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

motivated. I feel happy. When I’m around her, it’s like bullshit just doesn’t matter. This thing between us started to prove to everyone else that I was good enough, and somewhere over a short period, that motivation became about being good enough for her.”

He nods. “Poppy’s a really good person. You know this. She’s not going to burn your shit or stalk you in the middle of the night. But, she’s also not going to give you fifty chances if you fuck up. So, you just have to be aware and don’t do anything stupid.”

“You mean like let her go on a date with Derek Paulson?” I ask. The insinuation is a jab because last year, Rae went out with Paulson while she and Lincoln were still struggling to figure out their feelings toward each other. Lincoln flips me off, making me chuckle. “I still kind of hate you for dating my little sister.”

This makes him grin. “Says the guy who’s dating his sister’s best friend.”

Laughter peels out of me. “To be fair, Rae threatened me.”

“I’m sure she did.”

“Have you guys talked about next year?” I ask him as my thoughts shuffle to him and my sister.

His smile vanishes, the question sobering him instantly. “I have no fucking idea what’s going to happen next year. I know we don’t really talk about this because she’s your sister, but I don’t know how I’m going to be able to handle being away from her if I get drafted to another state. She’s my air—my sanity. I don’t know that I can lose that—lose her.”

I shake my head as his fears lodge new ones into my thoughts that have this thing with Poppy ending before it’s able to begin. “You won’t. As much as I like to give you a hard time, I know she feels the same way toward you. You guys won’t let anything happen.”

28

Paxton

I wake up, disoriented. The bed is warm, the sheets soft too comfortable and plush. I look at the minimal pictures hanging in thick wooden frames on the white wall, and instantly regain my balance. Beside me, Poppy releases a quiet breath in her sleep. She’s lying on her side, the straps of her tank top visible. I grab my cell phone to see what time it is. Four forty-five—the same time I’ve woken up throughout my college career. I have an hour before I need to be at the gym.

“You’re moving a lot,” Poppy mumbles.

“We’re going to have to practice making you a harder sleeper,” I tell her, rolling so my chest lies flush against her back.

“It’s impossible,” she says, shifting so I can slip my arm under her neck and tag her around the waist.

“Ear Plugs?”

“How will I wake up if a psycho killer breaks into our apartment?” she asks, nuzzling against my arm.

I smirk, my lips pressed to her warm neck. “Valid point.”

“I think so,” she says, backing up against me a little farther, bringing her ass against my erection. Need travels through me like a hit, one that I try to ignore since she just confessed to being tired. “When do you have to go?” she asks.

“About thirty minutes.”

She hums her understanding and then pushes more firmly against my erection. I groan, my hips flexing with a gentle thrust.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” I ask, skimming the shell of her ear with my lips.

She hums again in response and trails her fingers gently over my forearm that’s wrapped around her waist. Last night, we stayed up too late, watching a movie with Rae and Lincoln. Poppy had fallen asleep on the couch, and I didn’t have the heart to wake her up, so I carried her back to bed sans naked time. “Think we have time?” Her voice is soft, curious.

“Time for what?”

“You know what.”

I grin, moving my hand up to graze over her breast. “I still like hearing you say it.”

“It’s weird,” she admits. “You sound sexy and hot. I sound like I’m reading an anatomy book written in the seventies.”

I chuckle, finding her nipple and stroking the surface. “It’s sexy,” I insist. “Hearing that you want me to touch you, that you want me to fuck you…” A low growl hits the back of my throat. “It’s ridiculously fucking sexy.”

“I like when you play with my nipples,” she says.

I groan, stroking harder over the stiffened peak.

She rolls, facing me, and grabs me through my underwear. “I really liked what you did the other night at your house.”

I kiss her gently, trying to slow my breaths as her grip tightens and she slides her hand up and down my cock. “What part?”

“When I was on my knees on your bed.”

I slide my hand down her pajama pants and underwear, drawing my fingers over her folds, discovering her wet and hot. “You liked being fingered from behind?”

She gasps and moves her hand faster. “That too. But I meant when you were…” She gasps as I slip a finger into her.

“Fucking you,” I say, drawing my finger out and adding a second. She moans, her eyes closing and lips parting with a blissful expression that is so damn perfect. Her eyes slowly open, lust lighting her gaze. She’s turned on by the words. “Say it.” I twist my fingers, changing the direction and pressure.

I pump in and out of her several times and then add my thumb to her clit, and she sighs my name and closes her eyes again.

“What was I doing to you?” I ask, finding the spot that makes her body quiver. Her cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink and she opens her eyes, desperation and pleasure begging me to continue.

“When you were fucking me,” she says boldly. “While you were still touching me.” She gasps again. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, releasing me and placing her hand on my arm as though to keep me there.

I have no intention of moving. If she’s right and our memories are as bad as she’s claimed, I want to