Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone

by Mariah Dietz

  “Sure. Okay. Let’s park.”

  Rae chuckles and checks her mirrors before pulling forward and finding a parking spot a block away. “They should be here in an hour or so,” she says. “We should adopt our own tradition. We should start going out and getting something to eat after the games. We can invite Rose and Olivia, Nessie, and Chloe and go grab something terrible for us and have fun before the guys finish with all the interviews and everything gets wrapped up.”

  “Rose will be there doing interviews,” I remind her.

  She scrunches her nose. “That’s right. But the rest of us can do it. It will cut down on the time we have to be at the bonfires or parties.”

  A raindrop hits me on the forehead, quickly followed by another, and then another, ushering us to hurry toward the house. “I’m in. I froze at the last bonfire.”

  Rae’s hand wraps around mine. “Sorry for meddling. You guys just surprised me is all.”

  I shake my head. That kiss surprised me, too. “Let’s have fun.”

  Inside, the house is surprisingly well-lit, which leads to several people turning as we step farther into the house.

  “Have we been here?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so.” We wander farther inside, our hands still joined.

  “Hey, Poppy!” a guy I don’t know calls out.

  I wave and test out a smile.

  “Do you know him?” Rae asks.

  “Not a clue.”

  She grins. “I told you dating Pax is working.”

  My phone vibrates in my palm, and when I see that it’s from Chloe, I nudge Rae so she can read the message with me.

  Chloe: When you guys get here, we’re in the dining room.

  “Let’s go find them.”

  “Twins!” a guy yells before making a lewd gesture with his mouth, informing us Chloe and Nessie are on the other side of him. The guy is still chuckling at his joke when he turns toward us. “A blonde and a redhead walk into a bar…”

  “Wrong duo to flirt with,” the guy’s friend tells him. “That’s Lincoln Beckett’s chick, and that one is Paxton Lawson’s,” he points to each of us as he makes the introductions. “They’d probably kill you and eat your liver.”

  The guy’s face turns ashen and then nods. “Moving on.” He turns away from us and marches forward with his friend following close behind.

  “Do they… Are guys seriously afraid of the football team?” I ask, dumbfounded on a whole new level.

  Rae shrugs. “I’m pretty sure they were on drugs... But, yeah. I mean, the team is like a pride of lions. They stick together, and they’re literally known for hitting people on the field.”

  “So if guys assume I’m dating Paxton, then they’re…”

  She shakes her head. “The guys who you’d want to date won’t come near you, but you’ll have assholes who try to flirt with you. And, of course, those who don’t know. I mean, Pax is popular, but only the football team assumes that everyone knows them.” She grins.

  I’m overthinking everything. “Why didn’t I pack us water bottles with alcohol like last year?”

  She bestows a patient smile on me that says she knows I’m starting to freak out. “Because you’re Pax’s sober buddy.” She gives a wide and cheesy smile and then clamps my arm tighter and continues to where Nessie, Chloe, and Olivia are gathered.

  My phone vibrates with another text, and Paxton’s name flashes on my phone.

  Pax: We’re parking. Is it crazy inside?

  Me: No. It seems like it just started.

  Pax: That’s because it did ;) Everyone was at the game.

  Me: That’s an awfully big assumption.

  Pax: Facts.

  “Is that Pax?” Olivia asks.

  I glance up from my screen to see my friends peering at me with varying degrees of amusement except for Rae, whose brows lower with doubt. “They’re here,” I say.

  A cheer breaks out in the living room, and I see a couple of guys from the defense come inside.

  “This doesn’t help them stay grounded,” Raegan says, shaking her head.

  “Seriously. Was it this bad last year?” I ask. “I don’t remember them getting this much attention.”

  She nods. “At times, but I think it’s getting worse as their record continues.”

  “I heard Hoyt’s slept with over two hundred women this year,” Olivia says.

  “Gross,” Chloe says.

  “That can’t be true. Can it?” I ask.

  Olivia shrugs. “That’s what Hoyt told Arlo. I mean, after all of the rumors, I am so not going to shame this, but if that’s true, that would be like sleeping with three girls a day. So he has to be lying … I think…”

  I hear Arlo cheer before I can see him, then he steps into view his gaze scanning over faces until he finds Olivia, and then his smile is automatic and his steps swift. It’s hard to watch and harder to look away.

  Paxton is in front of me when I straighten, his gaze more focused and intense than I remember it being on the field, and I wonder if it’s from our shared kiss or from watching Arlo. “Hey.” He leans forward, brushing his lips against mine, and rather than pulling away, his mouth lingers, and then his hand slides against my lower back, making a shiver run down my spine. His kiss is light and unhurried and has questions firing off in my head and multiplying faster than they can form. He presses another kiss to my lips and then gently runs his nose along my cheek, taking a deep breath through his nose as he does.

  It’s the high of the victory, I’m sure of it. Rae has alluded to how great sex is with Lincoln after games because he’s on top of the world and still feels the energy of adrenaline before they crash and hibernate every Sunday in her room.

  “Someone recognized Poppy as your girlfriend, and it stopped a guy from hitting on her,” Rae tells Pax. “He told him you would kill him and eat his liver.”

