Page 123 of Falling

“Are you awake?”

“What do you think?”

I laugh, pushing on her shoulder until she turns around, lying flat on her back. She opens one eye, peeking at me, and I smile at her. She closes her eyes again, but she twists her mouth to the side like she’s trying not to smile back.

She drops her arm over her face, clearly trying to hide herself from me. “Hi?”

I grin. “Hi.”

She peeks at me through her fingers. “Stop watching me sleep, you weirdo.”

“Then stop sleeping,” I say, dragging her arm from her face, and she frowns at me. I glance at my bedside table and then back at her. Her eyes widen in shock, and I press a kiss to her cheek. “Happy Valentine's, sweet girl.”

“Oh my god,” she whispers, looking at the breakfast, then at the flowers, and then back at me. Her expression is priceless. “Miles, this is— I didn’t— It’s the fourteenth. Oh my god, it’s the fourteenth.”

I laugh, throwing my head back. “I’m glad you know what day it is.”

She frowns. “I didn’t know we were doing Valentines. I didn’t get you anything.”

I shrug. “You’ve been busy. It’s okay.”

She shakes her head violently. “No. It’s not okay. You’re my fa— real sort-of boyfriend and I?—”

I wink at her. “Nice save.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” she whispers, her shoulders dropping. I press a kiss to the corner of her mouth because I know she hates kissing me before she’s brushed her teeth.

“Just consider it a congratulations for winning yesterday and a pre-celebration for when you win the whole damn thing,” I say, shrugging.

“These are heart-shaped pancakes,” she argues, pointing to her breakfast.

“You really think they’re heart-shaped?”

“No, but I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“Look, I don’t want to make you feel like you have to be all lovey-dovey and coupley because it’s the fourteenth,” I say, even though I know that’s not what I want. I want to do all the embarrassing and cringey couple things with her just because we can.

“No, this is great. We can celebrate it as long as you let me get you a gift too,” she says.

“Deal.”

I should have knownthat when Wren meant she was getting a gift for me, she was talking more about getting a gift for herself. I knew taking her to an actual bookstore would be a good idea since I never got to actually buy her books on our first date, but I didn’t expect to be roped into buying every new rom-com that’s on sale and letting Wren pick one out specifically for me.

“Oooh, this one’s about a professional hockey player and his kid’s nanny,” she says, picking up a book and showing it to me. She flashes me the title for a second before turning it around to read the blurb and then just shoves it into the basket.

“What makes you think I’d enjoy that?” I ask as we continue walking through the shelves.

She just points at my outfit. “You. Hockey. The two things kind of go together,” she says before turning back around. “Besides, it would be good to see where your future might take you in the fictional world of the NHL.”

I grin. “Do you think I’m going to make it to the pros?”

“Miles, have youseenyour stats? I only had a glimpse when I was stalking you, and I don’t know how you don’t make a bigger deal out of it. You definitely have bragging rights. You’re a really fucking good player, and I have no idea how you haven’t got signed on to anyone yet,” Wren says, shaking her head.

Honestly, I have no clue either.

The reality is my odds aren’t great.

I’ve got the stats to back it up, sure. So far, this season, I’m averaging 1.5 points per game, leading the team in assists, and my faceoff percentage is sitting at a solid 57 percent. But college hockey isn’t the NHL. There are over 4,000 NCAA hockey players, and only about 300 of us get drafted each year. Of those, an even smaller percentage make it to actually play in the NHL. Most of us end up in the minors, grinding it out in the AHL or overseas.

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