by Mariah Dietz
His crooked grin becomes a smile. “Are you ready to kiss me yet?” It’s a reminder from Friday night.
My hands feel clammy, and my breathing goes uneven. Making the first move, taking that first step, is intimidating and awkward. I’ve wondered if I would hit his teeth or jaw or worse if I were to kiss him and try to make it seem natural and spontaneous. “Your staring is not helping.”
He tilts his head toward the sky, which is now the color of snow after it’s been on the ground for a solid month, and he laughs. It’s a great sound that makes me smile in return. “Another day,” he says.
Something twists in my chest that feels too similar to regret or disappointment as I wait for him to take a step back, assuming he’s calling off our good-bye kiss. I watch him through muted eyes, trying not to allow myself to feel these things, much less expose them as Pax does a final inventory, his weight on his heels. His smile fades, and time marches forward. I need to leave, and he needs to head to practice soon, but neither of us moves. It feels like we’re in a stalemate, which is ridiculous because there are loads of options, but neither of us seems willing or able to make one.
He’s the first to move, placing a hand on my hip. I mirror him, doing the same. He steps closer and moves his other hand to the back of my neck, and my breaths start coming too quickly as I place my other hand on the other side of his waist. Scents of the wet sidewalk and fresh pine and marina and Pax are tangling together into the sweetest fragrance that I wish my shallow breaths could pull in more of.
“Friday, we have another party,” he tells me, leaning even closer, so I feel his words against the sensitive skin of my lips. “It will be Brighton heavy, so there’s a chance both of our pasts will be there.”
“Fun,” I say dryly.
One corner of his lips pulls up. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
The way he’s dragging this out is killing me with anticipation and nerves. I’m pretty sure that’s his point. He’s waiting for me to close this gap and kiss him.
“Want me to do a countdown?” he asks, humor dancing in his eyes. “You look terrified.”
“If we gnash teeth or I bite you, it’s your fault,” I warn.
He presses his fingers against me like he does while we’re kissing, a silent approval as his blue eyes appear three shades darker, his gaze on my mouth.
“I’ll meet you halfway,” I say, then lean forward, my weight balanced on my toes. Pax grants me clemency, pressing his lips against mine and taking another step forward so my weight rests against him. His lips are soft and unhurried, like a slow dance. His hand at the back of my neck grows tighter, and he slants his mouth over mine, massaging my mouth with his. There’s no hurry, and there's also no pause as the kiss stretches out, making me wonder if this is another challenge, if he wants me to change the style of the kiss or if this is a style in and of itself? Do some couples kiss and just memorize each other’s mouths and breaths and warmth? Is that a thing? Because I desperately hope that it is.
When he finally steps back, he licks his lips like he’s savoring the taste of our kiss. “Just tell Maddie no.” He takes a step and opens my door. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
I slide into my seat, my heart thumping in my chest, refusing to be ignored. I wave to Pax and make the drive back to campus, wishing we could make a new rule about being straightforward.
When I arrive at Modern Political Thought, my breaths are still too fast. I need to pour a million words and questions into my journal, but I’m late, and before I can slink to a seat in the back, Mike waves an arm, catching my attention. He pats the empty seat beside him and without a valid excuse, I fill it.
“How’s it going?” Mike asks.
My cheeks flush, reliving the kiss with Pax that seemed like dessert after my lunch. “Last class of the day,” I say, pulling out my laptop.
“Maddie asked me to reach out to you and ask if you and your boyfriend want to go see a movie or catch dinner or something.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell him honestly.
He leans back in his seat, tucking his pen behind an ear. “Why not?”
Because we used to date. Because you omitted that vital detail to your girlfriend. Because I don’t know how well my charade with Pax would go if someone were to truly test our seams. “We’re really busy right now.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
I give him a look of doubt and contempt, but thankfully, the professor saves me once more.
