Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone

by Mariah Dietz

  Paxton

  “So this is real now?” Lincoln asks while he loads the dishwasher, and I pack away the leftovers.

  “I told you it was.”

  “How real?”

  “She’s my girlfriend.”

  “Have you told your mom?”

  “What does that mean?” I laugh, trying to comprehend the meaning behind his question.

  “You tell your mom everything.”

  “I can’t tell if you’re joking or serious, so I’m going to need a little more.”

  Lincoln rinses another plate. “When you set your mind to something, you tell your mom.”

  “I don’t.”

  He nods. “When we talked about moving out together. When you talked about wanting to date Candace. When you broke up with Candace…”

  I stop what I’m doing and focus on his point. “Shit. Am I a mama's boy?”

  “Without a single doubt,” he tells me. “But it’s cool because your mom’s cool. Rae does the same thing. It’s weird as fuck to me because I basically hear from my mom on bank holidays and when the local news talks about me, but you guys are close, and so it’s your norm.”

  “I haven’t told my mom, yet. But it’s not because this isn’t real. It’s because she’s been going through a divorce and telling her I’m back in a relationship—a healthy relationship with someone I care a lot about and who my mom loves and knows, no less—seems shitty.”

  “Are you ready to be back in another relationship? You and Candace haven’t been broken up for that long.”

  “We’ve been done for a while, we just hadn’t gone through the formalities. We both have known it’s been over.”

  “And that’s why she came over and had a screaming match in our driveway that led you to a fake relationship?”

  “Are you going to speak your mind or just be a dick?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe a little of both.”

  “You like Poppy. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

  Lincoln turns, folding both arms over his chest. “You’re right. I do like Poppy.” He stares at me, trepidation marring his face. “You’re my best friend, Pax, and you’re going to want to punch me after I tell you this, but I’m worried that you’re going to fuck this up.”

  “We’ve been doing this for six weeks, and it stopped feeling fake after the second week.”

  “It looks fucking real, which is why people have bought into it. But, you tend to sabotage shit when things start going well for you.”

  “Are we really going over this again? Last year was shit.”

  “When things went to hell, you kept it together and pulled everyone out, just like you do on the field. But when things were good, it was like you got scared of things being too good and you’d bring yourself back down to what you deemed you deserved.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Last fall when you were getting all of that attention from the news, you ended up buck ass naked in someone’s attic. And when Coach told you he believed you’d be invited to the draft, you went to a party and got so drunk you passed out on the lawn.”

  I want to object and point out his flawed logic—that I couldn’t wallow when the lows were actively occurring because too many depended on me. I had to wait until the storm settled to finally blow off steam.

  “You’re one hell of a quarterback. If I had to gamble on someone’s future, it would be yours.” He pauses, smirking at me. “Once you lose your stomach, it’s like you’re made of iron, but then you get off the field and that confidence wanes, and you go and do something stupid. I think that’s why you’ve always gotten back together with Candace. You don’t feel like you deserve more or better, so you just kept going back.”

  “So you think Poppy’s too good for me?”

  Lincoln shrugs. “I’m worried you think she is.” He leans against the counter. “Think of this conversation like watching tape. We’re talking tendencies and habits and being aware. We all do this shit. I was scared shitless by Rae, and if you talk to Banks, he’ll tell you Chloe scared the hell out of him, too.”

  “I don’t feel afraid,” I tell him. “I feel motivated. I feel happy. When I’m around her, it’s like bullshit just doesn’t matter. This thing between us started to prove to everyone else that I was good enough, and somewhere over a short period, that motivation became about being good enough for her.”

  He nods. “Poppy’s a really good person. You know this. She’s not going to burn your shit or stalk you in the middle of the night. But, she’s also not going to give you fifty chances if you fuck up. So, you just have to be aware and don’t do anything stupid.”

  “You mean like let her go on a date with Derek Paulson?” I ask. The insinuation is a jab because last year, Rae went out with Paulson while she and Lincoln were still struggling to figure out their feelings toward each other. Lincoln flips me off, making me chuckle. “I still kind of hate you for dating my little sister.”

  This makes him grin. “Says the guy who’s dating his sister’s best friend.”

  Laughter peels out of me. “To be fair, Rae threatened me.”

  “I’m sure she did.”

  “Have you guys talked about next year?” I ask him as my thoughts shuffle to him and my sister.

  His smile vanishes, the question sobering him instantly. “I have no fucking idea what’s going to happen next year. I know we don’t really talk about this because she’s your sister, but I don’t know how I’m going to be able to handle being away from her if I get drafted to another state. She’s my air—my sanity. I don’t know that I can lose that—lose her.”

  I shake my head as his fears lodge new ones into my thoughts that have this thing with Poppy ending before it’s able to begin. “You won’t. As much as I like to give you a hard time, I know she feels the same way toward you. You guys won’t let anything happen.”

  28

  Paxton

  I wake up, disoriented. The bed is warm, the sheets soft too comfortable and plush. I look at the minimal pictures hanging in thick wooden frames on the white wall, and instantly regain my balance. Beside me, Poppy releases a quiet breath in her sleep. She’s lying on her side, the straps of her tank top visible. I grab my cell phone to see what time it is. Four forty-five—the same time I’ve woken up throughout my college career. I have an hour before I need to be at the gym.

