I had no fucking clue what to wear to this thing and all Wren said was to “wear something nice.” Because that was so much help. I raided my closet, and it turns out that I have nothing nice to wear. Not even anything decent. I can’t show up to a fancy event with my fake girlfriend’s dad looking like an orphan.
Luckily, I knew just the person to ask.
Evan got me a link to a good tailor who wasn’t crazy expensive, and I dug into my savings to buy myself a suit and bow tie. It’s nothing too flashy but it should be enough for the occasion and considering the price, maybe even my wedding.
I thought I would be more nervous but I’m mostly just excited to get a weekend away with her. Although our ‘contract’ says we should have sleepovers once a week, we’ve really only done that a few times. We were both too awkward over the whole ordeal so whenever it got late, we slipped out of each other’s houses without making a fuss. I don’t know if I could trust myself with her in my room after what happened the last time.
Maybe I need to get laid. Not by her. But by someone. And soon.
“Please tell me you brought your outfit in your bag,” Wren pleads the second I slip into her car in my dark jeans and faded tee. I throw my bag into the backseat before putting on my seatbelt.
“No, Wren, I’m going to wear this to the event,” I reply sarcastically, gesturing towards my outfit. “Obviously it’s in my bag.”
“Did you get something nice to wear?” she asks as she checks her mirrors while backing out of my drive.
“Define what you mean by nice…” I tease, leaning over to play with the radio until a station I don’t hate comes on. Listening to Wren’s Taylor Swift playlist while we work out has had its effects on me. Now, I can’t do anything active without some 1989 or Reputation action. Her music cures the soul. It has to be magic or some shit.
“I don’t know. Something charming, smart, dazzling,” she lists, staring out at the traffic we quickly merged into. I watch her dark blue nails tap onto the steering while and I’m hypnotised for a second.
“Aren’t I all those things anyway?” She gives me an unimpressed glance. Maybe it’s too early for my bullshit. “Yes, I brought something nice.”
“Okay, good,” she says softly. She murmurs something under her breath as she taps her fingers impatiently. The car in front of us remains stationary when the light turns green and her face heats up as she pounds the steering wheel with her tiny fists without hitting the horn. “God! Can you drive your fucking car!?”
I’ve never seen her road rage before, and I don’t hate the way her cheeks flare up and her chest rises and falls. I can’t stop staring at the way she puffs air through her nose and rolls her eyes.
Is it bad that I like it even more when she does it to me? I decide not to say that and instead try and tread on something lighter.
She starts to angrily hum to Frank Ocean’s Pink and White and it’s a little terrifying.
“You seem…tense,” I mention quietly, turning down the song. She turns to me for a split second before focusing on the road. She looks back at me for a beat longer as if she’s trying to see straight through my brain before returning back to the road.
“I haven’t slept properly in almost two weeks,” she grits out, her knuckles gripping the steering wheel.
“Why? What’s keeping you up?”
“Oh, nothing,” she says cheerfully. I can tell she’s about to go on a sarcastic tangent. Luckily for her, it’s my favourite thing ever. “Just, having a quarter life crisis over my career in figure skating. Oh, and my sister has been off the grid for almost two months and my mom is starting to project all of her frustrations onto me. The usual.”
“Wait, you have a sister? You’ve never mentioned her before,” I say, surprised at he causal revelation of her sister which I never knew about until just now.
“I’m sure I have,” she murmurs, giving me a sideways glance but I shake my head with a shrug. “Her name’s Austin. Just think of my mom but twenty-five and a ballet dancer.”
“Ah,” I nod. “You guys aren’t close?”
“We are. Sort of. She was like my mom’s test run before I was born so if I thought I had Mommy Issues, Austin has it worse. She’s been in Russia for the last four years at this ballet program. We haven’t heard from her in a while and everyone’s a bit worried,” she explains.
“Are you worried about her? Is that why you’re stressed?”
