Breaking the Rules: The Dating Playbook, Book: 2

by Dietz, Mariah

  He twists so he’s facing me, invading the cab of the truck though he doesn’t lean forward. “That’s because I’ve never known how to be your friend. The more I learned about you, the greater my interest became, so it was easier just to avoid you.”

  “Then, avoid me.”

  His opened palm slams against the steering wheel. “I can’t.”

  Tears burn in my eyes, realizing the level of toxic this is guaranteed to spill into my life—how this conversation is promised to haunt my thoughts and dreams for weeks—months—to come. How long I’m going to debate all the words I should be saying, the questions I should be asking.

  Anger steadies my voice. “You already made your decision, and so have I. I’m done. I don’t want to stay on this merry-go-round anymore. I can’t.”

  “We’ve already said this. Been here, but this doesn’t shake off. Now, I try to be away from you, and I find myself making excuses to see you because I can’t think of anything else.”

  “We’re no better than Candace and Paxton, hurting each other and then coming back together because we’re both afraid to move on.”

  Lincoln shakes his head in tight jerks, his jaw flexing. “We’re nothing like them. Fear isn’t what keeps pushing me back to you. Fear is what keeps me pulling away.”

  My thoughts and heart feel too big, filled with too many emotions that have erupted into a civil war where both sides are guaranteed to lose. “Until tomorrow, when you’re back to having a hundred women fawn over you and next week’s game is your number one priority.”

  “You want this. I know you want me, too.”

  As badly as I want to deny this, I don’t because he’s right. I’ve been trying to forget that for nearly three years, but it doesn’t negate the fact. But, this wasn’t enough two weeks ago or a month ago or even yesterday, and I have zero doubts it won’t be again tomorrow or in two weeks or a month. “I just need some space right now.”

  “Raegan,” he says my name, drawing my gaze back to his, recognizing the torrent of words he keeps locked away.

  Before he can say anything, I shake my head. “I just want to go home.”

  Lincoln doesn’t race home like he had the night he drove me home after mini-golf when anger and lust made the air thick and impenetrable. Instead, he follows the speed limit, silent questions volleying between us as we both avoid looking at the other as the silence spreads like a virus, infecting each memory of the night so that I’m regretting ever having agreed to come.

  When he pulls up to my house, the windows are dark, only the porch light is on. I lean forward, removing his jacket.

  “Keep it,” he says.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  He waves my words off. “I’ll get it later.”

  “It’s your tux.”

  His eyes narrow. “Why do you always argue?”

  Indignation leaves me glaring at him, an entire arsenal of anger equipping my words.

  He rubs his jaw, releasing a short breath. “Please.” He meets my glare, a white flag. “Take it. It’s freezing outside. You can give it to Paxton the next time you see him.”

  His words echo in that hallway carved into my heart, the one I’ve worked dutifully to avoid, and makes me regret all of my angry words and claims of not wanting him. I want to plead with him to forget everything about tonight except the feelings he has for me. Then, the front door opens, and my dad appears, still dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, keys in his hand, and my breath falls out in a shaky and shallow puff.

  “What?” Lincoln asks, his brow drawn as concern paints his voice.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m sorry to leave the night like this. I just don’t know how to do this anymore.” Tears make my eyes feel as weighted as my heart as I take in his rumpled tie and exposed skin, filing this memory away in a locked space where I vow to remember the perfection of Lincoln Beckett.

  He exits his side of the truck before I can ask him not to. I never did mention this event to my parents, so I have no idea what my dad’s thinking as Lincoln pulls open my door, a gust of the autumn air rifling through my hair. I stare at my dad, our shared knowledge feeling somehow more substantial as I see him sneaking around for the second time today. I debate how often he slips away when I’m not here to know any different—how long he’s been doing this when I was. He takes two steps before lowering his head just enough to convey a silent reminder that this isn’t my secret to tell, that my telling could only make this situation worse—if that’s even possible.

  “Hey, Mr. Lawson. You’re out late.” Lincoln calls, glancing over one shoulder before shifting his gaze forward as he extends his hands to help me.

  I consider jumping. Testing the boundaries to see if he’d catch me—catch my body, my feelings, my heart, and this sinking feeling in my chest.

  “Did you guys have a good night?” Dad asks, taking steps toward his car that he must have left out of the garage because the garage is below their bedroom, and he’d wake Mom opening the door. The realization has my stomach twisting further.

  Lincoln’s brow furrows as he tears his stare from me to my dad. “Yeah, thanks. Your daughter stole the evening. I think the entire party was talking about how smart and beautiful she is.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it. Well, listen, I forgot something at the office that I’m going to need tomorrow, so I’m going to make a quick run to the campus. Raegan, I’ll see you tomorrow. Lincoln, hopefully, I’ll see you soon.” His phone makes a near-silent beep as he approaches his car, slipping into the driver’s seat without a second glance.

  “What’s going on?” Lincoln asks.

  I sigh, realizing it’s time to get out of his truck and end this fictional night that went so offbeat. “A reminder of your words. Nothing lasts forever, right?”

  He tips his chin forward, a silent sequence of questions to verify my words.

