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

next door with bright, friendly eyes and a smile that seems wholly genuine.

Coach Baker turns his attention to me, eyebrows raised with a silent question before turning back to her. Poppy’s smile only broadens. “Who’s this?” Coach asks.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were out here. I was hoping to play interference.” She makes a conspiratorial face. “I thought you were Candace.”

“No. But I saw the fireworks,” Coach says.

Poppy scrunches her nose. “Yeah. She’s been taking the news of Pax and me dating pretty hard. I think this is the last we’ll hear from her, though. You know how things can get, especially with us girls. We’re all emotions and tears.” She laughs. “Sometimes people just need that closure.”

I stare at her, waiting for her to catch on fire for what she’s just said because the Poppy Anderson I know would rather eat a gym sock than say that females are inferior because of their emotions.

Coach Baker tentatively looks back at me. “I do.” He looks back at Poppy. “So you guys are … dating?”

Poppy smiles another theatrical smile. “We’re taking things slowly, but we’ve been friends for years. We just want to make sure we have a good, solid foundation and ensure Pax has enough time to dedicate to football before adding anything like labels or obligations. My parents are big supporters of education and football. They’re both Brighton alumni, so our team spirit runs deep.”

Coach Baker nods once, and then shocks the hell out of me when he plasters a wide grin across his face. I’ve never seen him full-out smile. Even last year, after we went undefeated and won our bowl game, he wasn’t this elated, which gives me hope that it’s because he’s feeling relief over my future for the first time in weeks. “Well, I’m really glad to meet you, Poppy.” He nods again. “Really glad.” He releases a long breath. “You seem like a nice young lady.”

She beams. “I appreciate that.”

Coach Baker hands me the plastic bag he’d carried over. “I brought you the tapes for the next couple of games.”

“Thanks, Coach. I appreciate you bringing them by.”

He looks at Poppy again. “Not as much as I do.” He pats my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re working through things, son. You have yourselves a good day.” He pats me again and then turns and ambles down the driveway back to his car.

“You just saved my ass,” I tell her.

“I need to wash my mouth out with soap after what I said.” She makes a look of disgust. “If you tell anyone I said any of that…”

I hold up my hands. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

She sighs. “I figured this was the least I could do after you saved me yesterday with Mike.”

I stare at Poppy, the wheels churning in my head, so fast I skip past all of the warning and hazard signs. “We should do this,” I tell her.

“Do what?”

“Pretend we’re dating.”

She laughs, a dry sound of disbelief that sounds more like a scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“I could help you make Mike jealous, and in turn, you could save my reputation and get my teammates and coaches off my back.”

She shakes her head. “No way. No one will believe it.”

 “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because you’re Rae’s brother. Even Mike struggled to believe we were dating, and he barely knows you. Imagine anyone who actually knows us. We barely talk. If we’re in the same room together, you don’t even look at me.”

“How would you know?”

She rolls her eyes and avoids the question. “Besides, I can’t lie to Raegan. Not only is she my best friend, but she knows all of my tells when I’m lying.”

“We’ll tell them the truth. Caleb and Arlo won’t believe it either, but everyone else will. This is perfect. We can both get what we want.”

8

Poppy

Paxton telling me his friends would never believe we’re dating is bouncing around my thoughts like a weighted pinball that wants to find a pocket of self-consciousness to fall into. I have no doubt that pocket would guarantee hours of self-deprecating thoughts because as hard as my therapist of a mom has worked to impart that I don’t let people’s opinions or views of me frame who I am, they occasionally do.

“I don’t have any idea what I’d be helping you with or what you’d be helping me with? The exchange is done. We did it.”

Paxton shakes his head, his eyes bright like they get when he’s talking about football. “My reputation took a couple of haymakers this fall.”

I know. Mostly deservedly. I don’t say this aloud because it’s been apparent to even me, who doesn’t have many conversations with Paxton, that he’s been stuck in his own pocket of self-deprecation.

“Everyone’s watching every single move I make, waiting for me to fuck up, and Candace is pissed today, but she’ll be back with another ultimatum because we both always come back to each other, and I have to break that cycle. Dating you would change it all.”

I shake my head. “How?”

“Because you’re a good girl.”

“That’s never sounded quite so insulting or boring.”

Paxton’s shoulders round as he drops several inches in height. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I mean, your parents are alumni. Your mom’s a doctor. Your dad owns half of this city, and what he doesn’t own, he built. You’re smart and polite, and people like you. Drama isn’t your shadow, and being mean isn’t your weapon.”

“Everyone’s going to assume it’s fake,” I remind him.

“Bullshit. I would bet there are side bets about which guy on the team you start dating.”

The idea of this being a possibility shocks me more than I care to admit as I begin to wonder who they’d pair me with. “Yeah, but it definitely wouldn’t be you,” I point out. “You’re my best friend’s brother.”

“So? Lincoln’s one of my best friends.”

“Exactly. Which makes the chances for us to have the same circumstances be like point zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, one. It would be