Breaking the Rules: The Dating Playbook, Book: 2

by Dietz, Mariah

  I maim him with a glare.

  “Too much?” he asks.

  “You passed that marker when you asked about her.”

  “Shit, dude. You really do like her.” He rubs his palms together. “That should make this night interesting.”

  “Keep your mouth shut.”

  “Oh, no. I’ll let you drive this runaway train all by yourself.”

  We pull into the restaurant, Arlo verbalizing his expected outcomes for the night. I’m a hairbreadth from breaking his nose as we step inside where a hostess greets us with a wide, toothy smile.

  “Forget what I said about relationships,” Arlo says, stepping forward to flirt with the girl.

  “Lincoln!”

  I turn, catching sight of Poppy in the distance, waving at us. Paxton and Caleb push the door open behind us, talking about a video game. Poppy appears, her red hair pin-straight, smiling as she peeks behind her. “Okay, just so you guys know, your mom invited a ton of people, and Rae’s in a really weird mood. We definitely need to get her drunk tonight. Let her just have fun. I’m happy to be her DD, but you guys have to lay off on the bodyguard crap because she might actually haul off and punch one of you tonight.”

  Paxton chuckles. “Arlo, I’ll give you a twenty if you can piss her off enough that she hits you.”

  Poppy scowls. “Don’t.”

  “I’ll be the DD. You should party with her. She’ll have more fun,” Pax offers.

  Poppy flashes a grin. “Also, if you guys mention Chase tonight, I’ll punch you. Fair warning.”

  “Need us to kick his ass?” Arlo asks.

  “I need you to pretend it never happened. But, thanks.” She waves us forward, leading us into an area portioned off from the rest of the restaurant where tables are set up in rows with people I don’t know. I wasn’t even aware today was her birthday until yesterday when Paxton mentioned attending dinner tonight. I wonder if this was how she’d felt last night at the party, if being an outsider made each set of eyes feel like a judgment. None of them know me, and yet half will heckle me, and the other half worships me. Everyone loves a winner unless they aren’t that winner, and then they like to take to social media with snarky remarks.

  A couple of girls whisper and point, but I don’t stop on them, searching for Raegan until I find her sitting beside her grandpa and Camilla. The rest of the table is empty except for Poppy, who makes her way to the seat on her other side.

  “Rae Rae!” Arlo yells, drawing the attention from the few who weren’t looking at us. “Happy birthday!”

  She glances up, a gentle laugh playing on her lips as she watches the four of us make our way to her table, her gaze continuing past me too quickly.

  “Happy Birthday, you pain in the ass,” Pax says, reaching her first and pulling her out of her chair and into a hug. “Are you feeling old?”

  “I already asked her that,” their Grandpa Cole says. “She flipped me off.”

  She’s grinning as Paxton releases her. “That was because you gave me dead roses.”

  “Nineteen of them,” he says proudly. “I had to buy them a couple of weeks ago, make sure they’d be nice and crispy for your birthday.”

  “You’re morbid,” she says.

  “Others call it thoughtful,” he says with a smile.

  “I call it being a pain.” Raegan gives him a glance that spells humor and intention that leaves him chuckling before Arlo snatches her into an aggressive and brief hug. He says nothing before shoving her directly at me like we’re in the fucking third grade. Douchebag.

  She stumbles into my chest with a quiet grunt, our hands gripping each other for support. “Are you high?” she asks him, righting herself.

  “My bad,” Arlo says. “It’s all those extra practices. I don’t know my own strength.” He flexes his biceps.

  “And humble, too.” Raegan shakes her head, finally turning to acknowledge me, her hand still gripping my forearm for support. Her perfume is light and citrusy, reminding me of spring breaks from my childhood when we’d go visit my Mom’s parents in Arizona once they became snowbirds and spent half the year in a mobile home park. They had three orange trees in their backyard that bloomed in the spring, the scent rich and sweet.

  “Happy birthday,” I tell her.

