Bending the Rules: A Brother's Best Friend Romance: The Rules Duet (The Dating Playbook Book 1)

by Mariah Dietz

  “Obviously,” I echo.

  Poppy giggles.

  Lincoln weaves, bumping into my side. I ignore him, my emotions too heightened. We continue a few more paces, Pax and Arlo falling behind as they discuss details of the game. Lincoln bumps into me again, this time hard enough I have to take an extra step to catch myself. Then his arm encircles my shoulders again. He shakes me. It’s juvenile at best, but my traitorous body clings to his touch like he’s the sun.

  “This is us,” I say as we near my black Civic. I pause, waiting for him to pull away, and when he doesn’t make a move, I turn to gain some footing on this unfamiliar ground we’ve stumbled upon.

  He’s looking at me, his eyes dark pools of questions that, like the ocean, are deceiving in their depths and intentions.

  I grin and duck out of his touch again, making a beeline for Paxton. I jump on his back, and he catches my weight easily. He runs forward several feet, then comes to an abrupt stop and leans forward so far I swear we’re both going to lose our teeth on the sidewalk.

  “You win. You win!” I call between giggles, gripping his shoulders so I don’t fall on my face. Pax easily stands. The move is rehearsed, something we’ve been doing for years.

  I’m still laughing as my feet hit the sidewalk. “I seriously was inches from the ground. You almost dropped me this time.”

  Pax shakes his head. “I had you. You almost lost your grip this time.”

  “We’ll meet you at your house. Don’t forget the onion rings.” I move back to my car, fighting the jealousy I feel at my best friend being stapled to Lincoln’s side.

  “What’s that?” Poppy asks, pointing at my windshield.

  I glance at my car, squinting in an attempt to see more clearly. I have to take several paces to be close enough to discover the small paper crane under my windshield wiper, which I free with a quick tug.

  “That’s cute,” she says.

  I toss it to her. “Merry Christmas.”

  She laughs, catching it with Lincoln’s arm and attention still focused on her.

  14

  “He likes you.”

  Poppy’s words hit me like a semi-truck, hope slamming into my lungs and denial colliding with my heart. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Derek?”

  “Lincoln!” she cries. “I’m serious, Rae. He watches you. Like, watches your reactions, your movements.”

  “You clearly hit your head tonight.”

  “Raegan, I’m not even joking. He likes you.”

  “You told me Derek likes me.”

  “He does.”

  I shake my head, trying to dispel her words from clinging to hope. “Lincoln doesn’t like me. He can’t.”

  “Because you don’t think you guys should date?”

  “Because he doesn’t date,” I remind her.

  “I thought you don’t want to date?”

  Her words bristle against my spine. I lower my foot on the clutch and shift, going faster, wishing I could outrun these thoughts and feelings. “I don’t.”

  “Next time, try making eye contact. It’s always a dead giveaway that you’re lying when you won’t look at me.”

  “He doesn’t date,” I remind her again.

  “Maybe not, but he certainly is wanting something from you.”

  Her words fester in my thoughts, distracting me from the many thoughts that have been filtering through my mind for days. Ones about the aquarium and my class load and Derek.

  When we pull into Paxton’s driveway, Caleb’s car is next to me. Freshman year, he went out with Pax and Lincoln every time, but last year he started going out less, so I’m not surprised to find him in the living room with a gaming remote in his hands. He turns, pushing his black-rimmed glasses that are sliding down his nose back into place. “Hey,” he says, turning back to the TV. “What’s up? Hi, Poppy.”

  “Hey, Caleb.” The two are still formal with each other. I blame this on Caleb always having his nose in a remote or another piece of tech, and Poppy refusing to take the lead in their friendship.

  “Oh, you know. We just got off a night of crime.” I plop down next to him on the couch while Poppy takes the time to remove her shoes before sitting beside me.

  “Yeah? Straight gangster, huh?” Caleb asks, his eyes still glued to the screen.