She groans a little, shrugging. “I am but I’m not. Austin is tough. A lot tougher than me. She’s always been independent so I’m sure that whatever she’s going through she’ll get through it. It only stresses me out because when my mom doesn’t have two kids to fuss over and all the weight lands on me. That’s why she’s been so hard on me about getting the skating stuff sorted as soon as possible.”
My mind instantly drifts to Clara. How I’ve been pushing her away over something she was trying to protect me from. Maybe I should reach out to her. Carter would have told me to. She’s your sister, you big dummy, he would say. Each time we would fight as kids, that was always his comeback. It didn’t take me long to notice that he wanted me to have a good relationship with my sister because he never had one with his brother.
“She’ll come around. Family is hard. Believe me, I know,” I say as reassuringly as I can.
“You never talk about your family, and you talk about everything.” She laughs softly. “But just so you know, you can talk to me about them. When you want to, that is.”
“I know,’ I reply. ‘You’ve already got a lot on your plate and I don’t want to burden you.’
She smirks, glancing at me. ‘See. You can be thoughtful sometimes.’
‘I never said I wasn’t.’
‘I know. I just said it in my head.’
As we drive over, I try and remember the countless stories she has told me about her dad. From what I’ve heard he’s probably the only person that Wren truly loves apart from her friends. When she talks about him, she doesn’t hold back anything like she does with her mom. She doesn’t talk about him as if he’s simply just the person responsible for creating her.
She told me about how much she adores him; how grateful she is to have him as a dad while her mom was hard on her. Over the last three days she’s been quizzing me on the things that her dad likes and what he doesn’t. She drops another ambiguous message as we merge into more traffic.
“Cream cheese,” she mentions flippantly, keeping her eyes focused on the road. I never found women driving so attractive until her. She just looks so in control and fuck me if it doesn’t turn me on.
“Like or dislike?” I ask.
“Loathe,” she growls, slowly turning to me, her eyebrows knitted together. I widen my eyes and slouch back in my seat, trying to suppress my laugh.
“Okay,” I whistle. ‘No cream cheese.”
“Never any cream cheese.”
*
The hotel looks a lot fancier than I imagined. I have to crane my head back to take in all the storeys of sleek black glass from top to bottom. The inside has gold accents across most major centrepieces and along the railings, giving it a regal touch as a grand piano sits in the foyer. Her dad owns this? It’s insane.
Wren navigates us around as if she works here. She seems so natural at this, as she links her arm in mine, walking us around. So comfortable. She talks to the staff as if they are old friends that she needs to catch up with. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they are. There is still so much that I feel like I don’t know about her. So much that I’m dying to know.
We make our way through the glass elevator to our suite which seems to take up most of the top floor. There are three main rooms: the master bedroom with a California king sized bed, a huge bathroom, and a living room space with a mini bar. Obviously, we’re not legally allowed to drink so everything is empty, but it’s still cool regardless.
“So, I guess I’m sleeping on the couch,” I say when I return the bedroom. Wren has begun unpacking her things onto the hangers neatly, walking back and forth from her suitcase on the bed to the closet. I don’t understand why she insisted on bringing so many clothes for such a short trip.
“Miles. I had to through the troubel of having to explain to my dad that I wanted sperate beds. He’s doing the whole ‘I trust you’ thing. Plus, this bed could fit like three times the size of us on here and there would still be room. We can share it for one night, right?” Wren explains, turning around to me. “You probably won’t even notice I’m there.”
“Okay but no funny business,” I relay, mainly reminding myself to keep it in my pants. I could never not notice her. She laughs and walks towards me.
“It’s you, you should be worried about, not me,” she says into my ear quietly, her hand on my bicep. She brushes past me gently as I swallow. Hard.
This is going to be a great fucking weekend.
After an hour of dilly dallying, we’re finally getting ready for the gala. I’m stood in front of the wide full-length mirror, watching a YouTube video on how to tie my bow tie. I don’t know I let Evan talk me out of getting a clip on one. He said something about making a good impression. I’m grunting with frustration when I see a glimpse of her in the mirror behind me. Her eyes lock with mine and I don’t bother to hide my libido. She looks devastating.