  Raegan smiles, her actions slow as she leans forward to hug me. In all the time I’ve known her, I can’t recall ever holding her like this, studying the way her body aligns with mine so seamlessly, even with the completely platonic gesture.

  We move to greet Cole and his wife, Camilla.

  “If you guys are team Poppy tonight, we’re not friends.” She moves to Caleb, who gives her an awkward one-armed hug.

  “What’s team Poppy?” Cole asks.

  Rae turns around. “You don’t want to know.”

  “We used to spend every one of her birthdays going to the aquarium and then to pick up ice cream,” he says, his smile crooked as he watches her, his thoughts bouncing between the present and past of this date. It’s evident in the way his eyes crinkle, and his smile stretches with fondness. If an artist could capture his expression now, it would be deserving of art museums across the world because there are a million emotions so blatant and evident in this single look.

  Raegan’s smile is radiant. “I’ll take you for ice cream and blow off all these people.”

  Cole grins like he knows this as a fact. “You should go out with your friends. We can go get ice cream this week.”

  I think of her telling me how birthdays bring change and wonder if it’s this tradition, in particular, she’d been referring to?

  “Where’s Mom?” Paxton asks.

  Raegan shrugs, her gaze skipping across the room. “I have no idea.”

  “Dad?”

  She shakes her head. “He was here, but I don’t know where he went.” There’s the whisper of an expression, one she silences by a louder, more obvious smile. “You guys can sit wherever you want. I don’t think I know that half of the room,” she says, glancing at the farthest tables from us filled with people somewhere between or near our ages. “I think I even saw some cheerleaders come, which I’m blaming you for.” She moves her gaze to Paxton. “Thanks for that.”

  “I told them we were going to a party. I didn’t invite them to dinner.”

  Her eyebrows lift with a silent bullshit, which has him grinning. “You’re popular, what can I say?”

  “Sorry I’m late!” Mrs. Lawson says, swiping at some loose hairs, the act so similar to Raegan when she gets flustered.

  “You okay?” Cole asks. “Is Cal with you?”

  Mrs. Lawson nods. “I’m fine, Dad. I was just out in the parking lot on a call with several board members. He’s not with me. He said he had to work late and would meet me here.” She looks around like she’s going to find him.

  “Was your call about the job?” Raegan asks.

  Mrs. Lawson nods. “Yes, but we’re not talking about that right now. I’ve barely seen you today, and you somehow lied on your birth certificate in an attempt to say you’re nineteen today.” She looks at their grandpa. “She’s only ten, right?”

  He smiles. “I thought she was turning five today.”

  Mrs. Lawson laughs, sadness preventing it from sounding sincere. “Let’s sit. Tell me about your day.”

  Whether she sees them or not anymore, the outline of expectations is still present—I recognize them from the ones that hang over my head: the forced independence, the obligation to be happy, to be present.

  “I’ll be back. I’m going to say hi to the cheerleaders.” Paxton’s eyebrows dance before he turns, scanning the room again.

  “You in, Caleb?” Arlo asks, already following after Pax.

  Caleb shakes his head. “I’m good.” He takes a seat across from Cole, and I pull out the one next to him, across from where Rae’s seated. She glances at me, her brow creased with confusion.

  “Should we order for Cal?” Cole asks, lifting his menu as he slings an arm around
the back of Raegan’s chair.

  Raegan looks at her mom as she moves to the other side of the table and takes a seat. “Probably. He said he’d be here by now. I don’t know what’s keeping him.” She checks her phone as Poppy sits beside me, with what I’m fairly certain is hope shining in her gaze.

  “Nice seeing you here,” Poppy says.

  “Is there a plan beyond alcohol?” I ask quietly.

  Poppy shakes her head. “We swore we were going to act our age and be stupid and make dumb mistakes, and tonight my goal is to carry that plan out.” She grabs her napkin, folding it into her lap. “Something’s bothering her, and she won’t tell me what it is. I’m hoping if I can get a few drinks into her, she’ll spill.”

  17

  Raegan

  Lincoln sits across from me, his hair disheveled, and his dark eyes watching the room like he often does. I wonder if it’s because of playing football and needing to read the intentions of so many, or if this habit is what makes him so good at football.