  I shake my head, refusing to open this wound, not in front of him when I know tears are going to accompany the story. I slide forward, testing my theory. Lincoln accepts my weight without flinching, lowering me slowly to the driveway, but he doesn’t get the chance to catch the rest because right now I feel hollow and empty as I stare at him, realizing just how bad it would wreck me if I were in my mom’s shoes. How impossible it would feel to breathe or function if I gave him my heart, and he refused it or later chose to give it back.

  I walk to my porch with Lincoln shadowing me to the door.

  “Is something going on? Is something wrong?”

  I can’t meet his eyes because I know he’d see the answer, regardless of my words. Instead, I shrug out of his jacket, missing the warmth and scent as soon as it leaves my shoulders. “This will be easier if we just cut ties. Stop trying to be friends. Stop worrying about hurt feelings. If you want to date someone, you should.”

  Lincoln narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything, making the moment almost feel like it didn’t happen, like there’s an option for an alternate ending to this night. He takes his jacket, folding it over one arm, then leans so close I feel unsteady. His lips graze my temple in a chaste kiss that conveys less than his silence. He slips a small, sleek box from his pocket and into my hand. “Happy birthday, Kerosene.” His voice floats over my skin, paralyzing me as I watch him descend the porch and the driveway, taking what’s left of my strength with him.

  Inside, I lean against the closed front door, tears coursing down my cheeks, clutching the box. I always swore I’d never be involved in a relationship with mind games—would wait for a guy who treated me like a queen, and here I had the dress, the ball, the invitation, and I rebuked it all. Maybe I was right, maybe I was wrong. Borrowed time is better than no time. It’s a fact I’ve learned too well, yet, the realization that the end is inevitable makes my heart feel bruised in the most painful way.

  My phone rings with a text that has me digging through my small purse.

  Poppy: Happy birthday!!!!!

  Poppy: I’m anxiously awaiting ALL the details
from tonight. But, as a heads up, we’re going out tomorrow. I talked to Pax, and we already decided you need to get out. I love you! XO

  Me: Like, out to dinner?

  Poppy: Negative.

  Poppy: How was tonight?

  Me: I think we ended things. Like done. Over. The end.

  Poppy: What happened??!?!?

  Me: Reality.

  Poppy: The non-vague answer?

  Me: I don’t know. I think it was me. I think I made the decision.

  Poppy: Are you okay?

  I sniffle, wiping at my dampened cheeks.

  Me: It’s for the better. This year was supposed to be about getting over him, and I’ve spent most of it obsessing over him.

  Poppy: You want me to come over?

  Me: I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed, but I’ll text you in the morning.

  Poppy: Breakfast?

  Me: Lunch. I’m sleeping in. It’s my birthday.

  Poppy: You’re sure? I can be there in 10 minutes.

  Me: I’m already in my pajamas with one eye closed.

  Poppy: I love you.

  Me: XO

  I climb the stairs slowly, flipping on the lights in my room and placing the small box near my bed. Standing in front of the mirror, I marvel at the dress one final time before exchanging it for flannel pajamas. I hang the gown in my closet, tucking the heels I’d worn with it away. Then, I head to my bathroom where I free each bobby pin from my hair, wash my face, and brush my teeth. My steps back to my room are slower, paced by my hesitation to open Lincoln’s gift.

  I consider placing it in my desk drawer and waiting until tomorrow to open it, but I know I’d never be able to sleep if I did. I take a seat at the edge of my bed and cradle the box in my hands like it’s breakable. Is it the necklace I’d seen in his truck?

  The box creaks as I open it, and shining back at me is a silver necklace with a dolphin and whale pendant, a diamond between the two animals who share my love.

  16

  Lincoln

  “You assholes ready?” Pax asks, stepping into the kitchen where Arlo and I are already a beer in. “Why are you eating? We’re going to dinner.”

  “We’ve been waiting for you, Princess. We got hungry.” Arlo says, grabbing another pizza roll from the sheet tray we’d heated up.

  Pax nabs two, shoving one into his mouth. “Poppy texted. She said she’s getting Rae drunk tonight.” He chews the second pizza roll as Arlo cheers. “She thinks Rae hasn’t been herself lately. Have you guys noticed anything?”

  Arlo shrugs. “Man, I feel like I’ve barely seen her.”

  Pax looks at Caleb, who shrugs as well. “I haven’t seen her much, either. I texted her this morning, and she responded, but that’s it.”

  He turns his inquiring gaze to me. “You guys had that thing last night. Did she seem okay?”

  I give a short jerk of my head, working to read his response, and if he—like me—assumes it might be connected to myself. “Something’s bothering her, but she didn’t mention what.”

  Pax nods in return, like he’s hearing my words and is trying to process them. He grabs a couple more pizza rolls. “Maybe she just needs to blow off some steam. It’s been a shitty fall.”

  In our circle, blowing off steam consists of drinking until we can’t think about what’s bothering us, and then finding someone to distract us from caring. All day, I’ve struggled to keep from reaching out to Raegan. Working to uphold my end of this bargain feels like I’ve been asked to peel my skin off as I check my phone for messages from her that never come.

