Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone

by Mariah Dietz

  “Do you really think people are going to ask me many questions?”

  “Have you met our friend circle?”

  My shoulders slowly fall as I laugh. “I feel like a jerk for lying to them.”

  She scrunches her nose. “I get it. I felt like I was lying to everyone when I liked Lincoln. It was awkward, and sometimes it was really hard, but you’re not doing this to deceive or hurt anyone. Once this is all over, they’re going to laugh about it.”

  The leather has turned hot from the seat warmer, and my nerves have eased, allowing my fingers to unfurl and wrap around the steering wheel. Maybe it’s Rae’s approval or the fact I admitted my kiss with Paxton. Either way, I follow the directions and joke around with her as we make our way across town to the ocean where the bonfire is being held. In high school, we had bonfires on the beach at the beginning of the year when the weather was warmer, though it’s rarely warm near the water. The Pacific Ocean is icy regardless of the season, and wind is practically guaranteed. This is the first bonfire I’ve been to while at Brighton, an idea sparked by Lincoln and Ian in exchange for the parties that generally follow home games as a way to keep the mess limited and the time brief.

  “We’re going to freeze,” Rae echoes my thoughts as I scan the dark horizon, searching for light from a fire or flashlight.

  I turn on my phone’s flashlight, as does Rae, and we move to the front of my car. I can’t see the ocean, but I can hear it in the near distance, along with the voices of our peers. Both of our phones beep with a text from Rose saying she and Olivia are down near the water and to let her know when we arrive.

  “This is it,” Rae says. “Put on your smile and prepare for the interrogation to begin.”

  My canvas shoes sink in the dry sand that will inevitably follow me home and be found in my car for the next several weeks. We pass by a group gathered around a large fire pit that’s been dug in the sand, accusing each other of not knowing how to start a fire. The wind goes from a breeze to a whip, pulling my hair across my face and cutting through my clothes. “This is further proof that technology is making us dumber,” I say, huddling closer to Rae.

  She giggles. “I don’t know. I like that your car talks to us and parks itself. It’s restored at least ten years of my life.”

  “I’m a good driver.”

  “But terrible at parking.”

  I’d be offended if it weren’t true.

  “Do you remember that time we were downtown and you were trying to parallel park, and you drove up on the curb and were so stuck we had to call Pax to help?”

  “Let’s not mention that to him. He hasn’t brought it up since that day.”

  Rae is giggling now, reliving the moment. “I will never forget his face when he got there and saw that you had both back tires on the curb.”

  “It was a tight space, and traffic was terrible. No one was giving me any time to line up correctly.”

  She’s hunched over as laughter peels out of her. It really wasn’t my finest moment.

  “Hey!” Rose greets us with a wide smile that is visible as the clouds shift, exposing the nearly full moon. Olivia stands by her side. Rose is the most outgoing of our small group and flawlessly beautiful. She rubs her palms together. “Poppy, you’re in the hot seat tonight! We need details and facts. How did I not see you and Paxton? I’m usually so good about these things.” She turns to Olivia, seeking validation.

  Olivia is classically beautiful, and like Rae and me, she’s quieter and likes her privacy. She works to hide a smile. “You’ve been a little preoccupied with Ian this year,” she tells Rose who beams. It took her and Ian several months, but the two are feeling the full impact of new love, and while inspiring and hopeful, it’s a little difficult to endure in my current status.

  “How are things going with Pax?” Rose asks, her gaze shifting between Rae and me. “I mean, I know he’s been going through a bit of a tough time after the rumors and everything…”

  Raegan nods, releasing a tired sigh as she looks at me. My nerves feel like they’re scaling Mt. Olympus.

  “Pax is a good guy,” Olivia says. “He just hit a rough patch. I think you guys are going to be so great together. The two of you are so cute, Poppy, and I definitely saw this happening. He’s always been so observant and protective over you.”

  My cheeks stain with heat that I’m hoping the night hides. She’s not entirely wrong, but his reactions toward me were solely attributed to my relationship with Rae, which I can’t easily admit without making our current relationship status appear like the farce that it is.

  “I heard you and Lincoln disappeared for a romantic night away,” Rose says, turning to Rae. I’m so relieved to have the focus and conversation off me that I miss Rae’s reply. I know most of the details already. She had returned home last Sunday night with stars in her eyes, and a smile stretched prominently across her face that refused to disappear. Lincoln had planned everything from restaurants to having flowers there to her favorite foods and drinks stocked in the fridge. They spent time hiking and whale watching, and the rest of it locked inside doing things that made her cheeks flush.

  “If you could mention to Paxton that I will buy him coffee if he gives me an interview, I would be indebted to you for life,” Rose says. It takes me several seconds to realize she’s talking to me. Rose writes the sports section for The Daily Dose, the university’s newspaper.

  “Yeah, no problem,” I say. “I’m sure he’d be happy to talk with you.” I’m lying, of course, because I have no idea how he feels about doing interviews, but the few times I’ve seen him on the highlights that Rae watches, he’s always smiling.