  I ignore him through dinner, through stories of birthdays past and of school. I don’t even look at him when Mom asks him about school and football. Even when Paxton and Arlo finally return to the table, I keep my attention close, listening to Camilla tell me about an event she’s hosting at their church, feigning interest in the tea options she’s debating. I ignore him as Mom apologizes for Dad’s absence, and Grandpa contemplates aloud where he might have gone, and the thirty minutes we wait after the tables have been cleared in case Dad shows up.

  “Is this where I tell you not to do anything I wouldn’t do?” Mom asks, hugging me as she signs for the bill after arguing with Grandpa over it.

  “Yup,” Paxton says, wrapping me in a headlock. “And then, she’s going to nod and proceed to fill her night with poor decisions. Luckily, you have the best child in the world—” he points a finger at himself, “—and I’ll be watching out for her.”

  Grandpa chuckles, and Mom smiles as I pop him with my elbow.

  “You guys have fun and be safe,” Mom says. “If you guys need a ride home, call me. I’d rather come and pick you up then have you drive if you’re going to be drinking.”

  “That’s why we brought Caleb,” Pax says, flashing a smile to his oldest friend to convey his joke.

  “Love you, Mom,” I say before turning to Grandpa and Camilla. Grandpa has a toothpick between his teeth, a habit he procured after he stopped smoking a decade ago. Camilla is clutching her purse, watching as several get rowdier as time dwindles on.

  “Be safe,” she tells me, pressing her cold lips to my cheek.

  “Love you guys. Thanks for coming.”

  “Don’t forget you owe me ice cream,” Grandpa says, his hug tight and unforgiving, just like the love we share for each other.

  Mom grabs her purse and jacket so she can follow them out. Mom claims she looks like her mother did, but I see Grandpa in her every time she laughs and anytime she talks with her hands, which is always. Grandpa places a hand on Camilla’s shoulders and another on Mom’s arm, leading them toward the exit. He looks back and waves a final time as they reach the door.

  “Okay. Party plan, step one, complete,” Poppy says, reaching for her purse. “Now, on to the fun stuff.” She digs into her large purse, pulling out a reusable water bottle with a bow around the top. “Happy birthday.”

  It’s so full, the liquid hardly sloshes as she passes it to me. “You’re not funny,” I tell her.

  Poppy tinkers a laugh. “It’s alcohol in a reusable water bottle. This spells Raegan.”

  Paxton chuckles outright. “That’s awesome.”

  “It is, and if she drinks a quarter of it before we arrive at the party, she will be nice and tipsy and ready to have fun. Because fun is good, and we’re hot and nineteen, and we deserve to have a good time.”

  We went to lunch this afternoon, where Poppy confessed that Chase has been dating multiple girls and that while she wanted to be okay with it, she wasn’t. And she was less okay with it because he’d lied about nearly everything. Currently, my thoughts are like a shaken bottle of soda, the pressure so great, I don’t know how to remove the lid without making a massive mess. So, I turn it off. I turn off the indecision, the fears, the disappointment—all of it and take a long pull from the bottle, my eyes and throat burning as the liquid washes down my throat.

  I wince. “Is that straight alcohol?”

  “I added some pop.”

  I shake my head. “Not enough. If I drink a quarter of that, I’ll be so drunk I won’t know you from Paxton.”

  She giggles. “Let’s test that theory.”

  I screw the lid back on. “Let’s not.”

  “Hey,” Derek says, his smile hesitant as he looks at us. “Sorry I’m late. My study group lasted longer than I thought.”

  I wait for emotions to bloom—for the distraction of butterfly wings to make my stomach and chest feel too small—for absolutely anything to spark as I stare at Derek.

  Paxton folds his arms across his chest, his anger is evident. My accident created a geyser between the two, and though he claims it’s always been there, it’s definitely more pronounced now.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “We’re just leaving for a party Poppy wants to go to.”