  “If they both get shit-faced, I’ll probably bring them back here so they don’t have to deal with my parents. You guys care if they hole up in the living room?”

  “You remember the last time Poppy got drunk, right?” Caleb asks.

  “Oh, you mean when she took a piss in the alley?” Arlo asks.

  Caleb laughs, nodding his head. “Before telling everyone how much she loved them over and over and over again.”

  “She does get nuts,” Pax says.

  “Have we seen Rae drunk?” Arlo asks the question I’m considering as I flip through a series of memories.

  Pax shakes his head. “I think the closest she’s come to being drunk with us was when we stayed at the house last fall when my parents were out of town, and we played quarters.”

  I snap. “Yes. She was singing all those pop songs.”

  Paxton laughs. “Yup.”

  We divide into two cars, me taking my truck and Caleb driving his Tahoe out to the Mexican restaurant where Rae celebrates her birthday each year.

  I can’t worry about her reaction to me coming because I spent most of last night and all of today thinking about how and why we let things get so fucked up, and right now, I’m ready to lay all my cards out, company be damned. Let them know. Let everyone know. Maybe it will be easier to admit that I’m tired of staying away from her, that I hate the idea of not seeing her smile and being the one who she communicates in silent glances with. How I’m tired of feeling so damn undone when she’s gone, and how badly I want to feel her beside me through the bad and good, the terrible and fucking amazing—I want her there for all of them.

  Arlo stretches out beside me. “Practice is going to fucking suck this week,” he says. “Coach won’t shut up about Utah’s fucking defense.”

  I’ve been channeling my inner frustrations at the gym, so additional practices don’t phase me. I welcome the idea of a challenge right now. “Probably,” I answer.

  “You think Rae Rae’s cool? I saw her a couple of weeks ago, and she did seem different. She kind of blew me off, though, saying she was tired.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  “How’d I get stuck in the car with you? You’re like sitting next to a brick wall,” Arlo says.

  “Thankfully, it’s a short drive. Soon, you can talk everyone else’s ear off.”

  He pulls in a breath and shifts. Silence makes him uneasy, like being in his own head for too long makes him lose his sanity.

  “I saw the hottest chick last night,” Arlo continues. “She works at that drugstore off Halsley.”

  “Don’t tell me you hit on her while you were picking up condoms.”

  He laughs. “Gum, asshole. I was out of gum for practice this week. But I should have picked up some condoms, that way, she’d know I’m an extra-large.”

  “Yeah, if she were smart, she’d ask you to prove it before you had the chance to flip off the lights.”

  “Oh, she could because I’m a shower, not a grower. I’m always prepped and ready.” He grabs himself.

  “If you whip out your junk, your shit’s going to be on the yard in the morning.”

  Arlo laughs. “You think Poppy’s hot?”

  “Poppy?”

  “Yeah, you know, Reagan’s friend.” He draws out the syllables.

  “I know who you’re talking about, asswipe. I’m just trying to figure out why you’re asking me.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “You can’t fuck around with her. She’s Rae’s best friend.”

  “I didn’t say I was.”

  “But you’re asking about her.”

  He draws his shoulders up. “I think she’s kind of hot.”

  “I’m pretty sure she likes that rugby guy.”

  Arlo nods. “I don’t mean to necessarily date her, I just sometimes wonder if I want to have someone around like that, you know?”

  “Someone like Poppy?”

  “Someone who isn’t just with me to have a good time or brag to their friends. Someone who doesn’t want to just party all the time.”

  I steal a glance at Arlo, the guy who seemed to have an allergy to the mere thought of a relationship since I’ve known him, rarely hanging out with the same girl twice. “What’s got you thinking about this?”

  “My brother called to tell me he’s getting engaged.”

  “Yeah?”

  Arlo nods. “They’ve
been dating for like two years. I don’t know, it all just seems so boring and mundane when you think about it, but at the same time, there’s something that kind of makes me kind of curious about it. To let your guard down and talk about real shit and things that actually matter. To have someone who actually cares about more than a winning record.” He taps a beat on my dashboard. “For a while, I thought you had something going with Raegan. You guys were hanging out all the time for a little while there.”

  I cut my gaze to him again, attempting to read if there’s a question or insinuation behind his comment.

  “Wait,” he says, his eyebrows jumping. “No shit?”

  I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”

  “You like her.”

  “It may not matter.”

  “Because you realize Paxton will rip your scrotum out if you even consider it?”

  “Because I pissed her off.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Fucked up.”

  Arlo chuckles. “You’re serious? You like her? Have you talked to Paxton?”

  I shake my head once.

  “He’s going to lose his shit. You don’t exactly have the reputation of being a choir boy.” He blows out a sigh, like he’s watching this situation play out in his mind. “Shit, that’s why you haven’t gone home with anybody. How long has this been going on? Did you guys…?”

  “Mind your own fucking business.”

  “That’s a no. Why? Don’t tell me she’s waiting for marriage. Wait, you guys have done something. Tell me, is she wild? Quiet? Loud?”