  “You know it.”

  He smiles, his thumbs moving rapidly over the remote.

  “How have you been?” I knock my knee against his. “No party tonight?”

  His smile broadens. “I’m partying it up right here.”

  “I like your style. At least you get to be comfortable,” I tell him.

  The front door opens, and Paxton comes in carrying two drink trays, followed by Arlo with two large white bags. Lincoln follows, carrying another white sack. He grins as he steps inside, asking Caleb about the level, but his gaze never goes beyond the TV. I glance at Poppy as though to say, ‘you’re wrong,’ but she dutifully ignores me. Being an only child for nearly half of her life makes it difficult for her to accept defeat.

  Arlo takes the bags, setting them on the dining room table that sits in the corner of the room. It used to be our family dining table, but Mom took the opportunity to get a new one after Pax lived here for a full year without one. Arlo tears open the sides of the bags and creates a large paper surface, then stacks piles of chicken nuggets and fries. “Okay, Rae Rae, tell us, is it acceptable to break up with someone through text?” he asks.

  I look from him to Paxton. “No. Definitely not. Especially when you guys have been dating so long.”

  “You know she’s going to go nuts.” Paxton tries the victim role for a full minute as I stare him down.

  When he doesn’t back down, I cock my head to the side, working to remain patient. “Don’t be a douche, Pax. You know that wouldn’t be right.”

  “Would it really be that bad?” Lincoln asks. “I mean, come on, Lawson, they break up every other day through text.”

  “Which is partly why they are where they are, and also why if you’re really done—” I pause, waiting for the word to sink into my brother’s head because he’s told me more than once that he’s done and never is. “Then you need to face her and make sure you both understand.”

  “She has a point,” Arlo says, stabbing a straw into a drink.

  “I have lots of points. Want to hear more?” I ask.

  Paxton grabs a fry and chews on it while considering my offer. “Like?”

  “Like, you need to decide soon. Before you go out again, soon. Because you can’t pull what you did tonight again. You’re going to get caught, and then this isn’t just a tough breakup, it will be a really ugly breakup, and you’re going to have to explain to the next girl you date that you’re a cheater, and let me tell you that word makes even the hottest, smartest, nicest guy sound and look like an asshole. Cheating creates an entire landmine of red flags.”

  Paxton munches on a chicken nugget.

  “And, you need to go change. Those shorts are way worse than you think they are. Change, and then burn them.”

  He throws a fry at me, but a smile breaks the look of despair that was consuming his features. “I’m going to keep these babies and wear them to your graduation, and then to your wedding.”

  “Great. But for tonight, go change.”

  He snickers, but turns and heads toward the stairs.

  “We should bring those shorts to practice. Make whoever’s late wear them,” Arlo says, shuffling through the different dip sauces.

  “Caleb, you hungry? Arlo’s going to eat all this if you wait until your game is over,” Lincoln calls. I hate that he addresses Caleb. Hate that he’s become good friends with him because, in high school, Paxton’s football friends were always complete tools to Caleb, acting like they were too good to hang around him.

  “Yeah, just…” He glances over at us, and grins. “You guys are killing my score.”

  �
�But we’re worth it,” I sing. “Get over here.”

  Caleb removes his headset, revealing an indent in his hair, and sets his controller down.

  “This one’s yours.” Lincoln hands him a soda. “No ice.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “No ice. When did you turn European on me?” I ask.

  “I’ve got a tooth that’s been bothering me. I see the dentist on Monday.”

  That sting in my chest becomes a burn, and when Poppy juts her elbow into my side to ensure I heard, I make the first excuse I can think of to gain some space and perspective. “I’ll be right back. I need to go grab my charger from my car,” I say.

  “You want me to grab it?” Caleb asks, setting his drink down.

  “No, I’m good. You eat.”

  Poppy starts to set her drink down as well. I shake my head. “You, too. They’ll clear all this in five minutes flat. It will only take me a second.”