She’s dressed in a dark blue evening gown, her tits looking perfect, stuck in the thin straps. Her blonde hair is tied back into a neat bun with a small silver clip. Her silver earrings dangle almost to her shoulders which match with her heels. She walks towards me, painfully slowly and my hands fumble around my tie.
“Need help with that?” she asks gently, gesturing towards my bow tie. I nod, basically foaming at the mouth. When did I forget how to speak?
Her delicate hands come towards my neck as she unties the knot I made. Very slowly. I watch as her hands work at the mess I made, and I try and swallow. She looks up at me, smirking, before looking back down to my tie. I can’t ignore the breathiness in her voice as she asks, “What?”
“Promise me you’ll come back here with me tonight,” I get out when I find my voice. Her eyebrows furrow. She looks up at me, but I watch her in the mirror.
“What do you mean?”
“You look…fucking stunning, Wren,” I whisper, and I make the mistake of looking at her properly. Her wide green-brown eyes stare into mine, her lips slightly parted. “I’m just saying I won’t be surprised if someone tried to take you home with them.”
“The only person taking me home tonight is you,” she murmurs. My heart skips multiple beats as I almost topple over. I know it shouldn’t take this long for her to tie my tie, but her hands are still on me, even when I can see it’s done.
“Are you sure your dad will like me?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She looks up at me as she takes a little step back. Her heel almost catches with the carpet, but I pull my hand around her waist to steady her. As if on instinct, her hands come to lapels of my blazer, pulling herself up into me. ‘Now stop worrying.’
“What if I bring up cream cheese?”
“Why would you ever bring up cream cheese?” she asks, the lines of a dimple battling her cheeks.
“I don’t know. I might get nervous and say something about it.”
“If you do, I will go home with someone else tonight right after I murder you.”
With my shitty timing and my even shittier luck, it seems as if I’ve managed to will my worries into existence. From the short time we’ve been in here, there has been this one guy with his eyes on Wren the entire time.
He’s dressed like all the other men in this joint accept he’s one of the few who look our age. Even when we’re sitting my hand tightly around her waist and her head nestled in my shoulder, he still doesn’t stop trying to fuck her with his eyes. Not that she notices.
It turns out these things are pretty boring when you can’t drink. All the people around us are drunk, laughing loudly and finding everything funny. Wren and I are sitting, eating pistachios out of a bowl, waiting for something to happen. Anything.
Wren looks more energised than me, clearly used to these sorts of environments as she looks around with a happy expression on her face.
‘Is this what it’s usually like?’ I ask after another round of silence.
She sighs, slouching back in her chair. ‘Pretty much. It was better when the girls would come. We’d make up silly games to pass time. It was more of an excuse for us to dress up.’
I tilt my head at her in curiosity. ‘Oh yeah? Like what?’
‘Just people watching, making up lives for strangers that we see. Wanna play?’
I’ll do about anything to pass the time at this point. ‘Show me how it’s done, baby.’ I smirk as she shudders.
‘Okay. You see that guy over there?’ she asks, her gaze setting on a group of men, but one guy in pants and a button down stands out as he’s the only one without a blazer. I nod. ‘Middle class. Divorced his wife because she watched a movie he introduced her to without him. He likes it soft and timid, you know…In bed. But, she was an animal. He couldn’t admit it to his buddies so he lied and said she was the one who couldn’t take his sword of thunder.’
I roar out a laugh at the randomness and she does too, smiling at me. ‘Your brain is brilliant.’
‘Why , thank you,’ she mimics coyly. She nudges me in the shoulder. ‘Now, your turn.’
‘Okay…the guy next to your guy. He lives a very happy life. Wife, kids, the whole shebang really. But, he has a secret. He probably has a porn collection or something from the way he’s fidgeting like that.’
‘Not bad, Davis. Not bad at all,’ she says, shaking her head with a grin.
‘I learnt from the best.’
