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

places his hands on his hips. “We should probably go. I’ve got to get some sleep for tomorrow’s game.”

I nod. “Good idea. Rae would stop talking to me for a week if she knew you were here and I let you stay.”

“In that case, do you want me to take a picture so you don’t have to deal with her for a full seven days?” He reaches for his pocket like he’s going to withdraw his phone.

I scoff. “Let’s go.” I search for a trash can for the cup I never filled. Pax reads my thoughts and places it at the top of the stack.

“You just ruined my theory for taking the second cup,” I tell him.

“You have a theory?”

“Had,” I clarify.

“I should probably let you in on a secret,” he leans closer, the subtle hint of his cologne hitting my nose. “The cups are knocked over all of the time. People just restack them.”

I frown, knowing he’s right but preferring to live in this fictitious cave a little longer.

“And to really shock you, I know plenty of people who rinse the cups with the hose and reuse them for each party because their cheap asses don’t want to buy new ones.”

I cringe. “A garden hose?”

“It would take a long time with the sink. Plus, they can dry in the sun.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re the cheap ass.”

He laughs. “Think about it, it’s a win-win. I create less garbage, and I save money.”

“I’m never drinking out of another cup at your house.”

“Only the party cups.” He winks.

“That is so disgusting.”

He shrugs. “Alcohol cleans everything, right?”

“So I’ve heard.”

I walk beside Paxton through the small house, relieved the night was brief. I’m not entirely sure I actually like college parties, but tonight promised to be strange, and boy did it deliver.

Outside, the air is cool against my skin, and everything smells wet. I love that smell. Many people don’t like the Pacific Northwest because of how much it rains, but I find it comforting. There’s something cleansing and hopeful about the rain, and I love the fact that it allows everything to be so green and beautiful. My grandparents on my mom’s side retired to Florida, and my parents sent Dylan and me there one summer. It rained and stormed nearly every day and created hordes of mosquitoes and humidity so thick it was hard to breathe even while in their neighborhood pool—that summer nearly destroyed my relationship with the rain.

“What in the actual fuck?”

The words have Paxton stopping, which triggers me to stop and turn around as well. Candace is clomping down the stairs in a pair of platform heels and a mini skirt that distracts me for a couple of seconds because it’s super cute. I nearly miss the death glare she’s aimed at my head that makes me feel the innate need to duck.

Pax must sense it, too, because he takes a sideways step so that he’s in front of me like a shield. “We’re leaving.”

“You followed me here, and you’re making out with your kid sister’s friend? Is she even potty trained? God, you’re so childish, Paxton. I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”

Potty trained? My face puckers with her insult.

“Childish was you tagging me on your social media while kissing fuckface. Childish was burning my fucking clothes. Childish was throwing my computer out the window when you got jealous of my older sister. Don’t talk to me about being childish.”

Suddenly the insult being slung at me seems insignificant in comparison to his laundry list.

“You ignored me,” she fires back. “You acted like the past three years meant nothing to you.”

He shakes his head. “No. You did that. You’ve been doing that. Every time you pick a fight with a girl at a party or you hang up on me or try to make me jealous, that’s you not giving a shit.”

Candace’s gaze shifts to meet mine. “Enjoy my leftovers.” She turns on her heel and heads back inside.

“She burned your clothes?”

Pax runs his hand through his hair as he looks at me, defeat rounding his shoulders. “If you start telling me why I should have broken up with her long ago or how you knew this would happen, I don’t want to hear it.”

I shake my head. “I just didn’t know. That seems a little … extreme.”

He expels a long breath. “I don’t know how I got so sucked into it all,” he says. “How did I lose sight of the game and everything I’ve worked for? I’m so damn close to the finish line and...” He releases a sound that is something between a growl and a yell that expresses his frustration. “I don’t give a shit about her or this stupid party.”

“You care,” I tell him. “You’ve always cared. Not just about her, but you care about people in general, and that’s a good thing. Don’t let someone make you believe it’s a weakness.”

His eyes are dark and shaded from the night, shining off the chalk-white moon that is half cloaked with clouds tonight. “I’m sorry I dragged you out here. I’m sorry I involved you in this.”

I shake my head. “I’m not. Honestly, I needed a little adventure.” I lean my head to one side. “I probably could have passed on the insult, but that was surprisingly tame. Usually, girls insult each other by slut-shaming, or making fun of their weight, or the way they look, or if they really want to go for the jugular, they go after your relationship status.”

“Girls can be brutal.”

“This is true. My mom did an entire podcast series on the topic.”

“On women being mean to each other?”

I nod. “But that’s beside the point. We can talk about how a woman’s worth was equated to her looks and ability to bear children another day. My point is that we can do this,” I tell him. “We can totally do this, but it has to be more than just fake dating and trying to get back at Candace or