Breaking the Rules: The Dating Playbook, Book: 2

by Dietz, Mariah

  I grin. “You said they were the best tacos of your life.”

  “They were. When in California, baby.” She leans her head against my shoulder, a breeze blowing her hair and perfume to greet me. I smile, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as I stare at the ocean. The waves crash with a natural rhythm dictated by the moon that sits two-hundred-and-thirty-eight thousand and nine-hundred miles away.

  “Dr. Swanson accepted me,” she tells me quietly.

  I shift, moving to see her. “I told you he would. He didn’t stand a chance after meeting you.”

  Raegan grins. “I get to swim with Blue, and it’s all thanks to you.”

  “That was all you, Kerosene.”

  In one quick move, she closes her eyes and leans into me, her lips warm and impossibly soft as they meet mine, a confidence there that has strengthened over the past month. I place my free hand on her waist, pulling her closer to me as I claim her mouth while she claims the space in my chest that’s solely devoted to her. Her body relaxes against mine, wanting me—trusting me. My fingers at her waist slide beneath her sweatshirt, connecting with her flesh as I swipe my tongue against her lips, parting them. She moans. It’s gentle and quiet, yet I feel it in my chest as I swallow the taste of her. Everything about her makes me feel empowered and emboldened in a way that is more powerful than any win on the field I’ve ever experienced.

  I slide my tongue along hers, demanding everything she has to offer while giving what’s left of me that she hasn’t already taken. I move my hands to her thighs, and she knows what I’m going to do before I lift her, making her tense and pull back. I lean closer, silencing her objections as I lower myself to the ground with her on my lap, my hands on her ass, pulling her so close doubt can’t reach either of us as we lose ourselves in this kiss that I know will define the rest of my days.

  When she pulls away, we’re both out of breath, our chests heaving as I wish I could transform this beach into anywhere else that would allow me to strip her of her clothes and inhibitions and consume every last part of her.

  She leans her forehead against mine, our breath mingling in quick bursts that make my lips dry. “Let’s go. I want you to consume me.”

  I swallow her breaths, my forehead still pressed against hers. “I don’t just want to consume you, I want to own you—possess every part of you. Make your heart beat like mine does for you.”

  “It already does.”

  Not Ready to Say Good-Bye?

  Arlo is getting his own book with Evaluating the Rules, releasing June 30th, 2020!

  Click here to Pre-order Now

  * * *

  If you love New Adult Romance, please check out Becoming His while you wait for Evaluating the Rules.

  Read the first chapter of Becoming His on the next page!

  A Glimpse of Becoming His

  Chapter 1

  Thump, thump. Thump, thump. My quiet strides are the only sounds this morning aside from the music pouring softly through my earbuds. Along with the exertion of my muscles, it makes me feel nearly euphoric. Some people meditate to find peace and tranquility, me—I run.

  Rounding the corner, I take a deep breath of the already warm Southern California air and focus on a growing shadow. Slowing my pace, I look up and see a guy in his early twenties, standing around six feet, with sandy blond hair sticking out in an organized disarray. His black mesh shorts and bright green cut-off T-shirt reveal toned muscles. He’s looking at me and talking, but my music’s too loud to make out his words.

  I’m careful to maintain a ten-foot gap between us before I pull an earbud free and roll it between my fingers. “Sorry?” I ask, noticing his raised brows over eyes which are the very definition of hazel with dark blue edges that lighten to green and darken to a soft amber.

  His grin spreads into a smile. “I said you must be Ace.”

  I look him over again. I was away all of last year for college, but returned home nearly every weekend.

  Nothing about him is familiar.

  “Must be?” I wish I’d brought my family’s Newfoundland, Zeus, with me—not that he’d do anything more than possibly lick this guy to death. Still, his one hundred and seventy-five pounds usually serves as a deterrent to most.

  His smile grows wider, pronouncing a small, jagged scar running from the edge of his bottom lip and stopping midway to his chin.

  He doesn’t exactly scream axe murderer, but I’m guessing most don’t.

  He takes a step closer and I quickly look around the empty park.