  Pax grins. “He’s not wrong.”

  Several laugh, but humor is the last thing I feel as I try to decipher what has just changed.

  Then, several feet deep into the party, I spot the difference—Candace is here.

  Paxton

  My current high beats any substance-driven high I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I could feel the difference tonight, my looks were fast and sharp, my movements even faster. It was like I didn’t even have to think tonight, my body acted on instinct, and it paid off. Coach Baker made a point to shake my hand after the game and tell me he was glad to see me back and as much as I wanted to tell him I hadn’t gone anywhere, that I’d been there every day of this season, working my ass off in the gym and during every practice—I knew what he meant. There was a difference in my playing, and I felt it, and so did my teammates and coaches.

  I rest my hand against Poppy’s waist. It’s an easy feeling, and for the first time in what feels like months—maybe years—it doesn’t feel like an obligation or like a claim. Poppy isn’t going to intentionally try and make me jealous or scream at another girl who looks at me. I’ve defended Candace for much of the past few years, but this time apart has been eye-opening in so many ways. Things I hadn’t realized or deemed unhealthy or toxic now feel like textbook examples of unhealthy relationships.

  “I need to use the restroom,” Poppy says. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll go with you. I have a feeling it’s going to get a lot more crowded in here,” Rae says.

  Poppy doesn’t object, but I can see that she wants to. I’m sure my sister does as well, but she doesn’t let it stop her from going.

  “I’m missing beer tonight,” Lincoln tells me as he peers around at the party. It’s still early, most of the crowd standing around and talking, drinking too fast in an attempt to fast forward the evening since it’s already getting late.

  “Hey, Pax.” The all too familiar voice has me turning around, discovering Candace. “You had a really good game tonight.”

  I wait for the dig or the punchline, but instead, she gives me a guarded smile. “Could
we talk for a minute?”

  “Now?”

  She shrugs. “If you don’t mind.”

  Lincoln gives a single shake of his head.

  “I just want to apologize and clear the air,” Candace says.

  “It’s so clear, a fucking plane could take off,” Lincoln says.

  Candace keeps her gaze on me. “Please. I don’t want things to end the way they have. We’ve known each other for so long.”

  I want to assign a time limit or a short list of rules, but this would be callous and demeaning and not the kind of guy I ever want to be. However, after my dad cheated on my mom, I also have no desire for even a whisper of infidelity.

  “There’s no bad blood,” I tell her. “I appreciate you coming and talking to me, but you can rest easy in knowing things are cool between us.”

  Candace glances at Lincoln, who’s still nearby. He lifts both hands and takes a few steps back, joining the rest of the crew.

  “How are you doing?” she asks like the conversation is new and we’re old friends. It reminds me of the beginning of freshman year when we were equally excited to find time to be together between classes and football.

  I nod. “Things are looking up,” I tell her. “How about you?”

  She smiles, and it’s timid and so un-Candace-like. “I can tell. You seem different.”

  Another wave of conflicting emotions about me being the same person, but dealing with less shit, and how it’s allowed me to breathe without needing a drink or a nameless girl … well … not entirely. I still sometimes feel the fingertips of both assuring me that it would be easier and way more fun. Then another wave hits like a rising tide, this one carrying accusations about how hard I’ve worked and how critical everyone has been of every minor infraction—none of which have involved breaking any rules.

  She must sense my mood changing because gone is her trepidation as her confidence shines with another smile. “You’ve been such a big part of my life, and I would really like for us to remain friends. I haven’t had the guts to tell my mom we broke up. She still thinks you’re coming home with me for Christmas break.”

  “Candace, I can’t…”

  “I know we aren’t together, but my uncle asked me if you guys might be interested in doing a volunteer opportunity with the Seahawks.” Her uncle works for the organization, so while she has a record of lying, I don’t doubt this is honest. “It would be a great way for you to get some exposure and meet the team. Even the coaches will be there.” She flashes a smile. “Think about it. I’ll text you the details.” She shares a final smile and then disappears without a raised voice or insult.

  “Don’t trust her,” Lincoln warns me.

  Before I can reply Rae and Poppy return. “Are you okay?” I ask Poppy.

  She glances at me and nods instantly. “Yeah. Of course. I’m just tired.”

  “We can go.”

  She stares at me for a moment and then shakes her head. “No, your game was awesome. We need to celebrate.” She takes my hand and draws me closer to our friends where Arlo is telling an animated story about a play tonight.

  I settle in, my hand loose on Poppy’s hip, looking forward to my future for the first time in months.

  19

  Poppy

  “You look nice,” Mom says as I step into my childhood home that resembles a dollhouse found in the pages of a toy catalog. It’s a stately Victorian style house that sits atop a hill. My father built it before I was born as a gift to my mom for when he proposed—talk about pressure.

  “Thanks. Happy Thanksgiving,” I say, kissing her cheek. I set my purse on the bench that is only supposed to look like a drop center. Mom hates when anything is placed on it. I’m only allowed to use it now because I don’t live here anymore. Sampson, our golden retriever, comes barreling into the room, wagging his tail as he leans against my legs, seeking attention. It took me four years and multiple reports that I pitched during family dinners about the benefits of children owning pets before Mom finally caved and let us get a dog. We found Sampson at the first shelter we stopped at, filled with unbridled energy and a penchant for sitting on laps though he’s way too big.

