by Mariah Dietz
He shakes his head. “No. You did that. You’ve been doing that. Every time you pick a fight with a girl at a party or you hang up on me or try to make me jealous, that’s you not giving a shit.”
Candace’s gaze shifts to meet mine. “Enjoy my leftovers.” She turns on her heel and heads back inside.
“She burned your clothes?”
Pax runs his hand through his hair as he looks at me, defeat rounding his shoulders. “If you start telling me why I should have broken up with her long ago or how you knew this would happen, I don’t want to hear it.”
I shake my head. “I just didn’t know. That seems a little … extreme.”
He expels a long breath. “I don’t know how I got so sucked into it all,” he says. “How did I lose sight of the game and everything I’ve worked for? I’m so damn close to the finish line and...” He releases a sound that is something between a growl and a yell that expresses his frustration. “I don’t give a shit about her or this stupid party.”
“You care,” I tell him. “You’ve always cared. Not just about her, but you care about people in general, and that’s a good thing. Don’t let someone make you believe it’s a weakness.”
His eyes are dark and shaded from the night, shining off the chalk-white moon that is half cloaked with clouds tonight. “I’m sorry I dragged you out here. I’m sorry I involved you in this.”
I shake my head. “I’m not. Honestly, I needed a little adventure.” I lean my head to one side. “I probably could have passed on the insult, but that was surprisingly tame. Usually, girls insult each other by slut-shaming, or making fun of their weight, or the way they look, or if they really want to go for the jugular, they go after your relationship status.”
“Girls can be brutal.”
“This is true. My mom did an entire podcast series on the topic.”
“On women being mean to each other?”
I nod. “But that’s beside the point. We can talk about how a woman’s worth was equated to her looks and ability to bear children another day. My point is that we can do this,” I tell him. “We can totally do this, but it has to be more than just fake dating and trying to get back at Candace or make Mike jealous because those are inconsequential. I’ll help you get back into a good routine with classes, and catch up on school, and be your sober companion at parties.”
“And in exchange?”
“You invite me out. Introduce me to some people so that I’m more than just Raegan’s best friend, or Lincoln’s girlfriend’s friend, or the chick with red hair.”
“No one looks at you like that.”
“Yeah, they do. And it’s okay. I like those roles most of the time, but sometimes I just feel…” Left behind. The words are there, and yet the longer they rest on my tongue, the more vulnerable I feel. “I want to break out of my shell a little. Prepare myself for dating and having fun.”
“My coaches are still on the fence with me, and it’s way too late in the season for them to be having doubts.”
I give him double pistols. “And this is why we should do this.”
He chuckles softly and pushes both of my hands down with one of his. “Tell me it wasn’t Rae who taught you to do that.”
I point my index fingers at him again. “I came prepared for tonight. You know what they say, never show up to a gunfight with a knife.”
His laughter grows. “It won’t matter what I do if you keep pulling those out.”
“These are proof that I have game.”
Pax belts out a laugh. “You’ve definitely spent too much time with the wrong Lawson. Don’t worry, these side effects should be reversible with time.”
“You can’t reverse awesome.”
“Let’s hope you’re awesomely good with marketing because it’s going to take a miracle to help me pass this class.”
“Challenge accepted.”
“We should figure out how this is going to work. Establish some ground rules to ensure we’re both getting what we want out of this … arrangement.”
I nod. “You’re speaking my language. I can draft something up and email it to you.”
He blinks once and then twice, and then shakes his head. “I know you’d do it from a good place, but I’m a verbal learner. I need to be able to ask questions and talk through this. We have tomorrow’s game, and after it is a bonfire. I could really use you attending both.” A grin claims his features. “We’ll fly blind, and then we can hammer out the rules one day this week when you’re free.”
His schedule is a thousand times more complicated than mine, but it’s a reminder of Paxton’s manners. I nod. “Okay.”
His smile shifts from relief to confidence in a split second. “Also, my jersey number is thirty-one.” He winks, and my smile is automatic, and so is the twist in my stomach that I write off and attribute solely to nerves.