  “Sorry, my name’s Jameson. Jameson West…” he says, sensing my unease. “Sharon told me about you girls. You’re a Bosse, right? One of the five sisters?” Rounded hazel eyes await my confirmation.

  I stare at him, waiting for what always comes when it’s brought up that I’m one of five—the same trademark comments and questions. Had they been trying for a son? No. Do you girls fight all the time? Not really. Do you all look alike? We don’t, other than having our mother’s blonde hair and being built fairly similarly.

  The questions don’t come. Instead, awkwardness taints the air between us as I wonder how he knows Sharon.

  “She said you’re all blonde,” he adds, breaking the silence and lifting a hand to his own hair, as if translating the words for me. “That’s what gave you away.”

  Sharon’s our next door neighbor and my mom’s best friend. She and her three sons have lived beside us for a decade. She also works at Saint Andrews Hospital with my father where they’re both thoracic surgeons. Sharon specializes with lungs, and my father, the heart. She and my dad have shared a close professional relationship for years, but my mom and Sharon didn’t become friends until the last few years when her youngest son, Max, moved away.

  They started a book club and began playing Bunco with a group of women, which evolved into spending most of their free time together with a bottle of wine … or two, accompanied by lots of giggling and gossiping. The reality that we never really outgrow this behavior both relieves and concerns me greatly.

  Raising my eyebrows, questions of what Sharon’s told him run through my mind. “At least half of Southern California is blonde.”

  His smile turns playful. “Mr. Janes also mentioned you’d be down here when I passed his house on my way down. Told me I should watch out for you because it’s not safe to be running alone.” He turns his head, making a point of looking around the empty field.

  Does he know all my neighbors?

  “I’m Max’s friend.” Jameson takes another step, bridging what’s becoming a very small gap between us, and extends his hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, noting how rough and callused his palm is. “Are you visiting Sharon alone?”

  His eyes widen. “No,” he answers automatically. His ivory cheeks color with a faint blush as he shakes his head, keeping his smile in place. “No. I transferred down here with Max from the University of Alaska. We’re here for the summer until school starts.”

  This surprises me. True, it’s my first full day back home after visiting my grandparents with my dad and sister, Kendall, in France for the past two weeks, but I’m shocked my mom didn’t mention Max returning. It isn’t like her at all.

  “I met your mom yesterday. She mentioned you and your sister … Kylie?” His forehead creases, lacking confidence.

  “Kendall.”

  Jameson’s lips quirk in an apologetic grin as he nods. “Kendall. That’s right. She said you two would be able to show us around since so much has changed in the past couple of years.” The brightness of his eyes tells me he’s teasing, but I’m certain his words hold truth. My mother is a southern debutante, born and raised in the great state of Texas—a nationality in of itself in her book. Being hospitable and polite is ingrained so deeply in her, she isn’t always aware of boundaries.

  “Yeah, absolutely. We’d be happy to help in any way we can.” It’s also ingrained in us girls.

  Thanks, Mom.

  He motions to the tra
ck with a nod. “Mind if I run with you?”

  “Sure,” I reply on instinct, even though I do mind. Running is something I prefer to do alone or with Zeus.

  My music remains off as we set off at a slow jog. After a few laps, our pace increases. Surprisingly, measuring my strides against his longer ones is invigorating and a welcomed challenge.

  We run until we’re winded, then slow to a jog and make our way up to my neighborhood.

  Stopping in front of my house brings the return of awkwardness as he stands beside me, his destination next door. “I’ll see you around,” I huff.

  Jameson smiles gently, like he knows I’m uncomfortable. “Yeah. I’ll see you soon, Ace.”

  Upstairs, the sun seeps through my shades, revealing Kendall sprawled across my bed, fast asleep. Even at twenty-one she has a strong aversion to being alone for any length of time. A side effect of growing up in a large family.

  After showering and pulling on clean clothes, I climb in beside Kendall and quickly find sleep.

  The familiar murmur of voices floating up the stairs wakes me. Kendall’s disappeared and the sun casts long shadows across my room, mocking me for sleeping most of the day away.

