Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone Page 8

  “I just… I feel overwhelmed.”

  She nods, and I know my best friend well enough to know she understands. Like me, she’s sensitive and compassionate and a complete empath which makes it sometimes seem like we can read each other’s minds. “Is this about Mike?” I’m grateful she’s able to decipher this because even though it’s her, I’m not sure I could admit this aloud.

  “I feel so conflicted.”

  Rae grabs Peanut, the stuffed elephant I’ve slept with since I was a toddler, and that made the move here with us. She hugs him to her stomach and sits near my feet. “What are you conflicted about?”

  “We dated for two years,” I say like this is a simple explanation for what I feel.

  She nods. “He was your first love.”

  “I know him better than maybe anyone, and he knows me. It was really hard to lose that. And when we met for coffee, I could feel it—that energy we shared. You know how Lincoln sometimes gives you a look when you’re in a room full of people, and you know exactly what he’s thinking without him saying a single word?”

  Rae nods.

  “That’s how it felt all over again. Like time hadn’t passed since I’d last seen him.”

  Her gaze turns soft and sad before she places a hand on my knee. “I hate that he’s doing this to you. It’s not fair. I want to tell you to follow your heart, though, and if your heart is leading you to Mike, I don’t want to fight you over it, but, Poppy, he’s dating someone else.”

  “I know. I know,” I repeat for emphasis because it’s literally the only thing I’ve been thinking about since meeting her. “I wouldn’t do anything unless they broke up.”

  “So you want to make him jealous?”

  “I don’t know what I want,” I admit. “Maybe?” I take Peanut from her and lean back against my headboard. “I don’t even know if I still like Mike or if I’m just attracted to the familiarity and comfort that comes with him, you know? I mean, Mike was a good boyfriend.”

  Rae rubs her lips together but doesn’t say anything. I should probably end this conversation and go to bed because my emotions have been on overdrive for the past week, and everything is rubbing me the wrong way. Also, there’s this niggling thought that by morning, Paxton will have thought this through and be messaging me and saying it was all a joke or a mistake—or both. “Dating Pax, even though it’s a hundred percent fictional, will come with a price,” she says, pausing to allow this fact to lace into my thoughts. “And I’m not just talking about other girls flirting with him. I’m talking about girls whispering about you behind your back, talking about what you look like and what your hair looks like, and everything in between. And guys who you don’t even know will do the same.” I know she’s right. I’ve witnessed it happen to her on too many occasions and saw how many went after Rose when she was caught on camera in what appeared to be a compromising position.

  “I feel like my confidence has taken a hiatus,” I admit to Raegan. “Last year, I was so certain I wanted to date around, and I realized that just isn’t my bag … I started to feel something for Chase as much as I didn’t want to, and then he treated me like a token of convenience, calling at two in the morning, which you know only means one thing. I’m almost grateful I was still living at home because I almost considered going a few times, and I probably would have gone and slept with him. But, I didn’t, and he lost interest like that.” I snap. “I want to date again. I want someone to call me before bed and create a watch list on Netflix. I want to feel that excitement that comes with going on a date and that feeling of being wanted. And having Mike know that I haven’t dated anyone since we broke up makes me feel exposed and vulnerable and embarrassed, and I hate this feeling. If I ignore and forget what I do or don’t feel toward Mike, I feel this sense of inferiority, and I know that’s wrong and stupid and childish and a dozen other things, but it’s how I feel.”

  “First off, you’re gorgeous and brilliant. Any guy would be lucky to date you,” Raegan says, her gaze and tone firm. “I fully support you, I just have concerns about this arrangement. I’m worried that you and Pax are going to get into this, and he’s going to hang out with Candace, and somehow you’re going to pay the price.”

  I expel a long breath through my nose. “I know, I’m a little worried I won’t be able to hold up my end of this bargain and actually help him avoid her, but at the same point, I’m not worried about myself. I mean, this is as platonic as it gets. No emotions, no feelings.”

  “Do you think fake dating Pax will give you that boost of confidence to move on?”

  Her words are carefully chosen as a reminder that she disapproves of Mike. “Maybe? I mean, everyone knows Pax. He said it himself—he’s basically a celebrity on campus.”