Dear Diary,
Tonight was a little like getting caught in a hail storm, it sucked and was a little painful, but it didn’t last long. We essentially botched our first take of fake dating. In fact, it was a little too close to what college parties have been like—I felt underdressed, I saw a couple of cute boys, and one tried to kiss me without permission or warning—he probably thought the kiss sucked too. I couldn’t kiss him back, so it was probably like kissing a rock or the back of one's hand. Memorable definitely won’t be the way our kiss is remembered. But there was something almost refreshing about our conversation post kiss. Pax has never been the asshole alpha male like some guys try to be, but sometimes he seems almost bullet-proof, and tonight when Candace ripped into him and he didn’t respond by trying to break her down, I saw not only his vulnerability but also a reminder that he cares and this fact deserves to be remembered one day. Paxton Lawson cares. Deeply. He cares about his family, his friends, his team, his future, the causes being fought by his sisters—he cares about them, and that gives me an assurance that while this farce might not turn me into Miss Popularity, I trust him to not let me get burned by our agreement.
11
Paxton
“I heard a rumor,” Arlo says as I set my bag down. It’s game day against Cal State, and my nerves are working double overtime. With the scouts here and Cal’s QB, Pike, getting a lot of attention, I’m going to need to have one hell of a game in order to make sure the scouts notice and remember me. It feels like a kick in the ass, considering I’d been gaining the attention I’d needed to guarantee me a draft pick—even if it wasn’t first or second round, I had a firm foot in the door after last season. But drama’s been tied to my name between my dad’s affair and the rumor site so that every aspect of my life has been put under a microscope. Things scouts wouldn’t have considered or cared about, like who I dated and what classes I was struggling to pass, would have been largely looked over.
“I don’t want to hear any rumors,” I tell him as I shake my head. “Not unless the rumors have something to do with Pike being injured.”
“Close…”
My attention snaps to him as hope and opportunity light a match in my stomach.
“I heard you made out with Poppy last night.”
Hearing someone else say it sounds almost as shocking as learning this news for the first time. I shake my head to juggle through my thoughts of Pike and the game against Cal State as I think about last night and the party. It was a dumb idea, one that turned progressively dumber and then somehow found its way to a precipice between crazy, stupid, and brilliant.
“I thought you said this had to do with Pike?”
“When? How? I mean…” Arlo shakes his head. “Is Rae freaking out?” He tips his head back and laughs maniacally. “She’s totally freaking out. I know it.” He shakes his head a couple of times, his laughter slowing, but his smile still there. “When in the hell did this happen?”
I shrug. “Around Halloween, I guess.”
“You guess?”
Behind him is Luis, his attention drawn to our conversation, a similar look of shock that has h
is brow drawn and lips parted. “I’m not surprised,” he says after the shock seems to dissipate. “Poppy’s a gorgeous girl.”
Arlo nods. “She is. I actually was considering dating…”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I tell him, not surprised that he considered dating her. Last year, when Poppy and Raegan started at Brighton, I told my friends to watch for them and make sure no assholes were trying to creep on them. Apparently, I hadn’t been specific enough to tell them the warning included themselves.
Arlo and Luis both laugh. “This is good,” Arlo says. “Poppy’s a nice chick. She’s smart, and she’s actually pretty damn funny.”
“Is that what your girlfriend says about you?” Luis jokes.
Arlo grins. “Hell yes. I’m telling you, the way into any girl’s heart is humor.”
“The President tests your logic,” Luis says, grinning as Lincoln comes in.
“Logic about what?” Lincoln asks.
Arlo reaches forward and ruffles Lincoln’s hair. “Nah. He just has all that smolder that makes the girls lose their minds.”
Lincoln knocks his hand away.
“I don’t know,” Luis says. “My girl would probably tell you the way to her heart is food and conversation. I’m telling you, nothing makes her hotter than when she’s talking, and I ask a question about what she’s telling me.” He snaps. “It’s like I turned on a porn.”