  It’s Sunday, which means it’s family night at my parents’ house—a weekly tradition we rarely miss.

  “Oh, you guys brought macarons home,” my sister, Savannah, sighs.

  “Those are the chocolate hazelnut ones.” I point to the back corner of the box, indicating her favorites.

  “Oh, Ace!” Savannah’s bright blue eyes shine with tears as she stands and wraps me in a tight hug. Pregnancy hormones have increased my second to oldest sister’s constant need for affection. “I’m so bummed I didn’t get to go with you guys! I want to hear all about it!” She pulls back and eyes that match our mother’s and sisters’ slowly scrutinize my face before lifting to my brown ones, concluding her brief assessment.

  Smiling with assurance, I run a hand across her belly.

  “Do you think much has changed since last summer?” Her husband, Caulder, asks, walking in step with my other brother-in-law Kyle from the den.

  Kyle’s eyes widen as he nearly stumbles to break his stride and separate himself from Caulder, knowing his question won’t be well received.

  Savannah focusses on Caulder with in an icy glare. “I still want to hear about it.”

  Caulder’s brown eyes turn somber. “I’m sorry, babe. You’re right…” he places a hand on Savannah’s six-month bump, “and in a couple years when baby Alex is big enough, we’ll all go.”

  “More like Alexandra,” I tease, selecting a pink macaron from the box.

  Caulder shakes his head. “It’s a boy,” he insists. “He likes good music, riding in my truck, and he goes crazy when he hears motorcycles.”

  “Uh oh. Alexandra’s already into bad boys. You better be prepared,” I sing, winning a smile from Savannah and a scowl from Caulder.

  “Y’all really should just find out, I’m tired of buying yellow,” Mom adds from where she and my dad are preparing dinner.

  “I think Ace is right. Baby is definitely a girl,” Savannah says, looking down at her growing stomach in adoration.

  I grin, gazing up at Caulder with a gloating expression which he returns with an eye roll.

  Caulder’s the newest member of our family. He and Savannah celebrated their second wedding anniversary just last month. He grew up with a sister, however, there are days it’s apparent that having a single sibling in no way prepared him for our large family.

  Kendall initially had a difficult time understanding our older sister’s draw to Caulder. Savannah’s always been sweet and soft spoken, with a strong draw to children that led her to teaching kindergarten. Caulder’s very serious—to the point of being almost stiff and awkward at times. However, I’d known from the moment I met Caulder that he and Savannah would be perfect for one another. They’re like yin and yang: Where she sees possibility, he sees risk; where she leans toward new ventures, he gravitates toward familiarity. But neither stifles the other; they balance each other.

  “Is Abby coming tonight?” Mom asks.

  At the mention of my best friend I turn toward my mom. “Yeah, she leaves Tuesday. So she’s staying the night.”

  “We’ve got to get her to call you Ace. I still look around to see who in the hell she’s talking to when I hear her call you Harper,” Kyle says, prodding through the macarons.

  “It is my name.”

  He looks up from the box with a hint of sadness rounding his eyes. “But you’re Ace.” Prior to college everyone called me by the nickname, but this past year at college when others heard my name listed off attendance sheets, I became Harper.

  Kyle’s known me since I was six, long enough to warrant the confusion. We met when my oldest sister, Mindi, had taken me to the park near our house with a couple of her friends as an excuse to watch the high school boys’ football practice. I had quickly grown bored of the mundane task of sitting still and not bothering them, and eventually left in search of something more entertaining. It didn’t take long before I couldn’t see Mindi or the direction from which I’d travelled. I was crying and wandering aimlessly when Kyle found me. He took my hand and we set off to find Mindi with a trail of his bad jokes in our wake.

  When we found her, she was so worked up—fearing something had happened to me—she hadn’t even realized I was still gripping Kyle’s hand when she flung her arms around me. However, her stress seemed to dissipate faster than it should’ve once she noticed him. They began dating the following week, and he became a permanent fixture in our house and family albums, becoming like a brother to me and the rest of my sisters, and a son to my parents.