She gives me one last smile before turning back to the crowd. ‘Okay, that woman over there with the pixie-cut definitely has twins. I can just tell from the lines in her face. They give her hell but she loves them. She has an older son though, who looks like Schmidt from New Girl and he is for sure robbing her without her knowing. But she’d let him get away with it. Freud and all that.’
‘How am I supposed to beat that?’ I ask, gaping at her but she shrugs. I scan the rom for somebody and then my eyes connect with the creep that has been staring at her all night. ‘The guy, our age, he’s obsessed with you.’
‘What?’ Wren chokes out, almost laughing.
‘I’m being serious. He’s been eye-fucking you all night.’
‘Now you’re really not understanding the game,’ she mutters, shaking her head at me like I’m a disappointing kid.
‘I’m telling the truth,’ I challenge, turning to her. Her green eyes narrow at me, trying to figure me out. ‘It’s like he’s begging me to strangle him.’
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them and Wren looks at me with that sexy, evil grin of hers as she tilts her head playfully.
‘Jealousy looks good on you, Davis,’ she murmurs before she turns away from me, leaving us in another round of silence.
“Dad!” Wren exclaims suddenly, pulling my attention away from the pile of pistachio dust we’ve created. She jumps up to embrace a kind looking man in his early fifties. He’s in a dark blue suit and white shirt, not that much taller than me. When she pulls out the hug, she turns to me with the biggest smile I’ve seen on her lips. “This is Miles Davis. My boyfriend.”
Boyfriend. I don’t fight the smile that splits across my face as I stand up, filled with pride. I stretch out my hand for him to shake it but instead he pulls me into a huge hug.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Hackerly,” I muffle.
My face is squashed against his chest, and I see Wren giggle.
“The pleasure is all mine, son.”
He pats me on the back hard. Wren stands at my side, with a smile, giving me a double thumbs up. Well, that was easy. He sits down across from us, his deep brown eyes flickering between the two of us as Wren moves her chair closer to mine, so her shoulder nestles in my chest.
“So, what do you do at NU, Miles?” Wren’s dad asks, folding and unfolding his hands at the table.
“I play hockey. I’m currently on the bench but I’m getting back up there,” I reply with a shrug. All of my focus turns onto my thigh where Wren squeezes it reassuringly. I look down at her but she’s staring ahead like she hasn’t just set every nerve in my body on fire.
“Ah, that’s good. I used to play back in my day, but I wasn’t any good,” he replies with a vague waft in the air.
“I’ve seen the videos, dad. You were insanely good,” Wren challenges with an easy laugh.
“Eh, I guess so,” he shrugs shyly. ‘How are you your finding second year at NU?’
‘It’s going okay. It’s better than first year but the content is getting harder,’ I admit.
Wren’s dad nods. ‘That’s good. This one over here thinks her classes are too easy.’ He nods over to Wren and she rolls her eyes. Her dad turns back to me. ‘Would you fancy having a few rounds on the ice sometime?”
“Yeah.” I respond too quickly and Wren backs away from me to look up to me, her eyes glistening. “That would be great.”
Wren’s dad only stays for a few more minutes before he has to go back and forth speaking to more people. I notice how comfortable she is around her dad in this environment. The same way she is around me. She doesn’t tense or freeze up when she’s talking to him. She talks animatedly with her hands, expressing her excitement in a childlike way.
She doesn’t need to be anyone other than Wren. Not Wren the Future Olympian. Just her. The person I can see myself liking more and more each day. The person whose whole face lights up like sunlight as she talks about the things she loves with her dad. When she leaves to go to the bathroom while I get us drinks from the bar, her dad appears beside me. He studies me for a minute and I feel suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze.
‘You making her happy?’ he asks, the playful conversation from earlier becoming serious.
I nod. ‘I’m trying to,’ I say, and it doesn’t feel like much of a lie.
‘Everyday?’
‘Everyday.’
He nods at me and pats me on the shoulder. Is this what all dad’s do? ‘Good,’ he concedes before disappearing again.
I also didn’t realise how big the world of hoteliers was until tonight. It looks like people from up and down the country — and across the world — come to these events.
