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

“I don’t even know that much about football, I mean probably more than I realize as a product of…” Her words begin to fade, and I step closer to her, causing her to tilt her head back to look at me.

“You might be the only person who sees me like that.” And it’s fucking intoxicating. I know it’s my ego and pride who start the trip back to those thoughts of dark spaces and torn-off clothing, but the rest of my thoughts and intentions quickly follow.

Poppy’s eyes are wide, searching mine, exposing her nerves, though she doesn’t attempt to move or continue up the stairs. I try to be patient and allow her to weigh the decision, knowing I’ve already written between the margins and scribbled across the blank spaces in the rules we wrote. She deserves this time to make a decision that isn’t dictated by my actions. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who doesn’t see yourself this way. It’s why everyone’s so worried about you. You’ve worked so hard, and you’re so close to getting what you’ve always wanted, and we don’t want to see you lose it.” She places a hand against my shoulder and slowly lowers it several inches, stopping over my heart. “If anyone deserves to have their dreams met, it’s you.” Her touch feels like fire against my skin, burning through my shirt and making every inch of me burn with desire and want. Then her gaze lowers to my mouth, her eyes hooded with lust that makes me feel a hit of relief and a much larger dose of desire.

“Poppy, if you don’t want me to kiss you, you need to start walking or tell me this is just part of the act or something because I’m using every ounce of my strength to keep myself from kissing you right now.”

She swallows, maintaining her close distance, her eyes so familiar, yet her expression is new—a look of longing that consumes me until all I can think about is feeling her, kissing, her, consuming her. She leans forward, her fingers balling in my shirt, and it’s all I need to know before my mouth crashes against hers. We’re all hands and lips as we work to translate weeks—potentially years—of attraction into this single kiss that feels more significant than any football game I’ve ever played. My senses are dialed to an eleven as her perfume dances across my nose, and the heat of her lips pushes and demands more from me. A dare or a challenge—I’m not sure, but I’ve never wanted to succeed at something more than this question she’s asking in the way of a kiss. I place my hand on her waist and pull her against me, meeting the plush layers of her coats that tickle the bottom of my chin. I bury my smile because I’m not about to let this moment fade into laughter. I want to kiss her until she’s as drunk and desperate for me as I am her, until she doesn’t remember what it feels like to be kissed by anyone but me.

Our kiss becomes less frantic as I slant my mouth over hers, memorizing and exploring her lips like it’s the first time we’ve kissed. I taste her with my tongue, and she leans her head back and parts her lips as she releases a quiet moan that has my cock hardening as I become instantly addicted to the sound. I kiss her again, losing that sense of control I’d just managed to gain. I invade her mouth, desperate to hear her moan again. I kiss her like a starved man eating his first meal, with the enthusiasm of a child seeing his first snow, and with the same desire of a boy trying to be a man and carry the dreams of his team on his shoulders.

Poppy reaches her arms around the back of my neck, pulling me closer, feeling that same yearning and intoxication that is swallowing me. I gently nip at her bottom lip and then stroke my tongue against hers as I reach beneath the layers of her coats, finding her bare flesh with my fingers. She grants me a moan, her lips pressing against mine with the same franticness as she leans more firmly against me. I skate my fingers higher, feeling her hot skin against my palm as my fingers graze against her ribs. She gasps as her hands constrict around the back of my neck, and she kisses me harder, her tongue warring with mine. I trace the underside of her bra, and Poppy releases another moan as her body softens at my touch.

“Pax,” she whispers my name, and it’s like a shot of adrenaline—blinding and consuming.

I think of all the reasons I’ve been clinging to for why this line shouldn’t be crossed, that she’s Rae’s best friend, and my friend, and that I’m not stable enough to take care of myself, much less someone else, and then those large green eyes meet mine, and I forget about every viable excuse.

The door beside us crashes open, swinging so hard, I have to lift my arm before it hits us.

“My bad,” Billy, my teammate says, wincing as he realizes it’s me, and more importantly, what he’s just interrupted.

“You’re going to hate me, but Coach is looking for you. I might be able to buy you five minutes,” he says.

“I thought we were done for the night?” I ask.

Billy shrugs, throwing both hands up. “All I know is the team’s looking for you.”

Check-in. So much for a lack of babysitters.

“Tell him I’ll be right up.”

Billy nods and ducks back into the hallway, his eyes never moving to Poppy. It’s a matter of respect, one that I have no doubt she’s misreading as she straightens her coat and tucks her hands into her pockets.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, without even realizing what all I’m apologizing for—kissing her, trying to cross the next boundary with her, the fact I