I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a royal blue flounce top. It’s cold tonight, a freeze warning in the city that makes me pull my sweater tighter as Paxton parks. It’s Friday and we’re at another party.
“Are Rae and Lincoln coming tonight?” he asks as we step out of the car and meet at the hood.
I shake my head. “No, Rae had to work late and wasn’t in the mood. They might have been asleep when you picked me up.”
His shoulders are flexed, his jaw strained, distracted from what I just said.
“We don’t have to be here,” I tell him. “I mean, we don’t have to be here unless you want to be.”
He looks at me as we cross the street. “I’m just…” He shakes his head.
“Was my bad mood from Wednesday contagious?” I ask.
“Maybe.”
“Did something happen?”
“Just football. A lot is riding on tomorrow’s game.”
I nod. “Maybe we duck out early, then. We can watch football. I can’t share any advice or insight but can definitely offer some morale.”
He grins. It’s his first smile of the night, and it makes me feel like I’ve won a prize. “It’s okay. I just need to have some fun.” His hand holding mine tightens, and we approach the long driveway of the house where bass from the music playing inside can be felt and heard.
It feels like a hundred degrees when we pass the front doors. Lights rove and flash overhead, and it smells like beer. I would bet that they had problems tapping the keg or someone made a massive spill on the carpet. Paxton walks behind me, his hand on my waist. People we pass greet me by name with an air of familiarity though none exists. It distracts me every time as I work to place each face and feel guiltier with each person, wondering if I’ve met them before and if I should know their name when they know mine.
“You look overwhelmed.” Paxton’s lips graze the shell of my ear, making a shiver run down my spine.
I turn so I can face him. It’s too loud in here, causing me to lean close to him and still yell my words. “How do they all know who I am?”
Pax looks at me, his expression a question about this being what I’d asked for and a reminder of the label I’m wearing: star quarterback’s girlfriend. He leans in close, his lips pausing at the hinge of my jaw. “You’re not nearly as invisible as you think.”
Someone greets Paxton then, a couple of guys I don’t know and one that I recognize but can’t place. I smile when Pax introduces me, but their attention is glued to him, asking him about tomorrow’s game, his arm, his excitement for the draft. The questions fade as I recognize someone from Brighton and then another and another. I’m searching over the faces when I hit Maddie and Mike. My shoulders sink, disappointment and trepidation making their appearances. Mike feels my stare. He turns, and for a moment, I think he doesn’t see me in this crowd of guys that I turn my attention back to, but when I glance back at him, he and Maddie are making their way over to us.
I step closer to Pax, my grip on his hand tightening. He reads the subtleties and looks at me with a silent apology. He thinks I’m bored.
“Hey, Poppy! Hi, Paxton.” Maddie smiles, stopping closer to me because the guys are still converging around Pax.
“Hey,” Pax says for both of us, understanding registering in his gaze as he steals a look at me.
“We’re excited about your game tomorrow,” Maddie tells him.
Pax nods. “Thanks. I appreciate the support.” He’s going to be great at this stuf
f once he goes pro. Pax is the epitome of professionalism when these moments arise.
“Do you guys want to get something to drink?” Mike asks. “We were just heading into the kitchen.” He moves his hand to Maddie’s waist, holding her so close that his hand stretches across most of her stomach.
“I think we’re good,” I say.
Mike looks at me and then Paxton and then back to me. “Come on. One drink. We’ve barely seen you guys since the bonfire after Halloween.”
Intentionally, I nearly say.
“Sure,” Pax agrees for us.
Traitor. Clearly, I need to add a new rule.
Pax says something to the guys he’d been visiting with and then turns, his hand still at my waist guiding us to follow Mike as he leads us toward the kitchen. Pax pulls me to a quick stop, my back hitting his chest. “Do you want to make him jealous?”
I shake my head and turn to look over my shoulder at him. “I don’t care what he thinks.”
“Indifference or confusion?”