  Poppy exhales deeply, her gaze scattered as she works to realign the evening with this slight wrench I’ve thrown into the plans. “This night is all about us having fun. No focusing on school or work or boys,” she glances at the guys before returning her green eyes to me, another heavy sigh. “So many things we’ve planned for this year have gone awry, but we’re sticking to this plan. We’re going to drink too much, flirt even more, and we’re not taking a single regret home with us.” She gives me a challenging stare.

  I glance at Derek’s smile, and then at the others, flinching when I meet Lincoln’s questioning stare. “We’ll meet you guys there,” I say, taking Poppy’s arm.

  We make it to the hostess desk when someone catches my arm. Lincoln is behind me, his eyebrows lowered, his eyes darker than I’ve seen them with a storm brewing that he’s clearly ready to unleash on me. “You invited Derek, and you didn’t invite me?” The defiance in his eyes and the tilt of his jaw erase the vulnerability lacing his question.

  “Let me guess, now you care?”

  Poppy slides her arm from mine. “You guys should probably take this somewhere else. There’s a lot of people around.”

  “I don’t have anything to say.” I shake my head, confirming the point as I look for Poppy to bail me out of this.

  “We’re in party mode. Maybe you guys can have this fight tomorrow?” she suggests.

  Lincoln’s jaw flexes. “I’ll drive her. We’ll meet you there.”

  Poppy winces, her association and ties to my fictionalized hopes for us keeping her from saying no. “It’s her birthday. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this.”

  Lincoln doesn’t say anything, using too much force as he pushes the door open, leaving me to follow him.

  He’s silent as he stalks toward his truck, something I realize tonight is grossly understated to his family’s means after seeing his house last night. He waits at his passenger door, holding it open in what feels like the gate to a trap. Against my better judgment, I climb inside and fasten my seatbelt, fighting the impulse to pull in deep breaths of his scent and relax when I know I need to have all of my defenses up and prepared.

  He starts the truck and leaves the parking lot without exchanging a word or even a glance.

  “Are we really going to do this again?” I ask.

  “No. I’m fucking exhausted by whatever in the hell this shit is. I don’t want to keep dancing around things and pretending everything’s fine between us.”

  “Then let’s stop. You were right. This entire situation is just going to blow up in our faces, and it’s not a matter of if but when. You’re going to leave. You’re going to be drafted next year, and I’m going to be a sophomore still trying to figure ou
t stupid statistics. This preserves your time here, your relationship with Paxton, and my sanity. So, let’s just call this what it is, an infatuation because we both know we shouldn’t cross the line. We both know it—we’ve known it all along.”

  “What happened to borrowed time and all that bullshit?”

  “Reality.” My answer is slapped with finality as my voice comes out balanced and clear, far from anger or bitterness, striving for indifference because it’s the only way to turn off my feelings toward him.

  “So that’s where you want to draw the line? We’re strangers now?”

  “I’m pretty sure we’ve always been strangers. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t have any idea what your favorite color is or your favorite movie or your greatest pet peeve. I don’t know anything about your mom and nearly as little about your dad. I didn’t even know about Gloria until you introduced me to her. You keep everyone out, and I tried to get in, and every time I learned something about you, it just has me realizing how little I really do know.”

  “Who cares about that shit? That is my past. It doesn’t define me—it’s not who I am.”

  “It shapes you, though. It’s a part of you, and if you can’t let anyone see those parts and let them in, they’re never going to be in your life as anything other than an infatuation because they’re never going to know you.”

  He pulls to a stop at an address where cars spill onto the streets, a house lit up, surrounded by giant evergreens, his attention still directed out the windshield. “So, you’re just going to fuck Derek?”

  I stare at him, hearing the anger vibrate off each syllable as they play through my thoughts again and again. It’s a low blow, and he knows it, but maybe my inviting him to come was as well.

  “We just make it worse each time,” I tell him. “Our words are weapons, and our actions are grenades, and we keep aiming them at each other. I don’t want to hurt you, and I can’t take being hurt by you, so one of us just has to pull the pin and let it blow up before it takes us both down.”