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

blue eyes look black due to the dimmed lights. His gaze doesn’t slip from mine except to make a quick detour to my mouth. I swallow, waiting for him to make the first move. This is how it happens. Always. I wait, he kisses, I kiss him back. But this time, we stare at one another, our gazes dropping to each other’s lips. I’m memorizing the outline of his, the tiny scar that is where a dimple might be on someone else that he got when he was in middle school playing football without a helmet. He’d fallen and hit a rock and had to get three stitches. It had been October, and we called him Frankenface. Now, it’s perfect.

He leans a little closer, his breaths tickling my lips. “You’re going to have to be the first to kiss me once in a while,” he tells me.

I don’t tell him that I’m too nervous or that my mind seems to melt a fuse every time we get this close, and I forget how to kiss for several seconds. He clearly has mercy on me and leans closer, closing the gap and sealing his lips over mine. He has a hand at my waist that makes me feel small as it spans over my hip bone. He raises his other hand and slides it over my jaw, his fingers tangling in my hair, drawing me closer. I smell the forest and a hint of spice as he slants his mouth more fully against mine. God, he smells good. He tastes of peppermint and Burt’s Bees Chapstick, the plain kind that smells like honey. My hands are at his waist, timidly holding onto his granite sides. He kisses me harder, prying at my lips, trying to remind me that I know how to kiss. I inch my head back and try to match his rhythm, lifting my hands and grazing across his abs until I hit the hard lines of his collarbone, where I flatten my fingers and run them over his shoulders, twining my arms around the back of his neck.

He makes a sound, something low and growly in the back of his throat that I feel against my chest as he closes the distance so not even air can pass between us. His tongue grazes my lips, and when I part them, he makes a similar sound, his fingers gently pressing into my skin with quiet approval.

Someone cheers and Paxton kisses me once more, then pulls back but keeps his hands both securely on me, holding me close as I try to regain my breath and senses.

Several people are watching us, smiling, mostly with adoration and a few with contempt when I look around. Pax is a wanted man.

“Way to sell it,” he says, grinning.

A pang hits me in the chest as his smile broadens, and his hands slip from me.

“Let’s go have fun,” he says, twining our hands and turning toward his admirers.

We spend the night mingling, talking to people I don’t know and that Pax later admits he doesn’t either. We laugh and have private conversations that mostly have to do with how this is going so much better than our first party and how much easier this is than we had both expected, and twice more we kiss, both softer and gentler. Silky kisses that are for show and performed at intentional times.

17

Poppy

Wednesday, I arrive at Mario’s, starved and tired. I overslept again, and my hair’s a mess due to the rush and the torrential rain we’re experiencing today. My phone is running on fumes because I forgot to charge it last night, and I stepped in a puddle, so my foot is wet and soggy and uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Pax greets me with a smile, patting the same spot at the same table he chooses each Sunday and Wednesday. His smile fades as I get closer. “Everything okay?”

My breaths come out in a huff. “Fine. Just one of those days.”

“Want a beer?”

I roll my eyes, and he laughs like it’s amusing, and then heads to the counter and places our order with Dominic.

“What happened?” he asks me.

I start to reply with an automatic “nothing,” but before I can mutter the word, my bag slips from my lap. I try to catch it with my feet but end up hitting the stool with my shin instead. I wince and say a prayer for my laptop as I silently curse.

When I open my eyes, Pax is in front of me. He squats and gathers my bag, placing it in the seat beside me, then puts a hand on the back of my seat. “Are you okay?”

“I ran into Maddie today. She’s insisting we go on a double date, and I feel like such a jerk for telling her no.”

Pax looks at me like he’s taking an inventory of my emotions or possibly my features. “We could go if you want. I wouldn’t mind.”

I release a long breath. “I don’t understand my feelings toward Mike.”

Pax cocks his head to one side, staring at me like he’s taking a new inventory of my expression. “Did something change?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, I didn’t have feelings for him before he returned. I was getting over him—was over him.” I think. “And then he moved back, and all these stupid questions have been in my head, and now that we both know we have Modern Political Thought together, he saves a seat for me, and this should be cute, but instead I feel like a floozy meddling with someone’s relationship, and I don’t want that.”

“You have a class together?”

I nod. “Every Wednesday afternoon when I leave here, I see him.”

Pax rights himself and blinks like the information catches him off guard.

Dominic calls his name before either of us can say anything, and Pax goes to retrieve our order. He doesn’t joke or laugh with Dominic like he usually does, taking the food and returning to his seat across from me. “But,