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

a tired smile. It reminds me of the same look my mom gave us when she got home from work, and I told her I was starving and had practice in thirty minutes and needed my jersey washed—exhausted and burned out. “How can I help you, both?”

“Her furnace doesn't seem to be working,” I tell her.

The woman at the front desk frowns. “Unfortunately, there seems to be an issue that’s impacting the entire hotel. We’re working on getting it resolved as quickly as possible. In the meantime, if you guys need extra blankets, we have them available, for no charge, of course.”

I glance at Poppy already bundled in two coats, her objection visible as she looks at me. “We’ll go grab some dinner, and I’m sure it will be fixed by the time we get back,” I assure her.

“Paxton!” Hoyt yells from outside the sliding doors. “I hope you guys aren’t planning to go anywhere. There are no rides, man.”

“There’s just a lot of you,” the woman at the front desk says. “This happens whenever a team travels here for a game. And from what I’ve heard, half of Seattle followed you guys here.”

I turn to Poppy. “How do you feel about ordering in?”

“Paxton!” another guy on the team calls. “You guys want to walk with us? It’s only a couple of miles.”

Poppy nods. “Ordering in sounds great.” She turns to the front desk attendant and thanks her before turning back toward the elevator.

“Stairs,” I tell her, placing my hand on her lower back and directing her toward the exit sign.

“Is it always this crazy?” she asks as we step through the door, the lobby falling to a quiet murmur behind the steel barrier.

I shake my head. “Not always.”

“It’s kind of weird … seeing you like this, I mean.”

“Like what?”

“Like a celebrity,” she says. “I mean, people are always excited to see you and recognize you, but that was…”

I glance at her to try and read her thoughts, wondering if she’s going to say it was overwhelming, terrifying, or something worse, but instead, she looks almost thoughtful. “It’s not always like this,” I tell her.

“But it will get more intense. Once you’re drafted, I mean. You’ll be recognized everywhere you go.”

“You’ve been talking to Arlo too much. There are millions of people who don’t watch football, and even many who do who couldn’t tell you what most players look like.”

“Yeah, but you’ll likely receive endorsements and be on commercials and sports shows and newspapers because you’re…” She waves a hand at me.

“Because I’m what?”

“Every time they do interviews, you’re their first choice because you’re one of the best quarterbacks in the league, and you’re not hard to look at.”

We still have two flights of stairs, but I stop and drop my head back to laugh at her backhanded compliment. “You mean I don’t scar your retinas every time you look at me?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a little, but it’s tolerable.”

I laugh again. “Spare me the knowledge of how you feel about kissing me.”

“It depends on which kiss,” she says, continuing up the stairs, her voice carrying a lilt that reveals she’s teasing.

“Only that first one was bad,” I say, continuing after her.

“But it was really bad.”

“It wasn’t that awful.”

“You knocked me over and caught me with your mouth,” she says, turning to look at me over her shoulder.

“Want to try it again?” I ask.

She laughs harder. “You think I’m kidding.”

“You think I’m kidding,” I say.

“Do all girls fall for your charm?” she asks.

“Some of them need a little shove,” I say, gently pushing my elbow against her. “But then I catch them with my lips.” She cuts her gaze back to me, and I wink.

She quietly laughs in response, allowing me to catch up with her as she pauses at the next landing. “It’s still weird as shit to me, too,” I tell her.

“Which part?”

“The recognition. Only the team knows it, but I still get sick before every game because it doesn’t seem real. I keep waiting for the game when my team isn’t there to make me look good … when we have to face a defensive middle linebacker who's as good and strong as Ian…” I shrug. “It still seems kind of surreal to me that I get to play football, and people want to watch me play. It’s always been my dream to play for the Seahawks, and the closer we get to graduation, and the more I realize dreams don’t dictate reality—they’re not premonitions or guarantees—the harder it gets not to find a bottle and someone who just wants to have a good time so I can mute those worries and continue living in this fantasy where people want my autograph and my picture because it makes that dream seem more real.”

“I can’t imagine the pressure you feel. When Rose wrote that story about how many hours you guys devote to practice every week and how many athletes have to change classes and majors to accommodate the sport, it was really eye-opening. I mean, I know from you and Lincoln that you guys are constantly having to work out and practice, but these past several weeks really put it into perspective for me. I think anyone would feel overwhelmed about the situation. You’ve poured years of your life into this sport. But, Pax…” She says my name with a smile, pausing as she sorts through her words. “I wish you saw yourself the way everyone else does. I’ve watched years of football, countless games, and I know you’re the total package. The way your team looks up to you and responds to you…” She shakes her head. “It’s like you step onto the field, and everything changes—I can feel it from in the stands and through the TV when it’s an away game. Everyone just seems to take a breath of relief, and your teammates feel more confident, the defense feels uneasy. The tempo and direction of the entire game switch like that.” She snaps her fingers.