  Rae’s eyes narrow. “Whatever you do or say, don’t admit that to him.”

  I grin. “Deal.”

  “How’s it going to work?” she asks, leaning back on my bed.

  “I have no idea.”

  Rae laughs, the sound filling my room. “You can’t tell the others that it’s fake,” she says, rolling to her side and tucking her hands under her face. “Arlo will tell everyone.”

  “Pax doesn’t think Arlo would believe we’re dating.”

  Her brow furrows like she feels the same note of indignation that I had when he’d told me this. “Of course he would. Everyone would. I mean, sure, it will be surprising because you guys don’t flirt or hang out, but—”

  “No one’s going to believe this,” I say, covering my face with Peanut.

  Rae peels the stuffed animal away from my face. “I’ll help you. If this is what you need and Pax thinks this is what he needs, then why not? But you guys should come up with some ground rules, so you know what to expect and so that he can meet your expectations as well. This has to be mutually beneficial to work.”

  “You’re right,” I say, sitting up. “We need rules because those allow clear and definitive expectations, and that way, we can make this mutually constructive. I just need to figure out what I want.”

  After Rae heads to her room, I pull out my journal and hold my pen. I have a callus on my middle finger at the top joint from all of the years of writing I’ve done. Still, a pen and paper feel like friends that I can turn to regardless of the situation and find comfort and solace.

  Dear Diary,

  Paxton proposed an idea today that I want to call crazy—because it is crazy—completely and totally crazy. He suggested we pretend to be in a fake relationship with each other. I’ve never understood why anyone would pretend to be dating someone else, and here I am, contemplating this arrangement with none other than Rae’s brother. I can tell Rae hates the idea. I’m not positive Paxton likes the idea. Hell, I’m not sure I like the idea. I mean, it’s Paxton.

  I pause, my pen hovering over the paper. What significance does this hold? How do I translate all the feelings and doubt and everything else that I’m currently feeling?

  I’ve known Paxton for most of my life. I know his middle name, birthday, and favorite dinner, yet he often seems like a stranger. I don’t think of him like a sibling like I do with Rae. If I were stranded somewhere, I’m not even sure I’d put him in the top ten contacts I’d try to reach to help me… Maybe this is a good thing? Perhaps it will make being around him easier? Or will it make it harder? Will it be strange to hold his hand? What if he tries kissing me?

  I release a breath, and for the second time that I can remember, writing out my thoughts and feelings doesn’t bring comfort or peace or any semblance of understanding. It only draws questions.

  Paxton’s not a bad-looking guy. I mean, he’s an attractive guy.

  I pause for a second, picturing him in my mind. He’s incredibly attractive, or would be if he wasn’t my best friend’s brother.

  But, do I want him to kiss me? Especially now when I’m not sure about what my feelings toward Mike represent? Raegan’s right. We need rules to help us define and understand what we’re getting ourselves in
to and help us accomplish … whatever it is that we’re trying to accomplish.

  Paxton aside, what if I see Mike again? He’s going to Brighton now. I mean, the campus is huge, so the odds are in my favor, right? What if I see Maddie? She seems nice, which makes this situation even more confusing. I don’t want to be friends with her because it makes me feel guilty, which seems like a pretty damn clear sign that I need to avoid this and hope that if Paxton and I do this fake dating, what I might be able to achieve is climbing out of my comfort zone—maybe lift a flap or two of this “box” where I feel most comfortable. I can do this. Right?

  9

  Paxton

  I wake up to a half dozen messages, all of them from my little sister. Just what every guy wants to see while his pants are still tented.

  I drop my phone back on my nightstand and roll out from the warmth of the sheets, the cold wood floors stinging my feet. My muscles are tight, and exhaustion pulls at my thoughts and eyes as I reach my dresser and fish out a pair of sweatpants and a clean tee before heading to the bathroom to get ready for the gym.

  Once my teeth are brushed, and my mind is less fogged from sleep, I reach for my phone.

  Raegan: Fake dating?!?!?!

  Raegan: If you hurt Poppy, I’ll kill you. You know that, right?

