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

Lincoln looks like the cat who swallowed the canary as he leans back in his chair, his full attention on Rae.

“I didn’t say all athletes,” Paxton says.

“Yes, you did,” Raegan and I say at the same time.

“So many times,” she says.

“So many times.” I echo.

“It was still solid advice,” he says. “We’re exceptions.”

Raegan and I laugh, though he’s kind of right. After dating—or whatever—Chase last year, athletes left a bad taste in my mouth, and I wasn’t about to repeat the same mistake. Yet, here I am, in an entirely different scenario, feeling a world apart from the feelings I experienced last year.

“How is it already ten?” Raegan asks.

I gather my garbage. “I should go. I need to go get more blankets before they’re out. It’s already starting to get cold.”

“You know what they say is the best way to stay warm?” Lincoln asks, glancing at Raegan with intention and playfulness shining in his eyes.

“That’s my cue to leave,” I say, standing. “Want me to take the garbage and dump it in the trash by the elevator so your room doesn’t smell like shrimp scampi and alfredo?” I ask.

“Please,” Rae says, standing and helping me gather the remaining garbage and shoving it all back into the bag it had arrived in.

“I should get going too,” Pax says. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He grabs the bag of trash, then collects his phone and heads to the door while I put my coat back on.

“I’ll text you in the morning. Depending on what the ride situation is, maybe we can go grab breakfast? We’ll probably want to head to the stadium early,” Raegan says as she wraps an arm around Lincoln’s waist and tucks in close to him.

I nod. “Sounds good.”

The door closes behind Pax and me, and that spark of desire that I’ve been trying to ignore for the past several hours flares as Paxton takes my hand and threads our fingers together.

“Sorry our dinner didn’t work out.”

I shrug. “I had fun tonight.”

He grins. “Me too.”

The elevator doors slide open, and we step inside, our hands parting as I reach forward to hit the lobby button. We ride down in silence, a million thoughts and questions bouncing around in my head. Ones about what happens next and if there is, in fact, a next.

We head to the front desk, where a line of people are already gathered.

“I can’t believe this,” a man in front of us grumbles. “It’s winter. How can their furnace be broken? It's freezing.” He throws his hands in the air. “And they ran out of extra blankets.”

Pax winces and nods for me to follow him back toward the elevators.

“How cold do you think it’s going to get?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Let’s stop by my room. We can take my bedding and bring it up to yours.”

That throb between my legs returns with a vengeance, and my breaths spike at the idea of Paxton spending the night with me—in one bed.

We ride up to the second floor and follow the labyrinth of hallways to a door where Pax stops and enters his key. He flips on the lights and wastes no time clearing the bedding, gathering it in his arms. He grabs his duffle and makes his way back to me as my thoughts churn with ideas of what will happen—might happen.

The ride back up to the fourth floor is too fast, my nerves making my palms sweat. I unlock the door when we get to my room, and Pax follows me inside. It feels ten degrees colder than when we’d left.

“It’s going to be cold tonight,” he says.

I nod, waiting for a sign or a look or for something that confirms he doesn’t regret the line that we crossed and that he’s here for the same reason I’m hoping he’s here—because he wants me just as badly as I want him.

Paxton drops his bag and spreads his bedding over top of mine. The mismatched size makes it so the comforter barely covers the top of the king mattress. “Do you like him?”

His question jolts and shocks me, turning me from thoughts of my bed to a foreign space and time. “Who?” I ask.

Pax glances at me, indecision and doubt creasing his brow. “Mike.”

Surprise is likely evident on my face because I hadn’t even thought that was the direction this conversation was heading. I haven’t thought about Mike, and to be fully honest, I rarely think about him except for when I’m around him, and the past sneaks up on me, or when he’s brought up in conversation, like today while Raegan and I had lunch.

“I mean, it’s not really any of my business, but I think what happened earlier was real, and I just want to make sure I wasn’t misreading the situation after your talk of rules and getting caught up in the moment and whatever in the hell that was. If I’m—”

“No.” I shake my head. “You weren’t misreading the situation,” I tell him. “I don’t know what is happening between us or if it makes sense, but you didn’t misread anything.”

Paxton stares at me, and I realize I never answered his question. “I don’t know how to answer your question without sounding like I care about him, so I need you to try and avoid forming an opinion until I get through this,” I tell Pax. “Mike was the first guy that I really liked—the first guy who really liked me. It was simple with him, and I don’t mean that to devalue our relationship, I mean it quite the opposite. We had similar morals and values and a similar sense of humor that made being together easy … or seemed so. The thing is, memories are kind of strange. They’re basically lies, which is really disconcerting and terrifying, but our memories aren’t cameras or videotapes like they often feel like. We remember salient aspects—things we deem are important—or things that feel important