  “Thank you. Thank you. Tell him I promise to go easy on him.” Rose’s assurance has me looking at Rae again because while I’ve gone to plenty of football games with her and I understand the gist of the game, I mostly go for the concession snacks, the social time, and to watch the hot guys on the field.

  “I have a feeling they’re all going to be in a bad mood tonight,” Rae says, checking her phone. “That was a pretty rough game.”

  “Yeah, but they still won,” Olivia says.

  “That’s what I said,” I say.

  Rae smirks as her shoulders lift with a slight shrug. “We’ll see.”

  “Yeah, Brighton!” a guy yells, and it’s followed by cheers, announcing at least one member of the football team’s arrival.

  “They got the fire started finally,” Rose says. Behind us, the fire is small but bright, highlighting the dozens of people gathered around it. Another whoop and then another. More of the team is arriving. My stomach feels both empty and full, and suddenly I can’t remember my plan to have fun or how to act casual.

  Rae gently nudges me with her elbow. When I look at her, she gives me an assuring smile.

  “Hey! Hey!” Arlo’s familiar voice rings through the air as he makes his way toward us, attention focused on Olivia. She walks toward him, meeting him before he reaches the rest of us, and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

  “How are things with you and Ian?” Rae asks, looking at Rose to offer the two a moment of privacy.

  Rose nods, her smile returning even brighter. “So good. We’re finding a good rhythm. I still can’t convince myself to spend the night at his house, though. It’s too weird with his parents being right next door in the main house.”

  “That would be kind of strange,” I agree.

  “Thank you. Be sure to mention that to him if he asks.” Rose’s phone vibrates, tearing her attention away.

  “Hey,” Arlo says, turning toward us with his arm tightly wound around Olivia.

  “You seem in a good mood. Congrats on your win,” I tell him.

  Arlo grins, but it’s not as broad or bright as his usual smiles. “I’m just relieved the game is over. I never thought it was going to end. That was brutal. It felt like Groundhog’s Day. We kept making stupid mistakes.” He looks at Rae as though expecting her to agree.

  “It wasn�
�t your guys’ best game,” she says.

  He scoffs. “You can say that again.”

  Lincoln appears then, his features surprisingly relaxed considering how Rae and Arlo are summarizing the game. Every guy on the team is avidly hoping and waiting for a draft number that they’ve all worked tirelessly for, Lincoln especially. He’s convinced his future includes either the NFL or working for his dad, which has him devoted to football. He wraps an arm around Rae’s waist. “Are you warm enough out here? It’s cold.” He kisses her temple, the gesture simple and comfortable yet endearing and sweet.

  “How are you?” she asks, ignoring his question.

  He shrugs. “It sucked, but it’s over. We have to move on and move forward and prepare for next week so we don’t do … whatever in the hell tonight was again.”

  Raegan nods and then looks over her shoulder. “Where’s Pax?”

  Lincoln’s gaze skates to me, then back to her before he jerks his head in the direction of the bonfire. “He was just saying hi to some people. I’m sure he’ll be coming down here soon.”

  Soon becomes a four-letter word as it stretches into thirty minutes, then an hour. I have no idea where Paxton is. I’ve seen him twice, and both times it was with the bonfire and thirty or more feet between us.

  “Poppy?”

  My heart spins like a top as I turn at the increasingly familiar voice and face Maddie. “I thought that was you,” she says, wrapping her arms around me like we’re old friends. “Mikey!” she calls to where Mike is standing several feet away, talking with some people I don’t recognize. “I told you I saw Poppy!” She smiles. “It’s your hair. It’s so beautiful. It’s like your trademark.”

  People have always commented on my red hair, assuming the gene dictated my demeanor, temper, and affection for Saint Patrick’s Day—a holiday I’ve only ever celebrated with a bowl of Lucky Charms and, last year, my first green beer.

  Mike says something to the guy he was talking to and then walks the few steps to reach us, his familiar dark gaze intrusive and knowing. I can hear his silent questions asking me why I’m here alone. Likely, he’s seen Paxton since Pax often draws a crowd and the attention of those around him. “Hey,” he says. “I thought you might be here.”

  I clasp my frozen fingers in front of me as the fire burns too hot on my left side. “Did you guys go to the game?”

  Maddie nods. “Our football team in Arkansas never won,” she says, glancing at Mike, reliving a shared year. “It’s really fun to be here where everyone loves the team, and they’re so good.”

  I nod. “They get a lot of attention.”

  “The concession stands are way better here, too,” Mike says, catching my attention.

  I nod again. “They have the best nachos.”

  “Have you tried the chili fries?” he asks.

  “Only about a hundred times.”

  He laughs, and it’s boyish and familiar but also more masculine and defined, like an instrument that’s been recently tuned. “Every time I see cotton candy, I still think about that time you and Tanner got sick on it at the state fair.”

  I place my hand on my stomach. “I do, too,” I admit on a groan. “I still can’t eat it.”

  “They had a food eating contest,” Mike explains to Maddie.

  She smiles, unaware of how I spent that morning alone with Mike after telling our parents we were leaving two hours earlier than we told Raegan and Tanner. We spent the hours in the back of his car with the heater blasting and music softly playing through the space. He’d tell me the story behind the song and then kiss me like it was written about me.