  The cold air helps clear my thoughts. I step off the cement stoop and take slow strides though my body is tense from the temperature. I open my driver’s door and sit inside, taking a deep breath as I replay the night. Poppy’s assurances of Derek. The quick spark of Derek’s temper when he saw Arlo and me. The maze of Lincoln and I trying to find steady ground and topics while finding those shorts for Pax. Poppy telling me Lincoln likes me—watches me.

  Lincoln watching me—liking me—the words becoming a soundtrack to the reel of memories.

  It’s stupid and dangerous to have thoughts like this, to be considering if he might actually like me and what that would mean. It leads to hope, hope leads to disappointment, and disappointment hurts so much after harboring this crush for three long years.

  We shouldn’t have come over. We should have stayed at the party. We could have called Derek to see where he was. We could have gone back to Greek Row and checked out what was going on there, because at the beginning of the year with rush happening, it seems there’s a constant party at each of the houses.

  I sit long enough for each of my thoughts of Lincoln to be sorted into realities versus desires, long enough to make a plan for tonight and the rest of the quarter. I’m not going to keep doing this to myself. That girl who wanted to date him was gorgeous, confident, and so put together. She looked like a life-sized Barbie, perfect down to her shaped and polished nails, and toned and tanned arms. She is what all of us girls have been taught by social media and marketing that we want to be and should work to become. If he can’t commit to dating her, there’s no way in hell he would have interest in me. I’m not trying to be a martyr, it’s simply the truth. And after three years of holding onto my heart in hopes that he would want it, seeing her tonight gave me the realization that even someone perfect can’t get him, and therefore I need to avoid Lincoln and get over him once and for all.

  “What are you avoiding? Or should I say who?”

  The voice startles me, and then there’s the quick zing of a lighter, and cigarette smoke fills the air. Lincoln stands near the hood of my car wearing a black hoodie shadowing most of his face.

  I hate that my heart quadruples in speed, especially when I just made the commitment to quit him. “No, I was just…” I shake my head. “…thinking.”

  He nods a couple of times, then slowly saunters toward my door. “About what?” He blows out another breath of smoke.

  “Why do you smoke? They’re going to slow you down.”

  He takes another puff. “There are always obstacles. I figure if I create some of my own, at least I get some say in my life.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  He pulls his head back, like my words were an assault.

  “You’re self-sabotaging. Why make life harder?”

  “I keep asking myself that same damn question.”

  “Then quit.”

  He stares at me, his gaze intense and heavy as the soundtrack of Poppy telling me he watches me—likes me—begins to play again. I swallow, steeling myself, recalling all the reasons and proof that he doesn’t. I grab my phone charger from the USB port and get out of the car, closing the door behind me so the street goes dark. “Or don’t. Be your own obstacle.” I shrug with indifference and take a step to move around him when his hand catches mine, the movement so fast it nearly startles me. I look down where warmth radiates from his fingers to my skin, and catch the spark from his cigarette hitting the pavement beside us. His tennis shoe covers it, then his other hand goes to my waist, his pinky and ring fingers sliding between below the hem of my sweatshirt, finding my bare skin. The roughness of his fingers and warmth of his touch creates a contrast that makes my heart feels like it’s hiccupping.

  He stares at me, and I stare back. Where I’m fairly certain his eyes are searching for permission, I’m seeking understanding.

  “Stop me,” he says. “Tell me this is a terrible idea. Tell me to go back inside because you’re not interested.”

  My mind is spinning, reasons and thoughts tangling and knotting, impossible to separate. His lips part and he leans forward fractionally, pausing so that he’s still too far away. His fingers constrict around my waist, and then his thumb pushes my sweatshirt higher, resting against my flesh. The faint scent of cigarettes still hangs between us along with the clean and masculine scent of his cologne that leaves a cool and spicy feeling in my nose.

  “It’s a terrible idea,” I tell him, reaching forward and fisting his sweatshirt. “A really terrible idea.” I try to pull him closer, but I’m fairly certain I’m the one moving.