“He had a year to reach out to me and never did. He moved back here in August and didn’t reach out until October.” I say the facts that I’ve been avoiding.
“He’s not worth your time. Fuck jealousy.” He wraps his arm around my waist again and starts following them. I’m still chapters behind, unclear of the plan.
When we get to the kitchen, Pax fills two glasses with water, handing me one of them. Mike and Maddie are near the keg, sipping beer.
“Not partying tonight?” Mike asks, nodding to our cups.
Pax doesn’t respond, and neither do I, but Paxton’s hand returns to my waist, a secure, borderline possessive hold on my skin. “The night’s still young,” Pax finally says.
Maddie smiles.
“I’ve heard you know how to party,” Mike says, eyes locked on Pax.
My jaw juts forward, offense coursing through me. Is he really going to bring this up here? Now? He doesn’t even know the situation, wasn’t here to see any of it. “We should go,” I say. “There’s a lot of people we need to say hi to before we leave.”
Paxton takes a drink, unmoving. “Rumors are so much better than the truth most of the time,” he says, giving a casual shrug. “That’s why I always work to learn both. Was the guy just faced with an impossible decision, or was he a spineless, dickless tool who ghosted because that was easier for him?”
He’s talking about Mike, and all of us know this except for Maddie whose brow is furrowed with confusion before she looks at me for clarification like this might be an inside joke or Brighton rite of passage.
I take a long drink from my cup.
“Good seeing you guys again,” Pax says. He finishes his drink and tosses it into the trash, then places both hands on my waist, his hips pressing against my back before he leads me away.
We pass through more people who greet us and others who don’t—those who don’t have any idea who we are, are becoming my favorite people.
I nearly trip when I catch the icy stare of Candace. She’s watching us from across the room, Derek Paulson at her side. I don’t know if it’s her glare or the fact that I hate Derek just as much as Pax does, but I twist in Paxton’s grasp so our chests brush. “Candace is here with Derek.”
His jaw flexes, another small reminder that he cares. His gaze darts to the side, finding them easily in a look so causal I doubt they notice him looking. I’m about to ask him how we should navigate the situation when he kisses me. My eyes are still open, my hands loose at my waist. His blue eyes open a fraction, and his hands press against me, a tiny growl of impatience in his throat for my slow reaction. He nips at my bottom lip and pulls my hips flush against his, the movement a flex of his strength that distracts me further. I close my eyes and wrap my hands around his shoulders, feeling the strength of each muscle. He makes another warning growl of impatience, kissing me harder, his lips reminding me of the rules until I stop thinking about his muscles and the room and the party and how Mike will act next week in class. When I match his pace, his tongue demands more as he parts my lips. His breaths are all that I hear, as I focus on each hiss and moan as we explore each other’s mouths, his taste on my tongue. I bury my hand into the hair at the back of his head, marveling at how soft it is as his mouth possesses mine. Then, his teeth nip my bottom lip, urging me to memorize the rules and push them to the farthest extent as his hand brushes down my side, leaving a trail of heat that is quickly followed by goosebumps.
We kiss until I’m breathless and my body is so hot I need to take off my sweater. Until I think I need a cigarette to commemorate the moment though I’ve never smoked before in my life. My hair is tangled around my earrings from his hands running through the strands, and my body feels a thrill of excitement and something heavy and restless.
“I see a couple of guys from the team. We should go say hi.”
“I need to use the restroom really fast,” I say.
He nods. “Want me to wait outside?”
I shake my head. “I’m good. I’ll catch up with you in just a few.” Once my heart stops racing, and I don’t want to keep staring at your mouth, that is.
His hands slip from me, and he walks away. I pull off my sweater, but it’s still a thousand degrees in here. I weave through the crowds, finding the front door and feeling a sigh of relief hit me as I step out into the cold night. My lungs protest the wintry temperature, but my skin rejoices. I have a thin layer of sweat over me, my cheeks likely heated and rosy.
