Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone Page 14

  Poppy looks back at me. “This is the best theater. You can watch a double feature with a tub of popcorn and a pop for eight bucks. Plus, no one comes, so you have the entire theater to yourself. And bonus, there’s a really good Thai restaurant around the corner.”

  I want to circle back and joke about how no one comes and why when I see Lincoln and Rae. “We’re definitely at the right spot,” I tell Poppy, nodding at the two.

  “It looks like they’re looking for the clue still.” She peers around the darkened lobby. “Popcorn!” she whispers quietly. “I bet they haven’t checked the concessions.”

  “Poppy!” Rae sounds excited and relieved to see us. “I don’t think it’s here.”

  Poppy slows and switches directions. “It has to be. We’ve been coming here since we were ten.”

  “I had to list like a hundred places,” Rae tells her. “I’m trying to recall if there were any other questions that I would have filled out a movie theater for.”

  Poppy grins as her gaze drifts to the concession counter where we’d been headed. Lincoln notices as well. “We’ll call it a tie,” Poppy says, but Lincoln and I are already racing toward the counter where I see Rae’s cardboard face, chased by the girls’ laughter.

  “Come on!” I say, grabbing for my phone and shoving Lincoln out of the way. Poppy is giggling as she reaches my side, and I tug her closer, my arm tight around her waist as I snap a picture of us.

  A guy behind the counter hands us a small cup of popcorn while Poppy reads the directions. “I have to throw it, and you have to catch a piece in your mouth.”

  Rae and Lincoln are already taking the same picture, eating into our time.

  “Do it,” I tell her. “Try to get some arc on it.”

  She tosses the first piece and nails me with it in the crotch.

  Her laughter grows.

  “Come on. We’ve got this. Focus.”

  She’s in stitches as she tosses the second piece that I have to drop to my knees to catch.

  “Too bad you didn’t take a picture,” Rae taunts us as she gets her camera ready.

  Poppy straightens, her face turning serious as she fishes her phone from her purse and sets the cup of popcorn down. She reaches for a handful and throws all of it at me. I try to focus on a single kernel and barely manage to capture it with my lips as the others nail my face and chest.

  Poppy is giggling as she lifts her arms in the air with a victorious pose. “Champions!”

  14

  Poppy

  Today marks the third day in a row that I’m going to be seeing Paxton. After the scavenger hunt, we had gone to dinner at Rae’s favorite Italian restaurant, a change from the Mexican restaurant we usually celebrate at, but Lincoln said they had plans to go there on Sunday with Rae’s mom and grandparents. Lincoln had rented out the Italian restaurant, and the chef prepared a menu especially for our party. The food was lick-your-plate delicious, and the bread and butter were even better. Whipped herbed butter is amazing, and I’d wanted to slather it on everything I ate, except for the tiramisu cake that was presented for dessert.

  The night had stretched on, and the following day we went to the football game and then another bonfire. Our rules or possibly our short routine made the night better than the week before. I didn’t spend the evening waiting for Paxton to show up or second-guessing the situation, which felt like a small win.

  “Hey,” Pax says from a table made to seat four, his laptop and a pile of books out. “Want some pizza?” he asks as I take a seat across from him. It’s Sunday, our first designated study date.

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  He chuckles. “Want some garlic knots, too?”

  “Only if you want me to stay.”

  He rewards me with another smile and pairs it with a long stare that feels like a challenge. I want to blame my competitive nature for meeting his gaze, but I’m not entirely sure if it’s that or because there’s a sense of familiarity that’s growing between us that I think we’re both trying to identify if it’s been there all along or if it’s new. It kind of feels like both.

  Something passes between us, a thought or maybe a secret. It’s personal and intimate and too much. I throw the white flag and look away, grabbing for my bag, but I feel the stitch in our tapestry it leaves behind.

  “I have to say, I’m a little surprised you haven’t declared your major yet,” Pax says.

  “Why is that?”

  His shoulders roll in what I think is supposed to be a shrug, but it’s so casual that it’s uniquely a Paxton gesture. “You’ve always been so good at school and have always had such a level head. It just doesn’t fit the picture.”

  “What picture?”

  Before he can answer, Dominic, the same employee who was here last week, calls out to Pax that our order is ready.

  “You ordered?”

  “I didn’t know how much time you had. It seemed like the safer bet.” He heads to the counter to grab our order and returns with a tray filled with garlic knots and slices of pizza. He sets his elbows on the table but doesn’t lean forward or flash a smile or even a grin. “You like plans. You like lists. You’re dependable and hate to leave a list unfinished, which is why I’d bet twenty bucks you still have the scavenger hunt list in your purse so you can guess where the other spots are.”

  “It’s not in my purse,” I tell him.

  He stares at me, doubt turning his head.

  “It’s in my glove box,” I mutter.

  He smiles, and it’s easy and relaxed and genuine, making me strangely grateful to be here rather than trying to find a show to binge-watch by myself.

