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

and allow the lyrics to speak for us. Other times the lyrics were about independence and blazing one’s own path. And the rest of the time, I had no idea what they were talking about, though Mike claimed he did.

My heart does something funny as I step farther inside, and his warm brown eyes meet mine. An overwhelming sense of comfort and familiarity washes over me, and it feels like I’m sixteen again. Mike stands and smiles, and I’m pretty sure I am, too, as thoughts of my conversation this morning with Raegan flicker to the forefront of my mind. She’d advised against this meeting, convinced it was a bad idea, and I can’t entirely blame her for thinking so. After all, she sat with me for weeks after my breakup, offering tubs of frosting, Oreos, and babysitting Dylan while I wallowed and grieved.

Mike erases her concerns by wrapping his arms around my back. He smells different, like sandalwood and man. The last time we were this close, he’d smelled like laundry detergent, chocolate, and the orange Starbursts he always kept in his pockets and backpack—like a boy. And under his sweater are the hints of muscles rather than just ribs. “How are you?” He sounds the same. We both pull back, smiling as we search for differences and similarities in one another.

I nod. “I’m really well. How are you?”

“I’m fantastic. It’s great to see you.”

I nod again. “You, too.”

“Do you want something to drink?”

I do, but half a dozen people are already in line, and I don’t want to stand in line. I want to sit down and see how he’s doing and maybe even find out why he wanted to meet, so I shake my head. “I’m fine, thanks.”

He flashes a quick grin and nods to the chair across the table from him. “Gosh, this is so weird. It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever, and at the same time, it feels like it was yesterday.”

I nearly nod again but stop myself. I feel so nervous. “How’s school going?”

He grabs his drink, something pink with lots of whipped cream. “Good. Really good. I actually just transferred back here in September. I was missing the Northwest and my parents and my friends…” He makes eye contact with me, reminding me again of when we allowed songs to speak for us.

I blink. Then blink again. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s trying to break free so it can leap across the table and return to Mike or if it’s trying to pull me away. “Transferred back? Like back back?”

He grins and nods. “Back to Seattle.”

“What school did you transfer to?”

He flashes a smile. “Brighton.”

My heart feels like a jackhammer now. “Wow. That’s crazy.”

“Isn’t it?”

I nod again, lamely. I’m speechless, along with a myriad of other things that make me wish I’d ordered a drink so I could take a sip and distract myself. “That’s great. I bet your family’s happy to have you back home.”

He scoffs. “I think my mom’s a little disappointed. She was in the process of turning my room into a home gym.”

I think of his mom and how she made his favorite butterscotch and oatmeal cookies almost every week and how she catered to his strong dislike of onions. How she offered to drive us on all of our dates junior year before either of us was allowed to drive with another person in the car. “Yeah, right. She’s ecstatic. She was gutted when you chose Arkansas.”

Mike flashes me another grin. “She’s pretty excited.”

I laugh.

“How’s your family?” he asks.

“Good. Dylan started middle school this year.”

“Is he still into Spiderman?”

I shrug. “Only in private. It’s not cool to be publicly devout to Spiderman once you’re a preteen.”

He laughs. “I wish someone had been around to give me that solid advice when I was his age.”

I laugh with him, and it feels good and natural and so comfortable it once again has me thinking of the past and starting to question what would have happened if Mike hadn’t moved. The thoughts aren’t foreign. Over the past year and a half, I’ve wondered what things would be like if he’d stayed. Would we still be dating? Would we have found an apartment together? These questions have popped up more frequently over the past several months—a direct consequence of my best friend falling for and dating one of Brighton’s starting wide receivers, Lincoln Beckett, AKA, The President.

“How are your classes going?”

His eyes shine as though he appreciates that I’m asking for details. It has me sitting back in my chair and instinctively crossing my arms over my chest.

He’s been here for nearly two months and is just now reaching out?

Why now?

What does any of this mean?

“You were right about Brighton. It’s pretty damn great.”

I think of the conversations we had while we were applying to colleges, and how I’d tried to convince him to go to Brighton with us. All along, I’d assumed we’d be going to the same school, but Mike wanted to move and escape the northwest. Slowly, silently, a mutual acceptance crept over us like the change in the seasons, then he kissed me and told me we’d always be friends.

“And…” His attention lifts, and his smile widens before he stands. I turn to look at what’s caught his attention and see a girl with strawberry blonde hair and cerulean blue eyes grin as she approaches us, stopping at Mike’s side. She kisses his cheek as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Poppy, this is my girlfriend, Maddie. Maddie, this is Poppy.”

The news hits me like a blast of cold air, shocking and leaving a trail of goosebumps across my flesh. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say as I meet her hand in the middle of the table and shake it. All of the puzzle pieces shared between us scatter as the introduction runs through my head again and again.

Maddie flashes a smile. “It’s so nice