by Mariah Dietz
“Look. He saw it. He’s totally buying it, now,” Pax says.
12
Poppy
When I told my parents that I might want to major in Political Science, they stared at me, tipped their heads, and asked, “why?”
I didn’t have an answer. I still don’t, which is why I’m still undeclared and get a suspecting brow raise whenever someone asks. I keep waiting for this grand moment where life opens the proverbial curtains and magical horns blare, and I have an epiphany moment that points me in the direction of my dream career.
It hasn’t happened yet.
I walk out of my microeconomics class wondering how on earth Rose found the course interesting and want nothing more than my bed, a really good sandwich, and a nap.
Unfortunately, I don’t have time for any one of them because I’m meeting Paxton at the pizzeria he’d sent me directions to last night so we could finally declare some rules. The restaurant is close to my apartment and a solid twenty minutes from campus. I haven’t seen my fake boyfriend since Saturday when I made out with him at the bonfire in front of wondering gazes with his number painted on my cheek.
I didn’t write about the kiss in my journal that night. I haven’t written about it since, either. For some reason, I’ve struggled to write or even remember those brief moments. Instead, I’ve been playing a fun game that I like to call Avoidance 101. I’m pretty sure Paxton is, too, because I only heard from him once this week, and it was to arrange this meeting. The lack of communication had left me wondering no less than a hundred times if he had changed his mind about our situation.
“Hey,” Paxton says, standing as I pull open the door of Mario’s Pizzeria. Oregano, basil, and tomatoes demand me to take another deep breath. It smells heavenly, and my stomach growls with approval.
Pax grins. “Let’s order, and then we can talk.”
“How have I never been here?” I ask, peering at their menu on the back wall that offers pizza by the slice or the pie.
He grins. “I’ve been working here every summer for the past five years. It’s a little farther from campus, so we won’t run into people we know, plus free pizza.”
“Free pizza is definitely a perk.”
His grin widens, and he nods in the direction of the counter. “You want cheese and olives?”
I stare at him. He stares back. “You know my order?” I ask.
“I’ve known you for fifteen years, and you’ve always ordered cheese and olives on your pizza.”
This causes my cheeks to heat with embarrassment. He’s right, of course, but I didn’t realize he’d noticed.
“Hey, Pax,” a guy at the counter with sleeve tattoos, large gauges in his ears, and a full beard says.
“Hey, Dominic. You’re working again, huh?”
The guy smiles. “I’ve got to save up for ski season,” he says.
“This is Poppy,” Pax says, skipping over the label we’re both unfamiliar with.
Dominic lifts his smile to me, and I catch that he also has two eyebrow rings. “Nice to meet you.”
“You as well.”
“You guys want some pizza?”
Pax nods and recites our order, adding garlic knots and drinks like he can read my mind.
“My stomach is eating itself,” I say as we take our empty cups to the soda fountain. I fill my mine with ice and then Sprite and take a sip to settle my stomach as Pax fills his with root beer. It’s a detail I’d forgotten that sparks a dozen memories filled with root beer floats and dinners over at the Lawson house.
“What?” he asks.
“Do you remember that big snow storm we had? It was my eighth-grade year, so you would have been a sophomore, and we were in your parents’ garage looking for the sleds, and all of that root beer your grandpa had put out there to get cold for floats had exploded.”
He chuckles. “Oh, Gramps was so pissed. That made such a mess.”
“Your mom was so mad at him.”
His smile fades too soon as we make our way over to a small table to wait for our food. I wonder if I shouldn’t have brought up his family? I know he’s had a tough time with his parent’s divorce.
I need food. I am a snacker, a grazer, a bonafide food lover. When I don’t get something to eat, I am the very definition of hangry, but I forget about how hungry I am and how good it smells in here and that I need to buy granola bars or something to snack on between classes on Wednesdays as I face Paxton. He’s going to tell me this was a bad idea, that we can look back on this and laugh about the fact anyone believed that we were a couple.
“How’s your week been going?” he asks.
I swallow and slowly nod. “Good. Good.” I have no idea why I just repeated myself, but I’m going to blame it on hunger and not nerves because there’s absolutely no reason to be nervous or feel awkward about sitting across from my best friend’s older brother. “Yours?”
He runs a hand through his hair and then follows the arch of his left eyebrow with his index finger. Near the edge of it is a scar that I’d never noticed before, though it feels like I should know its history. “Long,” he says. “We have a big game this weekend. You probably already know that because of Rae.”
I nod. “Yeah. She said they’re a big-hitting team.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty aggressive.” He leans back, his shoulders so broad that he conceals the entire back of his chair.
We’re both silent for a moment, reminding me how Paxton and I have never spent much time alone. Almost always, Rae is with us as well as a couple of his friends.
“Here you guys are,” Dominic says, delivering slices of pizza with melted, gooey cheese and twisted breadsticks that have been sprinkled with salt and garlic powder.
“Thanks,” I say.
Dominic nods. “Yeah, if you guys need anything else, let me know.”
I eye the slices of pizza, working to decipher if the cheese will burn the top of my mouth or not. It’s a risk I’m about to take when Pax clears his throat.