  “I don’t know what I want to do for the rest of my life,” I tell him. “It feels like a huge and important question, and I don’t have this burning passion for doing a specific thing. I mean, I know too much about dinosaurs, the construction process, and psychology. That’s what I’ve been exposed to, and that’s what I know. I kept thinking I’d have this moment like Rae describes where her life seemingly changed and she knew what she wanted to do, but that moment has not happened.”

  “Dinosaurs?”

  “My little brother was obsessed.”

  He nods once. “You always did well in school, though.” He adds the right amount of inflection to reveal he’s not entirely confident about this statement.

  “I did well in school, but my top classes were English and debate.”

  “You had a debate class?”

  “And I was awesome.”

  Paxton laughs, his gaze still on me. He gives a level of attentiveness that is borderline addictive. So often, with Chase, he would only pay attention if we were talking about him or rugby or a sexual innuendo. With Pax, I get his full attention all of the time.

  The chime on the door rings, fracturing the moment. A group of girls recognizes him and approach our table without hesitation, greeting him with smiles and giggles. They’re young, maybe fifteen, yet completely defenseless to Paxton’s good looks.

  I read over the same paragraph in my textbook three times, paying entirely too much attention to how the girls react to Pax. It’s innocent and awkward and makes me think of a great YA novel and of being the same age and going to watch Paxton at his games and practices over the years.

  They leave only long enough to place their order, then wander back and ask for autographs and pictures, which Pax agrees to with a smile. They stick around while waiting for their food, adding to my amusement as they try to make small talk with him. Pax talks with them, answering questions about football and school. He talks to them like they’re his equals like he speaks with me, and Rae, and his teammates—everyone, except for his dad, now. When their pizza slices are ready, Pax thanks them for their time, gracious and so damn Paxton-like.

  “Want something to drink?” he asks, turning his full attention to me again.

  I shake my head and take a bite of my cheese and olive pizza.

  He points at my textbook. “If you like
to debate so well, you could consider going into law. Lawyers love to debate, ask Lincoln.”

  My nose crinkles. “Yeah, but look at Lincoln’s dad. Six wives later, I think we can agree he’s married to his career.”

  Pax grins. “You could get a business degree like I am. That way, you get exposed to the full gamut and can decide later.”

  I nod. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “That response sounded painful. You have no idea what you want to do?”

  “Sometimes, I think I want to be a teacher.”

  His face brightens. “You’d make a great teacher.”

  “But what if I hate it? What if I get a terrible kid in my class who always talks back. Or the class clown? What if they all think I’m boring and stuffy?”

  “What if you inspire some kid to be the next president? Or to want to come to school? What if you give some kid hope? Or teach them something badass about dinosaurs? By the way, I need more information about dinosaurs. Are we talking about how big they were? Their names? What kind of random facts are stuffed into this head?” He reaches forward and gently taps the top of my head.

  I try to offer a smile. “Random stuff that will never help me in life.”

  He laughs. “Lies. Educate me.”

  “Did you know the word dinosaur is Greek, and it means terrible lizard?”

  “Lizard?”

  I nod. “It’s weird to think about it now, but people didn’t know dinosaurs existed until the late eighteen hundreds, around the same time we discovered electricity, just to put that into perspective. The very first dinosaur fossil was found a couple of hundred years earlier by a man named Robert Plot who thought it belonged to a giant human, but later in eighteen twenty-two a woman named Mary Ann Mantel and her husband found some dinosaur teeth that they thought belonged to giant iguanas, hence, terrible lizards.”

  “You could be a paleontologist.”

  “I don’t know. I know all of this random stuff because Dylan was obsessed. I learned it because he loved it.”

  Pax stills, his blue gaze turning a shade of sincerity that makes me fidget. “You’re a good sister.”

  I should probably point out that he’s a great brother and reciprocate the compliment, but the air is heavy, making me desperate to change the subject. “What are your plans this week?”

  “Football, football, and more football.” He flashes a smile. “You should talk to my mom. She taught forever. She’d be able to answer questions and offer some good insight. You know she won’t sugarcoat anything. That, or have you considered something with fashion?”

  “Fashion?”

  He nods, dropping his elbows to the table again. “You always look so nice. You could probably design clothes or be like a professional stylist or something. I’m completely talking out of my ass here because I have no idea what any of this stuff is called.”

  Dominic comes by with a rag in his hand, cleaning off the table behind us. “A jock studying. I never thought I’d see the day.” He flashes a teasing smile.

  Paxton laughs in return, his gaze friendly and shoulders relaxed as Dominic continues to a table near the soda fountain machine and clears it.

  “Do you get tired of jock jokes?” I ask.

  Amusement lifts his brow. “Dominic?” He shakes his head. “He’s the epitome of a snowboarder and gets the same labels and stereotype shit, so I know he’s just busting my balls.”

  “What about from others?”

  Pax taps the tabletop with his fingertips, his nails so short they don’t hit the surface. “Sometimes, I guess. But those just motivate me and lead me to fake dating my little sister’s best friend.” He winks at me.

  I lean back, gaining a little distance and hopefully a little perspective.

  “What happened between you and Mike?” he asks before I can find my footing.

