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

burned by her judgment. “I can’t be a conduit. If she doesn’t want to talk to you right now, I’m not going to betray her.”

“I’m not asking you to betray her. I’m asking you to tell me where she is because I need to talk to her.”

She releases a short sigh. “If you hurt her, I will make Rose post that picture of you in those shorts on the front page of the paper.”

“You have my word.” And clearly my pride.

“She went to her parents’ to watch her little brother. He’s got the flu, and they had to leave.”

“I owe you,” I tell her.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m going to make this right.”

“You better,” she calls after me. “I’m texting you the address.”

Poppy

I’ve been flipping through a dozen different movies and shows, struggling to pay attention to anything.

Did I break up with Paxton?

No. Those decisions take words and confirmation.

Right?

I lean back, Mike’s words rolling through my head again like a bowling ball, reminders of how he had moved to Arkansas without hesitation after two years of dating and sharing declarations and secrets that had made our relationship seem nearly impenetrable. Paxton and I have officially been together for less than a week, and even if we were to stay together until June, he’d have to leave soon after graduation.

Sampson paws at me and then drops his head onto my lap, like he can hear the chaos happening in my head.

“What do I do, Sampson? Do I call him? Should I text him?”

I check the time, realizing it’s just past ten.

“Let’s go check on Dylan,” I say, going to grab the thermometer.

He’s still asleep, but his temperature is starting to rise. I check the time again, prepared to set an alarm for his next dose of medicine when a text from Mike catches my attention.

I ignore it. I don’t have the mental capacity to think about Mike or worry about his feelings or opinions. I set my alarm and hit the bottom step when there’s a quiet knock at the door.

I pause, debating who it might be when it’s this late.

There’s another quiet knock that prompts me to answer it. Mike is on the doorstep, hands shoved in his pockets.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“It was fake?” Mike sounds shocked, bewildered, and far too smug.

“What?”

“You and Lawson, it was fake?”

I shake my head, my heart thrumming an uneven beat that makes me feel lightheaded and too warm. “What are you talking about?”

“Candace and Paxton just gave all of Brighton a show. This is what I was talking about, Poppy. Your entire life will be in the public eye if you date him.” His brow lowers. “Or pretend to be dating him. Why in the hell would you pretend to date that guy?”

My phone starts ringing in my pocket, but it barely registers as Mike’s stare bores into me, waiting for an answer that I can’t even answer to myself.

“I knew there was something off about the two of you. Was this all because of me?”

“It wasn’t fake.” I refuse to admit he played a role in the process, much less what it progressed into because, for me, he never had. “You need to go.”

“Poppy. Talk to me.” He says, pulling his hands from his pockets. “If I’d known you weren’t dating him, I would’ve…”

“What? Broken up with Maddie?”

His gaze shifts between my eyes. “We have something. You and me, we have something that is good and honest and real.”

“A past,” I tell him. “We have a past.”

Headlights blind me as someone pulls into the driveway, and the engine cuts. I know it’s neither of my parents because they’d pull forward and park in the garage.

My heart skips and gallops and falls like a baby foal trying to learn to walk as I see his silhouette. I know it’s Pax before the lights along the driveways expose his face.

“You should go,” I tell Mike, my voice quiet.

Pax climbs the porch steps two at a time, his eyes bright and calculating as they land on Mike.

“I’m not leaving,” Mike says.

Pax reaches the porch, his shoulders wide, gaze focused on Mike. He’s so still it’s almost eerie, reminding me of an apex predator that knows he’d come out on the other side of any fight victorious. I take a step, moving between Paxton and Mike. “What are you doing?” I ask.

Paxton looks at me, his eyes a stunning and frightening shade of blue that I recognize, a narrow balance between constraint and unbridled strength that flickers in his gaze when we’re in the bedroom. “What’s he doing here?” His voice is level, contradicting the tightness in his jaw and flexed hands.

“Oh, am I violating the rules?” Mike asks before I can reply, his tone flippant, goading Pax for a fight.

Paxton’s gaze flicks to him, his jaw strained. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Like hell, I’m going to leave her here with you.”

“With me?” Pax moves in one fluid motion, so fast I don’t have time to contend it. “Why don’t you go back to the party where your girlfriend is and get the fuck away from mine.”

Mike leans closer, scoffing. “She’s not your girlfriend. She’s your plaything.”

Pax’s fist curls in Mike’s shirt, tugging him closer while he draws his other hand back.

“Hit me. Go ahead. Hit me. Show her exactly how big of an asshole you are. You want to come over here and plead your case after humiliating her?”

Pax releases Mike with a shove. “You’re a fucking rat. You came running the second you saw an opening.”

“She deserves so much better than you,” Mike spits the words.

Pax flexes again, and for a second, I’m so sure he’s going to hit Mike that I flinch.

“Enough,” I say. “I don’t want to see either one of you.”

Paxton’s gaze veers to me first, moving so that his hips face me, his aggression dropping by several degrees as Mike becomes a second thought. “Please, let me explain. You were right about Candace—"

“I know I was right,”