Fake Dates & Ice Skates: Chapter 30

“No,” I say again.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Maybe…?” he says, leaning over and pulling my book from my hands, grinning at me. “Come on. You’re only in Palm Springs once.”

“I could be here next week if I wanted to.”

“Right, I forgot. Scarlett said that you’ll sugar momma me if I’m good.”

“I never said I’d be bringing you along if I came back,” I retort, narrowing my eyes at him. “Do you really want to go surfing?”

He nods, suddenly excited like a puppy. “More than anything.”

“Fine but I want to be back here before lunch time.”

*

We don’t make it back before lunch time. In fact, we don’t make it back until the surf instructor has had enough of us and the sun starts to set. Miles somehow managed to rope me into surfing with him. We were both terrible at it and it only got worse when the instructor suggested we tried tandem surfing. I can’t tell if I’m disgusted or impressed with Miles’ determination to actually catch a wave. We were out there for what felt like hours, sweaty, sticky, hot and every other disgusting feeling you get after being out in the sun all day.

Instead of going back to our room like I suggested so we could order room service, I’m being dragged down a street to a bar, still in my skirt cover up and bikini top while Miles is shirtless in his swim shorts.

“I need to shower properly. Please don’t tell me we’re about to eat here,” I groan, letting Miles pull my exhausted body into the near-empty bar. I take a look around and it’s a nearly deserted space with a few people scattered around and a karaoke machine in the corner. “No,” I breathe out.

“Oh yes, Wrenny,” Miles says, pulling me into the dance floor.

“Is it Opposite Day or something because it feels like you’ve been ignoring everything I’ve said no to all day,” I say and he pulls me into him. He doesn’t say anything as he winks over to someone at the bar. “Miles Middle-Name Davis, what are you doing?”

“Harlan,” he says, wrapping one arm around my waist and clasping his other hand in mine.

“What?”

“My middle name is Harlan,” he explains and I snort. “Don’t ask. I have no idea where my mom got that name from. I think she was expecting me to turn out to be some big CEO or something.”

I laugh, throwing my head back. “It’s cute. It’s giving hardcore grandpa vibes.”

“Glad to know it’s grandpa names that get you going,” he starts, spinning me out and then pulling  me back into him. We’re not even dancing properly to the kind of fast paced music that is playing but it’s too fun to care. “And not my amazing looks.”

“You’re so full of yourself. You know that?” I say, laughing as he makes me spin again.

“You could be full of me too if you’re nicer to me,” he retorts and I gag. “I’m kidding. Rule number three and all that.”

“Glad to know that it’s you putting your dick inside me that will breach rule number three and not this very romantic, very up-close dance we’re doing,” I say when the song changes to a slow, smooth jazz. He pulls me into him, placing his hands on my hips as I rest my head on his shoulder, basically melting into him.

“This,” he says, gesturing between us, still holding onto my hands, “is only whatever you want to call it, Wren.” He continues to sway us, out of beat, to the music.

“That’s not confusing at all,” I murmur, wrapping my arms loosely around his neck. I almost forget that we’re both practically naked, our sweaty skin clinging to each other until my front is flush against his. God, has he always felt and smelt this good? Even after spending all day at the beach. Because right now, I could die in his arms as he holds me like this. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“And you’ve got to be honest with me,” I warn, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Always.”

I take in a deep breath. “Would I sound stupid if I said that I want to stay here forever?”

“I think that’s the best thing you’ve said to me all day, Wren,” he whispers. “You don’t have to follow it up by explaining to me how you mean it in a platonic way or because we’re pretending to date because I get what you mean. In whatever way you meant that, I’m right there with you.”

“Okay, good.”

“Great.”

“Perfect.”

“Do you have any hobbies other than skating?” he asks and I look up at him, testing my chin on his chest. “I know that was a real one-eighty but I’ve been thinking about it and I want to know.”

I nod, resting my head back down on his chest. “I like to read. A lot.”

“And you find that…fun?”

