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

“She’s too nice to tell you the truth.”

“Was she too nice to tell you no when you made this idiot proposal?” he asks, spearing his eggs.

“Think about this. I know Candace is my weakness, and right now, to be completely honest, I want to have another drink, and the only thing keeping me from that is football. I need another reason to keep on this path of sobriety and avoiding Candace.”

“You know Candace will lay her claws into Poppy, and Poppy is no match for Candace. She’ll be shredded.”

I shake my head. “I won’t let that happen.”

“No offense, man, but you’ve seen what she’s led you to do, right? How did you get in this position?”

I clench my jaw and take my plate to the table, where I set it down before grabbing a couple of coffee mugs.

“How long?”

“What?” I ask, carrying the filled mugs back to the table.

“How long are you going to pretend to be dating?”

I consider how long it might take for Coach Baker to stop looking at me like a ticking time bomb, for my teammates to stop making cracks about my drinking, and when the addiction Candace and I both have that has kept us together will wear off. “I don’t know.”

“Who are you going to tell?”

“Poppy already told Rae, so I figured you’d find out sooner or later, but you and maybe Caleb?”

“You’re serious about this?”

“Dead serious.”

Lincoln takes another bite of egg. “I hope you come out of this on the other side.”

The locker room feels like a refrigerator this morning after hitting the gym and lifting weights. The furnace isn’t working along with an entire bank of lights, making the space seem even colder. I lace up my red cleats, already dressed for practice.

“November, baby! We made it,” Arlo says, dropping his bag beside me on the bench.

“You’re late,” I tell him.

“I’m early,” he counters. “We’ve got sixteen minutes before practice.”

Most of the team is already here. Tardiness is one thing that Coach Harris loathes and won’t accept from any of his players.

“Did you get Icy Hot on your nutsack again?” Arlo asks as he pulls on his practice jersey.

I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”

A smirk consumes his features. “Let me guess, more Candace drama? Lay it on me. I’ll help you sort shit out.”

“You’re about to have your own drama. I saw that sweater getup you wore in Olivia’s family portrait. You know that picture’s going to be shared and blown up, right?”

“I owned that sweater. I made it look good.”

I laugh, grateful for the distraction that keeps me from watching for Derek Paulson. The asshole transferred here last year as a junior and tried dating Raegan for the first half of the year. It was his stupid ass that caused the accident that nearly cost my sister’s life and his stupid ass who Candace is trying to use to piss me off. She knows our history. I held nothing back when I bitched about how Derek was out for himself and wasn’t a team player, how he attempted to sabotage others, and weakened our team’s morale and comradery. Candace knew exactly what she was doing when she made out with him and then tagged me to ensure I’d see it. “It had a Christmas tree on the front.”

Arlo nods. “We should throw a Christmas party at the house. I’ll wear it again with my Beast mask.” He flashes a smile to show he’s not bullshitting. “Where’s The President?”

“Getting his ankles taped.”

Arlo nods as he slips on his knee brace. “I heard some scouts are going to be at Saturday’s game.”

This catches my attention like a fly trap. “Who?”

“Coach mentioned the Seahawks, and he thinks someone from the Chargers might come as well, and maybe the Falcons.”

While I would be insanely proud to play for any team in the league, it’s always been my dream to play for the Seahawks. I grew up obsessed with the team and knew their plays, and coaches, and roster like it was my responsibility to know every detail. My childhood bedroom was wallpapered in memorabilia, and my Christmas lists used to be composed of Seahawks jerseys, trading cards, and more memorabilia.

“Their quarterback is retiring soon. This year or next year,” Arlo tells me like I don’t already know. “Big game.” He says while finishing getting dressed. This is the understatement of the decade. We’re playing Cal State this weekend, and their quarterback, Pike, is getting a ton of attention for being quick and accurate on the release.

“You’re almost late!” Bobby yells, drawing my attention to the doorway leading into the locker room where Derek has his gym bag slung over his chest, heavy bags under his eyes from a lack of sleep, and his hair greasy.

He grins, his gaze sliding to me. “I had a long night. A girl found me who hadn’t been pleased in a long time.”

“Why’s he looking at you while he’s saying this? Is he giving you bedroom eyes?” Arlo asks.

“Because he hooked up with Candace last night,” I quietly admit.

Arlo barely hides his surprise. “Should I hold you back?”

I quirk an eyebrow.

“I mean, are you pissed off about this? Or I could do it just for show.” He discreetly cuts his attention to Derek. “He’s trying to piss you off, so we might as well give him a show. I bet he’d piss his pants.”

I grin. “He’s not worth it. Neither is she.”

Arlo grips my shoulder. “You’re so right. Maybe we can talk Ian into plowing him over on the field just for good measure.”

“Let’s go,” I say, heading toward the tunnel that leads out onto the field.

“My nipples could cut glass,” Arlo says, rubbing his hands over his arms. “Doesn’t Brighton make enough money to fix the furnace?”

“Let’s be glad it’s not our house. I’ll take the locker room furnace being out any day.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Arlo warns. “Besides, I don’t know if you’ll be feeling the same way once it’s time to hit the showers. I’ll