“Rae’s birthday party is this Friday, and I could use you as a wingman.”
“Don’t you mean wingwoman?”
He grins, all confidence and charm.
“Does that mean you’re in?”
“Well, since you brought that up, I think we should create our rules.”
Pax takes a drink of his soda as I reach for a notebook and pen. “You’re going to write them down?”
“How else are we going to remember them?”
His lips twist with a wry smile. “How many rules are we making?”
“We’re writing the rules of our agreement,” I point out. “Anything is up for discussion. For example, I think the first rule should be that we don’t tell anyone.”
Pax nods. “I would agree.”
I write it down and pause, placing the pen cap between my teeth. It’s a terrible habit, one my mom worked years to break, just like biting my nails. Paxton’s gaze lowers to my mouth, and he swallows, the column of his neck bobbing. I quickly redirect my focus to my notepad and lean back to gain a little space, and try to ignore the thought that wants to arise—the one that whispers about him being affected and, dare I say, turned on.
I clear my throat. “What do you think of making rule two be that we talk about things that bother or annoy each other? I mean, this is benefit of fake dating, right? We don’t have to pretend that if you chew with your mouth open that I don’t mind, and you don’t have to lie and tell me you like redheads.”
“What if I do like redheads?”
I roll my eyes. “You like brunettes, except for Candace.”
He grins but doesn’t object. “Write it down, boss.”
I do and barely refrain from rolling my eyes again.
“I need you to be my wingwoman whenever I go to a party. This will be beneficial for both of us. We won’t go out more than once a week.” Pax takes another drink of his root beer.
“Doesn’t wingwoman imply I’m going to help you hook up wit
h someone at the party?” I ask.
“In this scenario, it means you’re going to be my plus one, so if Derek Paulson shows up to any party we’re at like the fucking shadow he is, I don’t kick his ass and get into more trouble than I’m already in.”
Last year, Paxton despised Derek after he started flirting with Rae. It was why she and Lincoln didn’t tell him initially when they started developing feelings for each other and later more. “I thought things were … amicable between you guys?”
He nods. “They were. Mostly. Until he started sleeping with Candace.”
I wince. “That’s low.”
Paxton traces his eyebrow again and then buries his fingers into his hair, making it stick up. “They’re only doing it to fuck with my head. I don’t care that she’s moved on. It’s good that she is, but…”
“It’s him,” I say, finishing his sentence. “I get it. She knew you hated him, and he knew you dated her.”
“Exactly,” he says. “They don’t give a single shit about each other. They’re just using each other to get to me.”
Like us.
I nod. “I’ll be there.”
Pax nods again, then reaches for the marinara sauce. “Shit. I forgot to ask for pesto for you. Hang on.” He gets out of his seat and goes to the counter, where he asks Demonic for a side of pesto, reminding me of one more seemingly insignificant detail that he knows about me. Our lives are made up of millions of tiny moments—details. They’re the threads of the tapestry that makes up our lives, and Paxton keeps reminding me of how many of my threads he represents.
When he turns around, I pull out my phone, needing a distraction because my thoughts are beginning to misread this situation, and I know it. I pull up my calendar and pretend like I’m busy.
Pax sets the pesto down in front of me. “I’m invoking rule two. I need a quick timeout. I can’t focus on anything but eating. I’m starving.”
“Rule two isn’t something you invoke. It’s just saying that we’re going to be open and honest with each other.” I shrug.
He balances a large slice of pizza on his fingertips. “Have you heard from Mike?” he asks, lifting his gaze to mine before he takes a bite of the slice loaded with meats and vegetables. The action has my eyes shifting from his squared cheekbones to his strong chin and finally to his mouth, memorizing the fullness of his lips, the light stain as he chews his bite of food.
I tear my attention to my pizza, clear my throat, and shake my head. “No. He only texted me the one time. I don’t even know why he did.”
Pax swallows. “He was paying attention to you at the bonfire.”
“I don’t think he believes we’re dating. He knows you’re Rae’s brother.”
A devilish smile claims his mouth. “He believes it now. I’m pretty sure he was ready to go fist to cuffs with me.”
Guilt leads in the race of emotions his words evoke. “His girlfriend seems nice,” I say.
He nods, taking another bite. I reach for one of the garlic knots, dipping it into the pesto. Pax looks at me, waiting for my reaction. “It’s good, right?”
It’s delicious with the right amounts of butter and garlic and all the gluten that appeases my hunger. “It’s really good. I could fill up on these.”
He grins. “We can come here every Sunday and Wednesday afternoon and study. It’s public enough that people will see us, and far enough away we won’t have constant interruptions. Plus, free pizza.”
I consider how this would fit into our rules or if it does. “That’s a good idea. We’ll make it rule three. What else should we add?”
Pax takes another bite, his gaze expressive, though challenging to decipher aside from the spark of humor before he takes a drink. “I can tell you’re a little distracted by these rules.”
“I feel like I’m on unsteady ground right now, like a cat trying to stand up in a moving vehicle,” I admit. “I want to make sure I’m not going to mess this up.”