  “I wouldn’t have paired the color with your hair, but I actually think it’s stunning on you.” She looks over my reddish-brown dress that hits my knees and has a ruffled front with ivory buttons and puffed sleeves.

  I pat Sampson’s flank, uncertain why we’re discussing the dress when my mom’s closet consists of pant suits and more pant suits. “Yeah, I think it’s because the dress is redder and a lighter shade. I like your pant suit. The olive green seems very festive for the occasion.”

  “Thanks. I got it last week.”

  “How’s work been going?” I ask. Until this summer, I worked part-time for my mom, scheduling appointments and returning messages, but this year, she’s narrowed her client list down substantially and is mostly focused on other projects.

  “Busy. I’m working on my new book, and I received an offer to do a podcast every Sunday.”

  “That’s exciting. What’s the theme of the podcast?”

  “Educating people about psychology. The hope is to break down the walls and preconceived notions that so many carry so they aren’t afraid or embarrassed to seek help if they’re feeling lonely, or depressed, or are going through something, or are just feeling … different.”

  “I think that’s great, Mom. It sounds like it’s right up your alley, too.”

  She flashes a smile of appreciation. “Want something to drink?”

  “Sure. Where are Dad and Dylan?”

  She pulls her chin back. “Dragging the Christmas tree out of storage.”

  “Seriously?” My mom has never allowed me to put up the tree before December twelfth. It’s a tradition that she’s irrationally stubborn about.

  “Dylan wanted to put it up. He’s been missing you, and I couldn’t say no.”

  “You’re getting soft.”

  She points a french-tipped manicured nail at me as I follow her into the kitchen. “Open-minded. I thought you’d be proud of me.”

  “I am.”

  Mom grins and approaches the coffee bar, which is decorated for the holiday with colorful silk leaves and burnt-orange pumpkins. “Would you like some mulled apple cider? Or I picked up some sparkling cider if you’d prefer?”

  “It’s Thanksgiving. I have to drink the mulled cider.” I grab a coffee cup and fill it from the Crock-Pot.

  “How have things been?” Mom asks, scratching the back of her neck.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “No. Not at all. Why would I be nervous?”

  “I don’t know. You just seem a little anxious.”

  She smiles again. “No. I’m just…” She walks over to the table, drawing my attention to the additional three place settings.

  “Are we having someone for dinner?”

  “Yes. It was kind of a last-minute addition. I wasn’t certain because you hadn’t mentioned anything to your father or me yet, but…”

  My stomach hits my lungs, and my face warms. She must have seen the game. Granted, she wouldn’t have needed to. Paxton and mine’s kiss felt like national news in my small world—the picture hit news stations and even a couple of newspapers. I was nervous initially but then realized no one could tell it was me. The shots were clearly intended to capture Paxton’s elation after the victory, and therefore the pictures chase his face, whereas I’m mostly shaded by our kiss. But my mom probably recognizes my hair, maybe she even recognizes the back of my head—mothers can do that, right? Does Paxton know? Is that why he hasn’t texted me this morning? Are we supposed to act like a couple? I feel lightheaded.

  “Don’t we need five spots?” I ask. “Aren’t their grandparents coming?”

  “Mike’s grandparents?”

  “Mike?” I ask, pulling my chin back like I’ve just hit a brick wall.

  “Don’t his grandparents live in Arizona?”

  I shake my head, tr
ying to make sense of the conversation. “You invited Mike?”

  “You know his mom and I are still in the book club together, and for the past year, we’ve been doing yoga classes, and we’ve become really good friends.”

  “And I’m okay with that. But that is you and her, not Mike.”

  “You guys were always such good friends, and I really respect how you’ve managed to maintain a relationship. I know that was a tough summer for you, but you were both so mature about the situation, and now that he’s back—”

  “Mom, he’s dating someone.” I can’t tell her that I am because that would only lead to a new set of questions, ones I don’t know how to answer since our rules specify we weren’t going to drag our families into things.

  “I’ve heard.”

  I stare at my mom, waiting for the decades of professional advice she’s given to clients and listeners to dawn on her like a giant sunrise, but apparently, the skies are overcast in her thoughts as well as outside today. “Mom, it’s Thanksgiving. This is a family holiday. I can’t believe you invited Mike over and didn’t even give me a heads up.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have given you some time to mull over this information. I didn’t realize it was going to be a big deal. I thought you’d be happy about it. Jackie mentioned how you guys have hung out and how you have a class together…”

  “You guys aren’t trying to play matchmaker, right? You heard me tell you he has a girlfriend.”

  “You guys are young. At this age, relationships aren’t serious. They’re how you learn about life and yourselves.”

  “She moved across the country. I’d consider it pretty serious.”

  “I’m not saying you have to date or marry Mike. I just know that you guys have always shared so much and had a lot in common, and because you’re such good friends and he’s here, I thought it would be nice to celebrate the day together.”