hate that it also makes me smile like an idiot.

What “Is it bad that I enjoy talking to you more than most of my friends? You’re, like, hella brutal, but that somehow makes me enjoy it more,” he admits, grinning hard as if this is the most fun, he’s had in a long time. His rashness catches me off guard.

“I think you’re hyper fixating on me to avoid fixing your problems,” I respond truthfully. Because that’s what this is right? He’s going through a tough time, and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. And now, whenever we’re around each other we feel the need to talk. It’s natural. And honestly, I think I’m doing it too.

He shrugs, looking out of the window. “I guess so.”

His voice sounds so far away. He’s quiet for a while, staring out of the window at the autumn trees in the courtyard, deep in thought. Just out of reach. For a minute I think I’ve upset him or said the wrong thing in the wrong way. Great. This is not awkward at all. It isn’t long before he speaks again.

“Why haven’t you texted me yet?” he asks, peeling his gaze from the window to my face. The way his mind changes and subject shifts almost gives me whiplash.

“What?”

“It’s been, like, two weeks and…nothing. Were you being serious when you said you hate hockey guys?” he asks, his voice suddenly boyish and pained.

“Yes, and no?” He raises his eyebrow, moving his head to the side slightly. “I just don’t enjoy the hockey culture, I guess. Especially at NU. The parties, the drinking, the social media, the rituals, and the  stupidity that is ‘puck bunnies.’ Us skaters stay away from you guys. It’s an unspoken rule. I’ve been trying my best to follow that, but here you are.”

“I’m just irresistible, Wren. You’re going to have to get used to it,” he says lazily.

“You’re more like a leech but sure,” I shrug.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t slept with anyone in over four months.,” he challenges. ‘I’ve never referred to a girl I’ve hooked up with as a Puck Bunny, and I never will.’

“It doesn’t make me feel any better. It just means you can keep it in your pants longer than the average Joe. Congratulations,” I sigh. “That’s beside the point. All of my friends’ experiences with hockey guys have not ended well. The last thing I want is to be on someone like Jake Callahan’s roster.”

Miles laughs, a toothy grin spreading across his face. “Fine, I can admit that Jake is a dick but not everyone is like that. You can’t just put us all into the same box. What’s the word?”

He taps at the table with his forefinger. I can’t help but notice how clean his hands are. They’re huge yet they look so delicate. If I wasn’t so focused on not liking him, I would say he’s getting more brownie points just for letting my fantasise about his hands on me for a split second. The way they would look around my- No. No.

“Stereotype,” I say under my breath when I remember to speak. He grins as if I’ve helped him solve one of the worlds hardest problems.

“Yeah. You can’t stereotype us. I’m not saying I’m perfect but I’m a decent guy. Xavier, Harry, and Grey are too. And Carter…he was way too good for anybody.”

I see the way his eyes dim at the mention of his best friend. I didn’t know Carter that well, the same way I didn’t know most of the hockey guys, but he was always one the ones I could tolerate. When Scarlett was dating Jake, Carter was usually with them, and she would always say how funny he was. Everyone says that he had this light energy about him; everyone was so drawn to him. He wasn’t like one of those douchey guys that everyone idolises when they pass on. Carter was always kind. Everyone knew that before and after.

“Anyway, I’m rambling. All I’m saying is you need to give people a chance. Not everyone is out to get you. Xavier warned me about you and look, here I am,” Miles says, gesturing to himself, grinning.

I lean forward, looking into his green eyes, trying to figure him out. “Warned you how?”

“Oh, nothing. He just said you were pretty hard core,” he says, taking a piece of the scone that I forgot was there. He shoves a chunk into his mouth without asking and I’m too in my head to tell him not to.

Nobody has ever called me that before. I know I’m a little tough because I have to be. I can’t skate without being tough on myself and setting myself limits. But, hard core feels like something more. Something “Can I ask you something? You can totally say no but again, Scarlett and Kennedy would murder me if I don’t ask,” I say bravely. Taking back my scone which, he somehow has nearly eaten half of.

“Yeah, sure. But first, can I ask what your deal is with them? No offence but I’ve only seen you hang out with them,” he says.

“You keeping tabs on me?” I smirk. He shrugs, not giving me an answer. “They’re basically my sisters. I wouldn’t be talking to you right now if it wasn’t for them.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not,” he says, wearily, a sceptical look overtaking his face. I shrug in response too. “What did you want to ask?”

I’ve started it now. I have to follow through. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes quickly before opening them again.

“You kind of brought up at the party but I thought it was stupid. You were suggesting a way we can help each other out in a mutually beneficial way. Some way I can help you get back on track with training and you can help me boost my image again and let people fall back in love figure skating,” I explain, not fully meeting his eyes, suddenly finding the table more interesting.

“No offence, but how could you help me train? You’re like five-three,” he says, almost laughing.

“It’s a lot harder than hitting a puck on ice all day,” I mutter. He nudges me softly under the table. I take in a breath, not letting him get to me. “I go to the gym five, sometimes six, days a week. I’m on a strict food plan, I take Pilates classes when I can and I’m on the ice more than I’m in my bed. I don’t have the time or the energy to mess up my plan, but I can make adjustments.”

He stares at me, impressed and shocked. “Jesus, I do one of those things maybe twice a week. I used to be a lot better but since Carter… I just haven’t.”

For some strange reason I want to hold his hand, and squeeze it reassuringly, to tell him it’s okay to lose motivation but I tell myself not to. We’re not there yet. I know how hard it is to get back on track after losing someone. I saw how hard it was for Kennedy after losing her dad when she was a kid.

“I know and that’s why I want to help. I can’t stand you a lot of the time, “I think so too. How could I help you, though?”