“Nice try,” Candace’s voice makes me jump.
“Sorry?”
“You tried really hard not to look so virginal, but nobody bought it.”
I snicker. “I wasn’t trying to impress anyone or convince them of anything.”
She sneers. “Enjoy my leftovers. I hope you know that when you finally let him in your pants, it’s going to be me he’s thinking about.” She stalks off, looking like a runway model with each jaunt of her hips.
I feel rattled, and there’s still a restlessness coursing through me.
I head inside and search for Pax, wanting to push this agenda farther and kiss him again.
But when I find the team, I don’t find Paxton. I search for him, wandering through the kitchen and into the backyard, but he’s nowhere to be found. I check my phone to make sure he didn’t call or text me, asking me to meet him somewhere, but there’s nothing.
Did he leave? Is he standing me up?
I call him. He doesn’t answer. It feels like ghosting one-oh-one.
My heart is pounding painfully in my chest when a couple of girls gather around me, knowing me by name. They shoot off a multitude of questions about my life and my history with Pax. I disengage with them and am swallowed by another group. I try to enjoy this, reminding myself this was what I wanted, the entire objective on my part for this fake dating. I strive to join in the conversations, paying attention and learning their names, but I quickly realize they only want to know about my relationship with Paxton.
An hour later, I’m about to order a ride when a hand wraps around my waist, and I turn, catching sight of Pax.
“Where have you been?” I ask, turning to face him.
He won’t look at me. Guilt is pouring off of him like sweat, I can see it, feel it, and I have no doubt I could taste it if I got closer.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his breath hitting me hard and leaving little doubt as to what he’d been drinking—vodka.
“What in the hell?” I whisper, quickly looking around to see if others are noticing. “Where have you been?”
“I know. I fucked up.” His gaze finally meets mine, his eyes glassy.
“Pax!” Ian approaches us with a smile.
“Shit,” Pax hisses the word, diverting his gaze as he takes a step back.
“Hey, Ian,” I say, moving forward to intercept him.
“Hey, Poppy. Rose and I just got here, but I think we’re going to ditch out, this place is packed. Do you guys want to head over to my place? Some o
f the guys are going to come and hang out.”
“I think we’re about to call it a night,” I tell him.
Ian’s gaze flickers to Pax. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just been a long week.”
He nods, his attention lingering on Pax. “If you change your mind, let me know.”
I nod. “Say hi to Rose for us.”
He grins and disappears back into the crowd. I turn back to Paxton.
“Thank you,” he says in a whisper.
“Come on. We should go.”
“I need to sit down,” he says.
I place a hand on his back, my gaze becoming speculative of everyone here, worried that someone’s going to see him and know he’s drunk.
By some grace of God, the couch is empty. Pax sits on it and releases a quiet sigh.
I pull the coffee table close to the couch, hoping it serves as a barrier so someone doesn’t sit beside him and also because I don’t want to sit next to him. I’m mad, and I want answers. “What happened?” I ask again, my question a demand.
“Your ex is a dick, Paulson’s a fucking asshole, and I’m feeling the pressure of tomorrow’s game like a fucking house is stacked on my shoulders. Also, I’m pretty sure Candace doesn’t believe we’re dating, which shouldn’t bother me, but she has such a big fucking mouth that…” He shakes his head.
“That’s a lot of f-bombs.”
“It’s not enough fucking f-bombs.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Candace watching us. Stalker.
“How drunk are you?” I ask him.
He blinks and manages to meet my stare. “Why?”
“Candace is watching us.”
“Of course she is.”
“I’m going to kiss you,” I warn him. “You won’t puke on me, right?”
He scoffs. “I’m not an amateur.”
I stand. “That’s not something to brag about,” I stare at him, trying to decide how I’m going to manage to make this look even remotely sexy. He leans back on the couch, legs spread as he watches me, a challenge present in his gaze.