“It’s the best. Getting lost between pages, finding myself within characters and getting so caught up that you forget to look outside for a second. It’s the best type of consuming feeling. Don’t you ever feel like that about something that isn’t hockey?” I ask “I feel like that about music. I think,” he says. “Maybe not as intensely as you do but I do enjoy listening to music. Sometimes it’s the way certain songs sound and how it makes me feel and other times it’s the words that are so well written. But most of the time it’s both.”

It feels like my heart is expanding. Is that possible? Or is that even a real thing? Because when Miles speaks to me it feels like my heart is about to burst out of my chest because not only is it beating so fast, but because it’s being talked to, cared for and understood so deeply that it just wants to jolt right out.

“That’s why you made that playlist for me that you didn’t really make for me,” I tease, remembering the amount of adorable songs I found on there.

“Exactly,” he concedes through a laugh. “What’s your favourite song?”

I think about it for a second. I change my favourite song the same way I change my outfits. It depends on what mood I’m in or where I am. “Right now, it’s Carry On by Norah Jones..”

He laughs a little, pulling away from me to hold me at arm’s length. “You’re going to have to sing it for me because I don’t know it.”

“I already told you, Davis, I can’t sing,” I say, shaking my head.

“If you do one, I’ll do one,” he says, walking over to the karaoke machine. He holds out the microphone to me. “Deal?”

I grab the mic off him. “Fine.”

I stand next to the machine, looking at the tiny screen for the lyrics, mentally preparing myself for embarrassment. It’s only Miles and a few other strangers in here but it feels like everyone’s eyes are on me. Even if there were a hundred people in here, I’d only ever be able to feel him.

He stands across from me, his ankles crossed and his arms folded across his tanned chest, grinning. I start to sing; not my best but it’s something. I even do a little dance between the small interludes of piano and Miles dances along with me, clearly enjoying watching me let loose. It’s so easy to just be with him like this that it worries me. But also knowing that at the end of the day, it’s his bed that I’m going to be crawling into and his arms that are going to wrap around me even when they shouldn’t. Because, here, we’re untouchable. And whatever we do or say is going to be contained into this tiny bubble we’ve built.

When my song’s over, Miles takes the floor, psyching himself for the song he’s chosen. He does a mini warm up, jumping up and down and pretending to crack his neck before the song starts. Immediately, when the song starts, I burst out laughing. Obviously, because Miles is Miles, he chose ‘My Shot,’ from Hamilton the musical.

He can’t fucking sing to save his life, I’ve known that. But he can sort of rap?

I watch as he has the whole room’s eyes on him while he raps every single line of the song. It’s not many but it makes this whole thing feel like a real performance. I’ve never seen him so at home. I never would have pegged him for a theatre kid but from the way he’s clearly memorised these lines, I might have been wrong about him. He keeps his eyes on me the entire time, giving an Oscar-worthy performance, pointing at me at any chance he can get until I’m crying-laughing so hard that I need to sit down.

I don’t know how I didn’t realise it earlier. Maybe weeks ago when he picked me up from that bar and looked after me but I might, actually, have real feelings for this boy. Like, feelings I definitely should have. The kind of feelings that I have not only between my legs but also in my chest. Which is extremely dangerous for so many reasons.

When his five minute rap is done, he stumbles towards me, out of breath and chest heaving. “That was the most tiring workout I’ve ever done in my life,” he says, falling into me.

“Okay. Come on, big boy,” I say, pushing his weight off me and onto the bar stool beside me. “I’m hoping that five minutes isn’t how long you always last.”

He gasps, holding a dramatic hand to his chest. “Are you making a sex joke?”

“No,” I say, fiddling with my straw in my lemonade..

He tuts at me, shaking his head. “Didn’t want to get me a drink?”

“And miss that toe curling performance? No way,” I say, pushing his drink towards him. “You can have mine.”

“Wow, Wren. Making sex jokes and letting me drink some of your drink? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re finally warming up to me.”

“You don’t know any better,” I murmur. “Plus, I warmed up to you a long time ago. It just took a vacation and a day full of surfing for me to show it.”

“Nah, I think I figured you like me more than you’d admit when you kissed me,” Miles retorts, sipping on my drink.

“Are we talking about the same kiss because I remember you were the one who begged for it,” I say, my cheeks flashing at the memory.