  “You’re moving a lot,” Poppy mumbles.

  “We’re going to have to practice making you a harder sleeper,” I tell her, rolling so my chest lies flush against her back.

  “It’s impossible,” she says, shifting so I can slip my arm under her neck and tag her around the waist.

  “Ear Plugs?”

  “How will I wake up if a psycho killer breaks into our apartment?” she asks, nuzzling against my arm.

  I smirk, my lips pressed to her warm neck. “Valid point.”

  “I think so,” she says, backing up against me a little farther, bringing her ass against my erection. Need travels through me like a hit, one that I try to ignore since she just confessed to being tired. “When do you have to go?” she asks.

  “About thirty minutes.”

  She hums her understanding and then pushes more firmly against my erection. I groan, my hips flexing with a gentle thrust.

  “Are you trying to tell me something?” I ask, skimming the shell of her ear with my lips.

  She hums again in response and trails her fingers gently over my forearm that’s wrapped around her waist. Last night, we stayed up too late, watching a movie with Rae and Lincoln. Poppy had fallen asleep on the couch, and I didn’t have the heart to wake her up, so I carried her back to bed sans naked time. “Think we have time?” Her voice is soft, curious.

  “Time for what?”

  “You know what.”

  I grin, moving my hand up to graze over her breast. “I still like hearing you say it.”

  “It’s weird,” she admits. “You sound sexy and hot. I sound like I’m re
ading an anatomy book written in the seventies.”

  I chuckle, finding her nipple and stroking the surface. “It’s sexy,” I insist. “Hearing that you want me to touch you, that you want me to fuck you…” A low growl hits the back of my throat. “It’s ridiculously fucking sexy.”

  “I like when you play with my nipples,” she says.

  I groan, stroking harder over the stiffened peak.

  She rolls, facing me, and grabs me through my underwear. “I really liked what you did the other night at your house.”

  I kiss her gently, trying to slow my breaths as her grip tightens and she slides her hand up and down my cock. “What part?”

  “When I was on my knees on your bed.”

  I slide my hand down her pajama pants and underwear, drawing my fingers over her folds, discovering her wet and hot. “You liked being fingered from behind?”

  She gasps and moves her hand faster. “That too. But I meant when you were…” She gasps as I slip a finger into her.

  “Fucking you,” I say, drawing my finger out and adding a second. She moans, her eyes closing and lips parting with a blissful expression that is so damn perfect. Her eyes slowly open, lust lighting her gaze. She’s turned on by the words. “Say it.” I twist my fingers, changing the direction and pressure.

  I pump in and out of her several times and then add my thumb to her clit, and she sighs my name and closes her eyes again.

  “What was I doing to you?” I ask, finding the spot that makes her body quiver. Her cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink and she opens her eyes, desperation and pleasure begging me to continue.

  “When you were fucking me,” she says boldly. “While you were still touching me.” She gasps again. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, releasing me and placing her hand on my arm as though to keep me there.

  I have no intention of moving. If she’s right and our memories are as bad as she’s claimed, I want to make her come until the memory is perfected.

  She cries out her release, and I muffle it with my mouth, kissing her long and hard until her hips stop rocking against my hand.

  I reach for my bag and grab a condom before ridding her of her pants and underwear with a quick tug that leaves her grinning, her muscles all loose, and her eyes bright. I tug her tank top and the cup of one side of her bra down and seal my lips over the hardened peak to get her ready again.

  Poppy buries her fingers in my hair and releases another moan as her foot slides against my leg. I lap at her nipple, then tease it with my teeth before freeing her other breast and repeating the process. As her breathing becomes labored, I roll off the bed, dropping my underwear to the ground and rolling the condom on. I lower a knee on the bed and move her legs to one side. “I want to see your face,” I tell her as I rotate her hips so she lies on her side, legs curled. I align myself with her entrance and slowly edge my way inside of her, my stare flipping between her slackened jaw and how she gently bites her bottom lip and watching my cock ease inside of her. I pull out and then ease back in a slow rhythm that allows me to focus on her and each delicious groan.

  She rocks her hips, encouraging me to go harder, and I oblige, thrusting faster and deeper, drawing out another moan. I slip my finger between her legs, knowing our time is short and I want to see her come again. The skin between her brows furrows, and her mouth drops open with pleasure, so I increase my movements drawing out the pleasure as I circle her clit with my thumb until she spirals. I thrust into her, my vision clouded with need. My muscles constrict, and my movements become faster and frantic. My release hits me like a wave, crashing against me, carrying out my pleasure, and stealing my strength. I remain still for a moment, my eyes closed as every cell in my body seems to vibrate with a sense of rightness.

  I run my hands along her bare thigh and back and slip from her before lying behind her and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “What do you think about going to my Mom’s tomorrow for dinner?” I ask. “My grandpa and Camilla will be there, maybe Rae and Lincoln.”