Arlo grins but doesn’t say anything, neither does Lincoln. The two of them used to talk about sex, but those details expired as soon as they stopped dating around and got serious. For Lincoln, I assumed it was because it was my sister, but then Arlo did the same, and I’m realizing it’s as much of a respect issue as it is privacy.
“Did you hear he’s dating Poppy?” Arlo asks, looking at Lincoln.
Lincoln’s gaze drops to me as I sit on the bench, lacing my shoes. “Yeah,” he says. “Rae asked me to deliver the same warning speech he’d given me when we started dating.”
I know the significance of him lying on my behalf, and sadly, it’s not the first time he’s stuck his neck out on the line for me. Only a few weeks ago, after a massive bender, Ian had suggested they bench me, and it was Arlo and Lincoln who convinced him not to, and he paid the price. Raegan was furious with both of us and wouldn’t talk to either of us for a full weekend.
“I’m happy for you, man. She’s a huge improvement from Candace,” Arlo says this too loud, his gaze directed at Paulson.
“Let’s get ready. I need the offense to look at some tape. Their defense is going to be tough.
Poppy
Paxton’s football number, thirty-one, is painted on my cheek in red paint—a tiny detail that has this whole façade taking a new turn. Whispers about our relationship are starting to spread. I’m still referred to as “the redhead,” which has been a familiar reference for most of my life, but being noticed is strange and exciting and also a bit intimidating. I was worried that everyone would judge and dislike me, but instead, people I don’t know are being friendly with me and making small talk or complimenting me on my hair and clothes and my smile and my voice and all sorts of random things that continue to surprise and shock me.
I dated Mike for two years, and few people cared, and no one ever paid additional attention to me. We were a pair of wallflowers who shined under the same corner of the sun, but Paxton Lawson basks under the entirety of the sun. People who don’t even like or follow football like and follow him.
“Gosh, that was a close game,” Rae says as we wander through the parking lot in the direction of my car. “They’re going to be in a foul mood tonight.”
“They still won.”
Rae’s gaze meets mine over the hood of my car. “But they should have won by more. I’m sure Coach Harris is giving them an ass chewing. Pax was slow on the release, and Derek dropped that pass, and…” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t pretty.”
The leather of my driver’s seat stings through my jeans. It’s cold tonight, and the loss of the crammed stadium makes it more noticeable. “Maybe we should just go home?”
Rae raises her eyebrows with a silent question.
“I mean, if they’re all going to be in a bad mood and things, it’s just going to be boring, right?”
“They’re starting a new tradition tonight with the bonfire. We can’t miss it.”
“Technically, we could…”
She leans her head back and laughs. “Are you nervous?”
“And freezing,” I add, hoping that’s a viable excuse. “I mean, what’s the statistical probability that I’m going to meet the love of my life tonight anyway?”
“I feel like that’s a personal jab because you know how much I hated statistics.”
I try to laugh, but it sounds more like a scoff. “Okay, I’m a little nervous,” I admit.
“Why are you nervous? I thought the whole point was to be social and mingle? You can’t mingle at home in your pajamas while watching Veronica Mars.”
“Like ten people talked to me tonight, and I had no idea who they were.”
Raegan grins. “Pax posted that picture of you on social media, which the interweb is taking and running with. You’ve been branded.”
“That’s an ugly term.”
“Accurate, though.”
I frown. “Why don’t I drop you off—"
“Are you feeling okay? You didn’t eat anything tonight, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you skip the concessions. Are you coming down with something, or are these just nerves talking?”
“I’m pretty sure fake dating is making me sick. Or giving me an ulcer. What do ulcers feel like?” I shake out my hands as the defroster hums louder, my car still in park. “I’m the worst liar. How are we going to go hang out with Rose and Olivia? They’re never going to believe that I’m dating Pax.”
She grins. “You’re not dating him.”
I cut my gaze to her. “You’re not helping.”