  “We broke up because he was going to Arkansas, and I was staying here.”

  “But why? You guys didn’t want to try out a long-distance relationship? One of you liked someone else? They don’t have planes that land in Arkansas?”

  “It was my idea,” I tell him.

  It wasn’t what he expected to hear. “Why?”

  “Because most couples don’t make it if they go to separate schools. Heck, most couples don’t make it even if they go to the same school.”

  “So, it was like a preemptive breakup?”

  I nod. “Exactly.”

  “Can I bring up again how surprised I am that you haven’t declared a major?”

  “I didn’t exactly plan for it to happen the way that it did…” The words come out before I can stop them, and if I didn’t already have his full attention, I know I would now.

  “What does that mean?”

  I slump in my seat. “It means that this is embarrassing, and we’re going to pretend I didn’t say that and start talking about your classes and where you’re behind.”

  He shakes his head in swift motions. “What did you mean to have happened?”

  I place my hands on both sides of my heated cheeks. “This is embarrassing.”

  “You didn’t want to break up?”

  I shake my head. “I mean, we’d talked about it. Heck, even my mom talked about it with us.”

  “Your mom?”

  “Psychologists have no boundaries.”

  He winces.

  I nod. “Basically.” I close my eyes, so I don’t have to see the judgment in his when I admit the childish truth that paved the path to my first heartache. “We knew that the odds weren’t in our favor and that the more mature and logical step was to break up, and so we did. I just didn’t expect him to actually be so okay with it. I thought he’d suggest we try long-distance, assure me he’d be home at Christmas and spring break and that we could do video chats. And instead, he kissed me on the forehead and told me we’d always be friends. We basically experienced the opposite breakup as you and Candace. We never called or texted or even touched base through social media.”

  “Wow. That’s…”

  I grab my pen and meet his stare, ready for his verdict.

  “What an asshole.”

  “I was no better. I should have been honest about my feelings. I should have told him that I wanted to try and make things work and told him I believed in us. He definitely doesn’t deserve the blame.”

  “Maybe not all of it, but some of it. You guys dated for two years.”

  “We’d also been talking about the distance and our plans if we weren’t accepted to the same school for the last six months of our relationship.”

  Another grimace. “Do you think he knew you didn’t mean it? I mean, you guys had been together for that long … didn’t you ever discuss the possibility of staying together?”

  Paxton’s questions awaken a doubt that lives too close to the surface of my thoughts, one that says Mike did know and took the easy opportunity that was presented. That he wasn’t worried about an ugly breakup or heartache because he was ready to break up. This doubt has left a residual effect, a wrecking ball to my confidence.

  “I don’t know.”

  Paxton’s blue gaze blazes into mine, filled with compassion and questions that I know he’s holding back because my answers are becoming shorter as my discomfort grows. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could time travel and see how our decisions might impact our future? Candace and I are so toxic together, but there was something that always brought us back together. I never knew if it was a sense of indebtedness or loyalty or if it was just her.”

  “Is it easier to tell now that you guys have been broken up for a few weeks?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  He pulls his shoulders back as though making himself less vulnerable. “Maybe?”

  I expect his answer, and yet, as the word repeats in my thoughts, a trace of bitterness hits my chest where it immediately embeds itself.

  “This is why our setup is so good. I could never sit down and have an honest conversation like
this with Candace—I couldn’t with any girl I was dating. It’s like everyone wants you to be honest, but there’s this giant caveat that you’re not supposed to be honest about past relationships or breakups or topics you disagree on. Like you meet, and you’re supposed to realize nothing mattered up until that moment, which is bullshit.”

  I nod. “Exactly. And I don’t have to pretend not to hate watching you play video games or like I don’t eat more than most guys.” I take another bite of my pizza.

  Pax chuckles. “But even better because we’re friends and care about each other, and we’re not trying to fuck the other person over.”

  I nod as I finish chewing. “Exactly. Friends.”

  15

  Paxton

  “Hey, Poppy,” Caleb says as he answers the door. It’s Monday, week two post rules. I was supposed to make dinner for Poppy at her house, but Rae had the night off, and Lincoln was going over there, so I invited her to our place instead.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” I call out as I take a step backward so I can get a clear shot of her.

  “You better be barefoot,” she says. “You know how I like my men.”

  Caleb snickers and returns to the couch with his gaming controller. I grab a dish towel and wipe my hands, pausing in the doorway as Poppy stops beside Caleb. I can sense her unease from here. Rae had pointed out to me on more than one occasion how Poppy and Caleb are virtually strangers, but it hadn’t really resonated until she began coming to Mario’s Pizzeria with me and studying, and I realized how although Poppy is friendly with everyone, she is a true introvert. We’d talked about it a little last week, and she mentioned how being around people more often makes things either easier or harder. And once more, I find myself intrigued and curious about what she’d meant and stowing questions away for our afternoon.

  “How are things with Julie going?” Poppy asks.

  Caleb keeps the controller in his hands but lowers it to his lap. “Pretty good. She’s at class right now.”