He shakes his head. “Where’s your confidence?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
He laughs a full and genuine sound that carves a reciprocating smile on my face. “I’m serious. I’m going to help you find your confidence and then bolster the hell out of it.”
“I have confidence,” I tell him.
He nods. “I know you do. But you seem kind of jittery this year.”
“I’m not nervous. I’m … stuck.”
“Stuck?” He asks
“I feel like I need to push myself out of my comfort bubble.”
Pax claps and rubs his hands together. “I can help with that.” Another devious smile, this one touches his eyes, expanding his pupils.
“Nothing overly crazy,” I clarify.
“All right, rule four. I need you to attend all of my home games and go out to celebrate afterward.”
I reach for my pen and write it down as I finish chewing my garlic knot.
“I’ll cook you dinner every Monday.”
I pause and look at him. “You’re going to cook me dinner?”
“Rae works late, and you burn water. Plus, we’re going to need to hang out and learn a little about each other and figure out how things are going.”
“Like a business meeting?”
He smiles a lopsided grin. “A little less formal. I won’t expect you in business casual attire.”
“Is that really a rule, though?”
Paxton nods. “Add it. I do best when I have clear directives and goals.” He watches as I write each letter of our fifth rule.
“But, if you want to start casting your own shadow and break out of your bubble, you’re going to have to hang out with me on campus and go do things with me outside of school where people can see you and get to know you. You’re funny as hell, and you’re cute. Guys will like you and want to date you, and your friend circle is going to explode. You’re a cool chick.”
My stomach does something funny at his choice of words. Society dictates that you’re either hot or cute. Cute is someone’s little sister. Cute is the nice girl who guys want to be friends with but don’t fight for. “Is that really going to help though? I mean, you kind of ditched me at the bonfire last weekend.”
He flinches. “That was a dick move. It was just a bad night after a bad game and I wasn’t thinking. Next party, I’ll be stapled to your side.”
“I don’t need you to be stapled to my side, I just don’t want to drive forty minutes for a bad kiss or hang out somewhere by myself.”
His blue gaze meets mine. “I was an asshole. I’m sorry. I will get better, I promise.”
“These rules will help us. This way we know the expectations and goals.” I straighten my notebook so I don’t have to continue looking at the sincerity in his stare. “What about other parties that come up that are unrelated to football? Rae’s birthday is this weekend, so we’ll go together because we know everyone, but what about other events?”
“We go together,” he says. “Everywhere except for family events. That’s another perk of fake dating—we don’t have to endure that train wreck.”
I’m grateful for this clause since I know his parents, and pretending in front of them would not only be nearly impossible but incredibly awkward.
“And we should probably keep some tabs on each other. Not like stalking, but just so I know if you’re going on vacation or decide to try Buddhism or something, so I don’t come across as twenty-four cents short of a quarter,” he says.
I snicker. “Daily updates?”
He shrugs, reaching for his pizza. “That should work, right?”
“And we do this exclusively,” I say. “If you decide to start dating Candace again or anyone else, there will be absolutely no judgment or questions on my behalf. You are welcome to do you. You just have to let me know and give me ten days before you move on.”
“Ten days?”
I shrug. “A week isn’t quite enough for the rumor mill to finish, and two weeks might make them think we’ll get ba
ck together.”
“Deal.”
I finish my slice of pizza, and though I feel too full, I want another. “I have to get going,” I tell him, glancing at my watch. “I have a class in thirty minutes.” I begin gathering my garbage.
“Sure. Okay. How do you feel about the rules?”
“I might need some time to think of any amendments or clarifications. Details like not calling me a nag.”
His brow lowers with a hint of offense. “I’m not going to call you a nag.”
“I know. I just was providing it as an example.”
Pax stands as I do and looks over at Dominic. “I’ll be right back,” he says, pointing at our table.
Dominic nods in reply. “I’ll watch your stuff.”
My heart beats unevenly as I realize Paxton intends to walk me out. Though I know it’s only to be polite, it creates a new list in my thoughts, this one of attributes and gestures I hope to find in my future boyfriend. When I was not-dating Chase last year, he’d fall asleep almost every time we hung out, leaving me to walk to my car alone. Every time Pax and I have hung out, he’s walked me to my car.
Pax looks at the sky as we stop at my car. The sky is muted, dark gray clouds making it appear much later than it is. “I’ll text you, and we can work out plans for the party on Friday.”
I nod, feeling that restless, unknown feeling creep through me again. Do we hug? Shake hands? Kiss? “Sounds good.”
One side of his mouth lifts with a knowing smile, and he pulls me into a loose hug that reminds me of the few hugs we’ve shared in the past, lacking all sense of intimacy. “We should probably figure this part out. We’re going to have to act like a couple. Hold hands, hug, kiss. It will be weird if we don’t.”
It will be weird if we do. But, it’s not supposed to, and so I nod again. “Yeah, someone might see us.”
“Exactly.” He leans back and brushes his lips against my forehead before stepping back and opening my door for me. “What class are you going to?”
“Modern Political Thought.”
He nods. “That’s right. You liked your political science class last year,” he says.
I nod. “Actually, I hated it, but that was because of my professor and TA. I liked the course though, and have been considering declaring it my major.”