Weirdly enough, it reminds me a lot of my family and how loud and chaotic we are. Birthdays in the Davis family are always insane. Thoughts and feelings are always at full volume. They look a lot like this but with more drinking, more cheesy music, and more burnt food.
“So, Mr Hackerly, I have a very important question to ask,” I begin when her dad returns to the table, feeling a little mischievous. Wren must know exactly what I’m up to because she glares at me.
Wren’s dad finishes his Scotch and looks at me. “Please, call me David,” he pleads, waving his hand around. Wren laughs a little, still glaring at me. Honestly, it’s a little creepy.
“What do you think about cheese? Just in general. Like? Dislike?” I ask, feigning curiosity. Wren elbows me in the rib and I smirk at her. “Oh, or loathe as your daughter likes to say.”
Mr Hacke- David laughs. “You know what, Miles? I cannot stand cream cheese. Everyone thinks-”
I can tell he’s about to go on a rant but Wren cuts in. “Miles hates cream cheese too.” She blinks up at me, her eyes silently screaming at me. “Don’t you, Milesy?”
I can see the disgust on her face at using the nickname but I fucking love it. I’m a sucker for a pet name.
“Yep, sure do,” I bite out, turning back to Wren’s dad, leaning on the table. “Now, tell me, David, what is it exactly that-‘
“Dad!” Wren basically shouts. She’s a first one. She must really not want her dad to talk about cream cheese. “Why don’t you tell Milesy about how you almost made it pro?”
‘You’re too kind, Wren. I was nowhere near making it pro,’ Mr Hackerly replies, shaking his head.
I almost choke on air as I spit out, ‘Kind? I’m sorry to tell you this, Sir, but your daughter is everything but kind.’
Wren glares at me as her dad laughs. ‘I am kind. People are delighted to meet me.’
‘Delighted? No. Frightened, maybe.’ I shrug, hiding my smirk. She pokes me in my rib and returns her attention back to her dad, asking him about his hockey career again.
Of course, Wren gets what she wants, and her dad forgets about the cream cheese debacle and tells me all about his days as a young athlete in nearly every sport. It’s no wonder Wren likes working out so much.
I laugh at his terrible jokes and ask him follow up questions. You know, playing the part. Wren eats up every second of it, smiling at me like she wants to hug me and kill me at the same time.
Mr Hackerly disappears again, speaking to some reporters.
“So, what do you think to my dad?” Wren asks, her head resting in her hand on the table. She looks at me with dreamy eyes and I can tell she’s exhausted.
“He’s nice. Kind. Very different to your mom,” I admit.
“Yeah, she can be pretty intense,” she replies. “It’s nice to have a balance.”
“I can see where you get it from — both sides of your personality. You’re brutal and really fucking hard core but you’re a little softie on the inside,” I coo, scrunching my nose up at her. She rolls her eyes before smothering her smile in her hand, trying to hide it. “See?”
We melt into my favourite kind of conversation: the one where we get to learn more about each other. She talks more about her sister and what a good cook she is. She over-explains her dynamic with Kennedy and Scarlett, telling me what their sun, moon, and risings are. Whatever the fuck that means.
In return, I tell her about me and Carter as kids and how we created our own annual Olympic tournament called the Reyes-Davis Games. I avoid talking about my parents for obvious reasons and instead tell her about how I peed myself at my first hockey game as a kid. She listens intently, slowly leaning into me as I speak. Until the dark-haired boy comes into my view again.
I give him, what I hope to be, a look to back away, but he stalks closer, his face twisting into an evil grin. He’s just seconds away from our table, his eyes completely focused on Wren’s exposed back. I have to do something.
Instinctively, I hook my finger into her chair and pull her closer into me, our legs basically intertwined. She yelps as I interrupt her rant on what my zodiac sign means about me. I put my hand onto the exposed skin on her shoulder and she looks at my hand and then back at me.
“What are you doing?” she asks softly, her wide eyes searching mine. He’s practically here at this point.
Fuck it.
I grab her face between my hands, and I kiss her.