  “Is your boyfriend here?” Maddie asks, quickly changing the station that’s playing in my thoughts.

  “Yeah.” I nod and glance toward the largest crowd. “He’s…” I point toward the crowd. “Social,” I say with a forced smile.

  Mike snickers, reminding me of the jokes he used to direct toward the jocks and those who followed them around that he always referred to as sheeple.

  Maddie jabs him with her elbow. “I’m social, too,” she says. “I keep trying to force him out of his shell. Sometimes it feels like I have to use a crowbar.” She points at him.

  “Opposites attract, right?” I say.

  Maddie smiles. “Exactly.”

  Mike looks at me with a knowing look I don’t want to try and decipher.

  “Hey. There you are.” Pax slides his hand around my waist. I feel his fingers through my sweatshirt. His body is a shield to the fire that had felt too hot, and I shiver at the loss of the heat. He must feel it because he shifts closer.

  I want to remind him I’ve been here all night—but then think better of it. Usually, whenever I hear a woman make a comment like that, they’re perceived as needy or nagging. Is that where things went wrong with Chase? He had told me I was nagging on more than one occasion.

  My relationships with Mike and Chase join my current pretend one and juggle through my thoughts, causing me to miss what Maddie says.

  Paxton’s fingers gently knead into my side. “Yeah, we’ll see you guys later,” he says.

  Relief runs through me as Maddie smiles and offers a parting wave. “See you later.”

  “Bye. Have a good night,” I say.

  “You might need to be a little less obvious,” Pax whispers.

  “Obvious about what?”

  “You were staring at him.”

  “I was not.”

  “Only like you hadn’t eaten in three days, and he was a loaf of bread.”

  “It wasn’t intentional. I was lost in thought for a minute.”

  “Thoughts about him.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about what constitutes nagging.”

  Paxton blinks. “Come again?”

  “Nagging,” I tell him. “Why do I only ever hear the term directed at women? I mean, I get it, there are some people who probably nag, but if a guy shows up late or forgets to call or misses something important and the girl calls him on it, why is it labeled nagging?”

  Pax rubs his hand over his hair. “I feel like this is a trick question.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know the context behind the question.”

  “There doesn’t have to be a specific context, it’s a generalized question. Do guys not nag? Are their feelings and thoughts somehow perceived as less annoying?”

  Paxton tilts his head back a fraction and blinks. I’m prepared for him to ask me if I’m on my period or another sarcastic retort that I have no doubt most guys in his shoes would be using. “I never really thought about it,” he says instead, as his lips dip with a frown. He cuts his front teeth over his bottom lip, drawing my gaze to his mouth. “My dad used to accuse my mom of nagging him when he got home late, and you’re right, I can’t think of a single time my mom accused him of nagging though he used to bitch about her coming home late for years.” He looks at me, the reflection of the fire dancing across the dark parts of his eyes. “It’s kind of a dick word, isn’t it?”

  I nod.

  “Maggie sometimes talks about gender role theories. She started getting interested during high school because she’s all about feelings and emotions and that shit.”

  I laugh, and Paxton grins.

  “Since she began traveling to different countries around the world, she’s been more interested. Your question would likely open an entire conversation about the social roles of males and females and how society allows a lack of accountability from men more than women. I mean, it happens on both sides, but as women, you guys definitely have a steeper and bigger mountain to face.”

  “I’m sorry your game sucked,” I say.

  Paxton’s gaze flashes to mine and then hovers on my cheek where his number stains my skin. His nearness heats my skin, reminding me of my summer in Florida and how the heat consumed me the moment I stepped outside. That’s what it feels like to be inches away from Pax. A smile is visible in his eyes. It’s another tiny detail I commit to memory b
ecause, for some reason, I want to include it in my journal tonight. He looks beyond me for a moment, and I wonder if I’m staring too long? “He’s watching you,” Pax says. Then his eyes return to mine. “He still doesn't believe our relationship is real. Ready to own it?”

  My stomach falls as Paxton’s hands encircle my waist, making me feel small compared to his height and broad shoulders that block most of my view. He leans closer, and I catch the scent of soap and the hint of his cologne as his lips edge closer to mine, lacking the same hesitation that is making it difficult for me to remember how to breathe. “Picture me as Mike,” he says. “It’ll make it easier.” Then he seals his lips over mine, warm and gentle. He tastes like spearmint, and his hands feel hot against my lower back as he holds me like he knows my knees feel like they’re made of Play-Doh.

  I place my hands on his waist. The defined muscles that make up his torso feel like granite under his thin team sweatshirt. The light stubble across his chin rubs against mine. I try to block out the label that wants to mark this situation and remind me that I’m kissing my best friend’s brother. Pax must sense my inner conflict, because he tilts his head, allowing him better access to tease my lips with his tongue, and the sensations of his mouth and tongue silence my thoughts and the party. I meet his kisses, matching him lick for lick, my body heating as he pulls me closer with a gentleness that seems impossible for his strength and size. He pulls away, kissing me lightly on the lips. My eyes feel weighted and my head dazed.