“Okay, fine. I’m admitting it because I’m not afraid to deny the fact that I wanted you badly that night and you let me have you,” he whispers so low that I can feel it in my stomach.

All I can focus on is that night because that is all it was. It was a moment of weakness. We were both turned on and reckless. That’s it. It might have driven me insane for weeks but I’m over it now. We’ve got a more important task at hand *

When we get back into the hotel, Miles immediately hogs the bathroom, desperate to get the smell off him. Surprisingly, I’ve become comfortable in my sticky bikini top over the past few hours and I don’t want the smell of the beach – or the smell of him – to come off me just yet. Instead, I sit outside on the balcony, letting the last of the summer breeze flow through my hair.

I pull up my phone and call Kennedy, knowing that she should be with Scarlett right now. They pick up on the second ring, their bright faces filling up the screen.

“Hiiii,” Kennedy says. “We miss you!”

“I miss you guys too,” I say, smiling at them. “What are you guys doing?”

“We just came back from Miles’ house. Apparently hockey players want to party every night. You should know the kind of lifestyle you’re getting yourself into,” Scarlett warns.

“Well, it depends on how long you’re planning on keeping this up for,” Kennedy says, trying to keep her whole face on the tiny screen.

“Yeah. I’m not exactly sure where we’re going with this,” I say, glancing back into the bedroom to make sure he’s still in the shower. When I turn back to the screen, both of the girls are looking at me concerningly.

“What does that mean?” Scarlett asks.

“You guys have to promise not to kill me,” I say. They both cross their hearts, holding up their Boy Scout promise.

Before I can speak, Kennedy pipes up. “You’re falling in love with him, aren’t you?”

My eyes widen and I turn down the volume on my phone. “No! God. What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You totally are,” Scarlett adds in.

“I’m not,” I say as confidently as I can. “I just like him a lot more than I thought I would, okay? He actually listens to me and makes me feel valued and seen. He forced me to go surfing with him and then we went to a bar to do karaoke and I think I’ve had one of the best days of my life.”

“And your tan is looking gorgeous,” Scarlett says, pulling the phone closer to her face. “I bet those freckles are driving him insane.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t-”

“You’re getting off topic,” Kennedy chimes in. “Are you going to tell him?”

“What are you? Stupid? I’m not going to tell him anything. I don’t even know what I would say. It’s not like they are even real feelings anyway,” I say, trying to convince myself.

“Who said they’re not real? Because if your telling yourself that then you’re fucking stupid,” Scarlett says and I hate how right she is. “Don’t tell him if you don’t want to but don’t you dare invalidate your own feelings. If you don’t know what those are yet, that’s cool. But that doesn’t mean you have to pretend you’re not feeling them.”

I nod, taking in her advice. “When did you get so wise?”

“I always have been, you’re just too stupid to realise it,” she says with a shrug. “Anyway. We’ve got to go and binge-watch Love Island. We’ll see you in a few days.”

I say my goodbyes and end the call, trying my best to listen to what Scarlett says. I hate how she’s able to see right through me and understand exactly what it is that I need. I don’t need to tell him right now but I do need to figure out my feelings before they start to turn into something bigger. The glass door to the balcony opens and I flinch, turning around to a freshly showered, topless Miles who is leaning against the door frame.

“Hey. You okay?” he asks, crossing his arms against his chest. “You seem a bit jumpy so I’m guessing there’s going to be no scary movie tonight.”

I laugh. “No, because then I’d have to put up with your screeching.”

“That was one time,” he says. It was more than once but I don’t say that. He scratches his stomach, my mouth practically salivating. “Are you hungry?”

“What?” I say, snapping out of my trance.

“I asked if you were hungry,” he says, coming closer to me. He places his hand on my forehead. “You sure you’re okay? Are you sick?”

I shake my head, letting his hand fall. “I’m perfect, Doc. Just tired. All that singing and surfing has really got to me.”

My face splits into a huge yawn and so does his. “Me too. I’ll set up the TV in the room and we can have an early night.”

He walks back into the room and I’m left with no idea what to do.