  Kyle and I have always had a special bond, sharing a passion for running, soccer, and my family. Where Savannah is sweet, and probably too nice, Mindi has the tendency to be a bit dramatic, rivaling Kendall with being both bossy and loud. In addition, she was born a perfectionist, something I’m intimately familiar with since it’s one of the few traits that I, too, received from our mom.

  “Where’s Mindi and the girls?” I ask, noticing Savannah looking precariously close to tears again.

  “They’re at a birthday party. What four-year-old has their party at a nail salon?” he grumbles. “I mean, seriously.”

  “Mom!” Kendall yells, making both Kyle and I sink back farther into the kitchen. Kendall’s well-known for needing her sleep, and her tone makes it apparent the jetlag is hitting her hard. “Have you seen my jean shorts with the lace pockets?”

  “Kyle, the girls are here,” Mom announces, shoving a bag of pink, heart-shaped marshmallows in my hands. “She’s been cravin’ these, and she’s been in sort of a mood lately.” Her blue eyes widen, serving as a warning.

  I raise my eyebrows and nod before following Kyle outside, hearing my mom yell a response to Kendall before the door closes behind us.

  Mindi’s working to unlatch my three-year-old niece, Jade, from her car seat as we approach, allowing a large gap between us. Unlike Savannah, Mindi hates all physical contact while she’s pregnant.

  “You need to stop wiggling! I don’t know why the sky’s blue. It just is.” My oldest sister’s struggling to maintain her patience.

  “Hey, Min.” I try my best to sound friendly.

  “Auntie Ace!” Jade’s words sound like a song as she’s freed from her car seat.

  “Auntie Ace, can I go let Zeus out?” Mindi and Kyle’s oldest daughter, Emily, asks, hopping to a stop in front of me, her bright blue eyes round, shining with excitement.

  “Yeah. He’s in the backyard.”

  Both girls race across the lawn, their blonde hair dancing behind them. They shriek and giggle as Kyle chases them to the back gate.

  “Are those…” Mindi rips open the bag of marshmallows before I can complete the pass and shoves two in her mouth. Her forehead relaxes, and her eyes close with contentment. “Thank you,” she garbles, covering her full mouth with her fingers
.

  A loud muffler rips through the air. Mindi and I turn, seeing a shiny black motorcycle pull into the driveway beside ours.

  “Who’s that? Is that Hank? Oh my God, I look so fat today! Please don’t let it be Hank.” Mindi’s voice is a plea as she sidesteps so she’s mostly behind me.

  “Max! Welcome home, son! It’s good to see you.” My dad calls before the helmet fully reveals Max’s face.

  “Hey, Mr. Bosse. It’s good to be home and feel some sun.”

  “Dear lord, what do those boys drink? I want some,” Mindi whispers, eating another marshmallow.

  Max has been my neighbor since I was nine. He’s only two years older than me—the same age as Kendall—however, he’s never paid attention to any of us. Kendall had made it her personal mission to bait him one summer, spending an exorbitant amount of time and energy on trying to catch his attention. Me, being the youngest, and her partner in crime, had assisted in many of her missions, but he never did more than give us the briefest of acknowledgments. Eventually, she lost interest.

  I blame the fact that I paid too much attention to Max over the years, because of my role in playing her wingman, but that’s only a half truth. Something about him has always intrigued me. He always remained slightly distant, looking at everyone with an edge of suspicion.

  When Kendall and Max started high school, two summers after her failed attempt to catch his attention, Max began dating every girl in their class. She was bent out of shape for a while then brushed it off, calling him a manwhore, and focused her sights elsewhere, but I continued to watch.

  Max has always been attractive, hence the many girls going home with him. He’d always been more built than the other guys in school. I’d quickly learned it was partly out of necessity; he and his two older brothers—who we used to refer to as Hank the Tank and Billy the Bully—would work out constantly, then beat each other senseless. Mom used to scream for Dad to go break up their knock-down, drag-out fights, certain that one of them was going to kill the other. They never did; however, gashes and bruises were frequently worn.