Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone by Mariah Dietz (classic english novels .TXT) 📕

“Coach, I don’t know if I can play tomorrow.”

Coach Harris barks out a laugh and then sobers too quickly. “You’re kidding, right?”

“He’s bullshitting you,” Lincoln says from my other side.

Coach looks from him to me, his unease apparent as his brows draw together. “Lawson?” he asks.

I slowly shake my head. “I don’t know, Coach. My head’s just not in the right place. I don’t want to fail you or the team. I know how important this game is to everyone, and I don’t want to ruin everyone’s future.”

Coach’s face softens as he sets his fork down. “Don’t you see it, son? You being concerned about your teammates is how I know you’re one hell of a leader. A true leader doesn’t just worry about themselves, they worry about their team, and they take care of their team. They look out for each other, and they try harder than anyone else. You’re a leader, Paxton. This team needs you.”

Before I can correct him, Ian, who is sitting across the table from us, raises his glass. “To team unity,” he says.

Coach nods and follows suit, lifting his own glass. “Team unity.”

The rest of the table lifts their glasses as well, even Lincoln, who hates team exercises.

“Tomorrow is our night. May we all play with Ian’s strength, Lincoln’s footwork, Arlo’s focus, and Paxton’s heart,” Coach says, and the table erupts with cheers.

Guilt courses through my veins. This is not what I meant when I told Coach I might not be able to play tomorrow. I’m hardly being a thoughtful leader. But the cheering and toasts are as abundant as a wedding with too many guests and an open bar.

“Just stick to the plan,” Lincoln grinds out the words. “Everything’s going to be fine. People talk about only getting one chance, and that’s bullshit. Love is not about a single moment, a single conversation, a single anything. This isn’t going to fade from you or her. We win tomorrow, then we go home, and you tell her how you feel.”

I’ll likely never admit it to him, but his words settle my nerves. He’s right, I have this fear that I need to get this shit resolved and sorted now because it feels like there’s a silent countdown hanging over my head right now, but I’m fairly certain it’s ticking so loudly because it’s my own needs of being near her that are currently shredding my nerves and sanity.

When we make it back to the hotel, Rae greets us in the lobby. She’s giving me the squinty eyes, a similar expression to the one she did when constantly expecting me to fuck up.

“I’ve been thinking, you should fly home. I can help you pay for it, but I think you need to go back. Tonight.”

“What?” Lincoln swings his attention to her. “He’ll miss the game.”

Rae shakes her head. “There’s a flight that leaves in a couple hours, and he can fly back tomorrow morning at eight and be here before eleven.”

Lincoln winces. He hates the plan, but he won’t voice it, whether out of respect for me or my sister, but he shares a look with her questioning if this is the only option.

“If you want to be with Poppy, you need to fight for her. Show her she’s worth it. Prove to her you won’t leave like Mike did. She’s probably thinking of how it’s only going to get harder—because it will.”

“And you know dickface is likely going to be going back, and you don’t want that happening before you get there,” Lincoln says, quickly changing his tune and siding with my sister.

I take a step toward the front doors, where several of our teammates are still streaming inside.

“Don’t you need to pack a bag or something?” Rae asks.

I shake my head and continue outside, fishing for my phone to find a flight that will take me back to her.

“Pax,” Lincoln calls. He jogs the few feet to catch up with me. “Chanel that confidence from the field. You didn’t fuck up—the situation got fucked up, but you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s fucking terrifying to love someone—fucking terrifying. But this is where you lay your cards out. Don’t hold back because you’re afraid of getting hurt. Don’t let your dad or your past with Candace dictate what happens now between you and Poppy. This is your playoff game, leave it all on the field. I almost waited too long with Rae and learned the hard way that you can’t worry about your pride or your ego or your own fucking heart, not when you love someone.”

“I still want to kick your ass for falling for my kid sister, but goddammit, if I’m not glad that it’s you.”

He flashes a grin, but his gaze is stoic. “Poppy cares about you. She’s not going to give your heart a joy ride and return it beat to shit. Trust her. Trust yourself.”

I nod, already rehearsing what I’m going to say and the promises I’m going to make as I glance at the valet desk so I can arrange for a car to pick me up.

“Pax!” Lincoln calls my name again. He points and does a gentle nod of his head, drawing my attention to a car pulled up to the curb where Poppy is getting out.

Relief hits me, along with a hard thwomp of nerves that have my heart pounding out an uneven beat. She hears Lincoln, her attention turning, searching the space until she meets my gaze as I cross the distance to her. My stomach turns, reminding me that my confidence always starts at the very bottom with every game, which is why I throw up before every fucking game. I take small breaths in and out through my nose, forgetting about the football analogy as I think of Poppy over the years. Remembering when we were kids and the time I’d fallen off my bike, and how she’d helped me bandage my knee. I skip ahead to the time she