Doubt has her pursing her lips. “You know, most of this is still a rumor. You could still get out of this.”
Her words widen the geyser in my confidence. Then I think of the recent attention I’ve received and the hope that I can honestly tell my mom I’m too busy to babysit next Friday night because I’m going out.
“I’m not trying to meddle, but have you considered what happens if this doesn’t achieve what you want it to? What if Pax messes up and drags you down? What if he starts dating Candace again? And what about Candace? Are we just going to pretend like she’s going to leave this alone? She is guaranteed to do something crazy.”
I have the same questions and concerns, but mine are largely overshadowed by ones of Mike and what my feelings for him are and whether I’d be able to weather another breakup with him if things didn’t work out. I think of the single journal that sits between my mattress and box springs, apart from all the others that have been filled and sit in chronological order in my closet because it’s filled with letters and entries I wrote to and about Mike after he left. Ones that professed my love and swore I’d never stop liking him. They felt significant then—both therapeutic and painful to confess all the feelings that were riddling my thoughts and emotions. I never had the confidence to send them though and I never could bring myself to throw them away, so under my mattress they’ve lived for the past year and a half, reminding me of the old story “The Princess and the Pea,” because though the notebook is less than a quarter of an inch thick, there are nights where I swear I can feel its presence and the weight of my words.
“I need to do this,” I tell her. “I need to figure out if I still like Mike, and if not, what I do want. I need to branch out. My life has been like a small snow globe—predictable and safe. I just want to do something epic and fun and crazy, and Paxton knows everyone. He’s the most popular guy at Brighton. He gets invited to all of the best parties, and I know we could still go without a fake relationship, but being there as his girlfriend is going to be a full world apart. I spent half of th
e summer babysitting Dylan, who didn’t even need to be babysat and had more friends than me, and the other half binge-watching TV, hanging with you and Lincoln, and working. I need to see what’s beyond the glass.”
“I’m sorry if you’ve been feeling like a third wheel.” Her eyes slowly track my features reading the arch of my brow, the pinch of my eyes, the line of my mouth—she knows me better than I know myself, and I can see the regret start to etch across her features because I can read her just as easily.
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to feel bad or sorry for me. I’m happy for you and Lincoln. Scratch that, I’m ecstatic for you and Lincoln. And I’m not miserable or looking to have a pity party over Mike and being single. I’ve been there, done that. I just want to have some fun and adventure and do something that pushes me outside of my norms. Never in a million years would I be expected to date Pax, which is why this is guaranteed to be crazy. You had a stalker and saved a dolphin, and Chloe and Nessie went on an epic road trip across the entire country and got lost in the desert, and Olivia found her mom and opened her heart to this place, and then Rose was a badass and got to play a detective. I want that, and if it’s in the form of having a bad bitch come at me, then I’m ready. I need this.”
A smile breaks Rae’s serious demeanor. “A bad bitch,” she repeats.
I grin. “It might only last a few weeks, and maybe Paxton will go back to Candace, but that’s what’s so great about this situation—it’s fully platonic. I can tell him if he’s being dumb, and I don’t have to call him every night, and I don’t have to worry about looking nice for him or anything else.”
“You know you’re probably going to have to kiss my brother, right?” she winces.
I cringe as well. “I already did. It wasn’t good.”
Raegan’s laughter is so loud it hurts my ears. “I hope you told him that.”
I touch my lower lip. “I plan to. I’m pretty sure he bruised my lip.”
She laughs even harder and then takes my hand in hers. “Okay. I get it, and I’m in. We’ve got this. But, if you want people to believe you’re really dating him, then we have to go tonight. You have to smile and stand next to him and probably kiss him again, and make it look believable.” She cringes. “And I don’t want to hear any of the details.” She shakes her head. “Unless it’s about you coaching him on how to kiss—that I want to hear all the details about so I can mock him for years to come.” Without waiting for my reply, she pulls out her phone. “I’ve got the address. Trust me when I say being vague is going to be your best friend when people ask you any questions. We can practice on our way there.”