  He nods, his breath falling like a warm caress across my skin. His fingers slip under my sweatshirt, each digit pressing into my skin. It’s gentle and yet sure—his touch confident like he is on the field.

  My heart is still hiccupping in my chest, and I can’t stop staring at his mouth, memorizing the outline of his lips, the fact that the right side is pulled slightly higher.

  He leans closer at the same time he presses me backward, my hips falling against my car, the cold seeping through the denim of my jeans barely registers against the heat of his chest pressing against mine. His heart beats against my chest—as loud and unsteady as my own—and his breaths move him closer and farther in unmeasured breaths.

  He’s so close I can taste the flavors of his breath, the salt from the fries and sweetness of the shake, the bitterness from the cigarette. The sound of the front door is a distant thought, and then I feel the loss of Lincoln everywhere. He pulls me forward, and I stumble, but his hand catches mine, holding me up and grounding me until it too falls away, and he takes several steps back, facing the house.

  “Everything okay?” Paxton yells from the stoop, the interior lights glowing around him, making his face dark.

  “Yeah,” I call back. “I just needed Lincoln’s phone for the flashlight. I dropped my Chapstick.”

  “Clutz. Did you find it?”

  “Yeah.” I glance at Lincoln. His chest is still rising and falling too quickly, but his eyes are on Paxton. “Yeah, I found it.

  15

  The next two weeks pass by at a crawl.

  I’ve picked up three extra shifts at work because the flu has been going around, and my professors seem to be trying to outdo one another with the amount of reading and homework they each assign, warning about pop quizzes that have kept me up past midnight to ensure I don’t fail. We also still haven’t seen anything from the J, K, or L pods, and with less tourists coming into the aquarium, things have been slowing down.

  And Derek has texted me four times.

  I haven’t responded to any of them.

  I also haven’t seen or heard anything from Lincoln.

  “Where are you off to?” Mom asks as I pull on a hoodie, scrummaging for something to eat in the pantry.

  I grab a granola bar and unwrap it. “Pax asked me to come by. All that porn he watches has infected his computer.”

  “Raegan.” She closes her eyes as though attempting to wipe the possibility. I laugh. “He mentioned things with Candace were
n’t going very well.”

  “I think they’re going to break up,” I tell her.

  She pulls in a deep breath. “So do I.”

  “What are you doing? You’re home late.”

  A smile graces her face, one wider than I’ve seen in a long time. “Well…” She goes over to the wine rack that sits on the counter next to the fridge, a gift from Gramps. “December is our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.” She uncorks the bottle. “And I’m surprising him with a trip to Greece.”

  “Greece? You guys are doing it?” My parents have discussed taking a trip to Greece for as long as I can remember, always moving it to the back burner due to other expenses and goals that took priority.

  “You only live once, right?” she says, her expression a mixture of hope and question.

  I nod, smiling. “Mom, I’m proud of you. You guys are going to have the best time.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “About what?”

  “Well, you’ll be alone.”

  “Mom. I’ll be fine. The house will be fine.”

  “I’m more worried you won’t eat or sleep. You’ve barely breathed lately. I’m worried about you.”

  “It’s going to be fine. Everything will settle down soon.”

  “I know. But…”

  I shake my head to cut off her words of concern. “Tell me about your trip. Athens? Corinth? Where are you guys going?”

  Mom’s unease evaporates as her excitement for the trip takes precedence. She finishes her glass of wine and tells me about the museums and landmarks she’s planning they visit before Dad arrives homes from the weekly basketball game he attends with a couple of friends and sometimes Pax.

  He sets a paper bag on the counter, and the aroma of tomatoes, basil, and garlic waft from the top. “I brought you dinner,” he tells Mom, pressing a kiss to her temple.

  Mom closes her eyes and smiles. It’s a peaceful look, one that helped inspire my own set of rules for dating.