Page 22 of Falling

I frown. “You didn't even let me finish.”

“That was rude of me, but it doesn’t matter. If it’ll get you to stop ignoring my texts and we can hang out more, I’ll do it.”

“I’ve been busy,” I say.

I don’t know why I’m being defensive about it, but I don’t like the thought of him thinking I’mactivelyignoring him. I get swamped easily with homework, and my schedule is tight with classes and practice. I don’t even get to see my best friends as often as I’d like, and I live with them. I’ve always felt like I owe people explanations as to why I always have to cancel plans with them at the last minute. Most of the time, they just disappear from my life completely and I never get a second chance. Not with Miles. He’s fucking determined. It’s refreshing, actually.

“Look, we’d only have to do it for a few weeks until the showcase at the end of December. I know you might not be getting much out of this, so I can help you train more and help with your classes if you want,” I explain.

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms against his chest. “No offense, but how are you going to train me? You’re barely five-five.”

“For your information, I’m five-seven, and height has nothing to do with physical strength, genius,” I mutter. “You saw me on the rink the other day. I get access to the rink early because of my mom, which means an extra three hours of practice before Darcy even steps foot into the building. I take that shit seriously. I don’t mess around with my diet or my training. I’m committed to my sport, Miles.”

He studies me for a moment, probably to seeif I’m joking, and he knows I’m not. I’ve always taken skating seriously, even when I feel like I’m slowly falling out of love with it. With my mom’s expectations to always be great, I’m determined to prove her right.

“Huh.” Miles lifts his chin up, grinning. “I think your friends might be onto something.”

9

MILES

“I’M FUCKING OBSESSED WITH YOU.”

“So,you’ll be my personal trainerandI get to be your boyfriend?”

“Finally. Now you’re getting it.” I smile, my cheeks starting to hurt with the number of times I’ve smiled since I’ve asked her to repeat herself to me. She points a finger at me, reiterating, “Fakeboyfriend.”

I almost scoff at that. Some girls would die to have the chance to be myrealgirlfriend. Not like that’s anything I’m interested in. I don’t do relationships, and I don’t sleep around as much as everyone thinks I do. Just because I wear a jersey and a lot of my teammates decide to be assholes, doesn’t mean I’m one. I’ve always kept a clean record, and I don’t let any girl drag me into shit that I don’t need to be involved in. It’s one of the reasons I was made team captain. That, and my stats are some of the best this school has seen in years.

From what I’ve gathered, Wren wants to make everyone believe that we’re dating so they will give her and the skating team the attention they need to get more funding and attend the winter showcase. In return, she’s going to help train more, reshape my diet plan, and basically become my personal trainer.

This could help her a lot with this ice queen facade she’s trying to pull off. She acts like she can’t stand me, huffing and rolling her eyes whenever I’m near, but I know that deep down, there’s a part of her that enjoys my company.

I don’t blame her.

I’m irresistible. And the second people find out I’m taken, her popularity across North is going to skyrocket. I’d be doing her a huge favor, but I think I might be getting the better half of it than she is.

Since I met her at the party, no one has made me want to get to know her more than she does. The fact that she makes me work for all these little pieces of information about her only drives me closer to her. It makes me want to spend all my time around her, getting to know her, and figuring out why she is the way she is.

As if she can tell I’m thinking about her, she slaps me on my arm. “Hey, loverboy. Don’t start dreaming up some magical fantasy where we start dating for real. That’s not going to happen. Neither of us is in the position to eventhinkabout that, alright? You’re just hyper-fixating on me to avoid fixing your problems.”

I narrow my eyes. “Hyper-fixation is an insult to how I feel about you.”

“Really? Can you please provide me with a more accurate assessment?”

“I’m fucking obsessed with you, Wren,” I say. There’s no other way to describe it. Not having hockey to focus on has severely messed me up mentally. It’s not given me something to work for or work toward. Trying to get motivation is like trying to find water in a drought. The only thing that feels worth thinking about that isn’t my inability to play or my grief isher.Sometimes, it feels like she’s the only thing I can think about that makes me breathe.

“See, hyper-fixation,” she says, gesturing to me.

“Obsession,” I correct. I pull out my signature grin, thinking she’d smile too, but she doesn’t. She slips her bag over her shoulder and stands. “Hey, where are you going?”

“This clearly isn’t going to work. It was a stupid idea,” she huffs. She tries to walk past me, but I circle my fingers around her wrist, pulling her back to me. She gasps at the contact, her eyes flickering to mine.

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” I ask. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she clearly tries to mentally argue with herself about doing this. I swipe my thumb against her skin, and she sighs. “I want to help you, Wren. I swear.”

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