  “I don’t think I’m in a position to make decisions right now,” she tells me.

  I smile, kissing her shoulder again. “Ready to add another title to your resume?”

  Her green eyes flash open, and I can read her concern before she voices it.

  “My mom’s going to be thrilled,” I tell her. “She loves you.”

  “This seems big.”

  It does, and yet it feels so simple and right, and it’s not because Lincoln has his doubts or because he might be onto something about me self-sabotaging, but because everything about Poppy feels natural and easy and so damn right that I want my family to know and celebrate in this news. “Speaking of big…”

  Poppy scoffs and then laughs, and it grows until tears form in her eyes. “That is a prime example why I can’t talk dirty. It all sounds so cheesy.”

  “You like it,” I rasp, leaning close to her ear. She shivers in response. I kiss a trail down her shoulder and back and then stand, knowing I’m going to be cutting it close to practice. “What else do you have planned for the week?”

  She straightens her shirt and stretches across the expanse of her bed. “I need to go Christmas shopping and do laundry.”

  “You can come do laundry at my place and hang out. I’ll make you dinner. We can do it tonight or tomorrow morning since you don’t have classes until the afternoon, and I can make you brunch.” I use the tissue box on her desk to clean myself up so I can put pants on. Going commando around the apartment she shares with my sister would be guaranteed to leave some scars.

  Poppy looks at me with a smile, light and warmth spread across her features.

  “What’s that look?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I can’t see my expression.”

  I grin. “You just look … happy.”

  Her smile broadens, reminding me of dozens of memories of board games, camping, afternoons at the beach—they play through my mind like tape, allowing me to recall this smile and realizing its maybe not the first time it’s been directed at me, it may not even be the first time I’ve paid attention. “I feel happy,” she says, rolling to her side and tucking both hands under her chin. That same rightness I’ve been feeling seeps into my chest and thoughts. With Poppy, I’ve never had to impress her with material items or football titles—it’s never been about any of that for her. It’s an addictive and consuming realization. “Let’s do a laundry date tomorrow. I need to do some grocery shopping, and I’ve got some homework I need to get done.”

  “Deal. Laundry date, then dinner with my family.” I lean forward and kiss her again. “I have to get to practice. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She nestles into the covers and makes a sleepy sound as I close her bedroom door.

  Rae looks at me and tries to hide her amusement by looking at the TV, but her gaze continually shifts to me. Mom is sitting on the couch beside me, knitting needles in her hand. Grandpa and Camilla are on the opposite end of the couch, where Grandpa is flipping through TV channels.

  Poppy is due to be here in the next ten minutes. I’ve been trying to find the best way to tell my mom about us before she arrives, but Lincoln and Rae showed up early, likely to witness their reactions to my dating update.

  I clear my throat, and Raegan’s the only one who looks at me, another flash of humor in her eyes. “I have some news,” I say.

  “Mmhmm,” Mom responds, rereading a direction in her knitting book because our mom can’t knit to save her life, much less to keep anyone warm, but she’s been trying to knit a blanket since before the scandal with our dad broke out, and seems determined to complete it.

  “I’ve been seeing someone,” I tell her.

  Mom looks up, peering over the frame of her glasses at me. “I know.”

  “You know?” I ask.

  Grandpa smirks. “You act like we don’t watch your games. We’ve been waiting for you to say something since we’ve been watching you kissing Poppy at the end of every game for
a few weeks.”

  Rae’s lips teeter with another smile that she tries to fight.

  “Well, in that case, forget my announcement,” I say. Even Lincoln grins.

  Mom’s smile is wider. “I’m happy for you, Pax. You know we adore Poppy, and there’s nothing I want more than for my kids to be happy.”

  There’s a but coming. I can hear it in how her voice has transitioned into “teacher mode,” overly diplomatic and neutral. “But?” I prompt her when she remains silent.

  Mom’s brow lifts, and she takes off her reading glasses, staring at me head-on. “There’s not a but—it’s just Poppy’s special. She’s special to our family. I think it’s important that you’re certain you’re done with your past relationship to ensure no one gets hurt.”

  “What your mother’s saying is, don’t make us pick sides. You won’t like the verdict,” Grandpa says, winking at me.

  “Candace and I have been broken up for nearly four months.”

  Mom nods. “I know. And, honey, I’m glad you’re with Poppy. I mean, it’s a little crazy that you’re with Rae’s best friend and she’s with your best friend… I mean, it has a little bit of a…”

  “Don’t go there, Mom,” Rae says.

  Mom smiles, and for the first time in nearly a year, it doesn’t look fractured. She looks happy, teasing and joking around like we used to do when we gathered at home for dinner and spent time together. “You guys could open a dating service and start one of those shows.”

  “Rae could pick the girls, and Pax could pick the guys,” Camilla says.

  “Not a chance,” I say.

  “For the record, I was so much better about accepting you dating my friend,” Rae says.

  “You freaked out when Poppy told you.”

  “That was when you guys were fake dating,” Rae says.

  “Speaking of which, when did you guys flip the switch and decide it was real? Didn’t you say it started right after Halloween?” Mom asks, looking at Rae.