  Raegan: If you’re pretending to sleep, so help me…

  Raegan: You can’t tell people it’s fake. I mean, you have to tell Lincoln, and maybe Caleb, but you can’t tell Arlo. He’ll tell everyone. Probably not intentionally, but he’s horrible at keeping secrets.

  Raegan: And don’t help her to get back with Mike. He doesn’t deserve her.

  I roll my shoulders and then my neck, making the joints pop. This might have been a mistake. I clearly underestimated how inclined Raegan would be to voice her opinions, though I shouldn’t be shocked in the least. Neither of my sisters is subservient. There’s no way I could have expected her to sit on the sidelines when I’m involving her best friend.

  I check the rest of my notifications, catching that Candace tagged me in a post of her out with a guy, her breasts and lips pressed to the asshole who’s on my own damn team. “Dammit, Derek fucking Paulson,” I grind the words out.

  I go back to Rae’s messages and reply to her:

  Me: You worry too much. I’ve known Poppy for almost her entire life. She’s like a sister to me.

  Me: Also, I’ll pay you in pizza if you come over and watch tape with me tonight. I planned to get more in this weekend, but I went to Mom’s and helped her get some stuff done around the house.

  Me: Also, did you tell her to paint her walls purple? It looks like Barney threw up in her living room, and I’m dodging this bullet.

  I slide my phone into my pocket and head downstairs where Lincoln’s in the kitchen, scrambling eggs.

  “Rae teaching you how to cook?”

  He looks over his shoulder at me. “I knew how to make scrambled eggs before dating Rae.”

  I laugh. “You’re such a liar.”

  He flips me off.

  “You’re going to overcook them,” I tell him, turning the heat down from the medium-high he has it set on. “And overcooked eggs taste like ass.”

  He glances at the clock on the oven. “I know, but I don’t want to be late.”

  “Make some coffee,” I tell him, taking his spatula. “Did you put cheese in them or any seasoning?”

  “I thought you salt them at the end?”

  I reach for the salt and pepper. “No. Add it before you whisk them. Two turns for each egg,” I instruct. “And my extra credit of the day for you, Rae doesn’t like pepper in her scrambled eggs, only her fried eggs.”

  He nods, and I can tell by his focus that he’s paying attention to each detail of my instructions. It’s a reminder that although having the two of them dating is weird, there’s a comfort in knowing he’s still working to be better—for her.

  “I’ve got a situation,” I tell him, turning the eggs.

  Lincoln glances up from the pan. “What kind of a situation?” Doubt is as evident in his expression as it is in his tone.

  “You can’t tell anyone.”

  He furrows his brow, and for a moment, I want to stretch the suspense and let him fear for the worst.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “Depends. Are you going to stop looking at me like a fuck up?” I ask.

  “That depends on if you fucked up.”

  “The fact my sister likes you might be your only redemption.”

  “A year ago, it was my condemnation.”

  “It still is.”

  He chuckles and grabs a banana that he starts to peel. “What’s your situation?”

  I turn off the burner and grab a couple of plates. “Is Arlo here?”

  “No. Why are you fucking with me? Tell me what happened.”

  I fill a plate with eggs and hand it to him. “Poppy and I are going to pretend to date.”

  Lincoln doesn’t take the plate. “Come again?”

  “Coach Baker came by yesterday and caught the end of Candace screaming in the driveway.”

  “Why was she here?”

  “She wanted to talk about us getting back together,” I tell him.

  “And so you shoved Poppy onto that grenade?”

  “Not on Candace, just Coach. And she was actually the one who did it. Coach was laying into me, and Poppy came outside and eluded to us dating, and he totally ate it up. It was like her standing next to me made him stop seeing me as a degenerate.”

  “Rae’s going to kill you.”

  I shake my head. “Poppy’s going to benefit from this, too. She wants to get back with her ex, and I volunteered to play her wingman.”

  Reluctance furrows his brow as he finally takes the plate. “This is not going to end well.”

  “Says the guy who dated my little sister behind my back.”

  He sets the plate down on the table and raises both hands. “Trust me, that was never my intention. I regretted that, and you know I did, but it wasn’t like I chose to like your sister. Believe me when I say I tried really hard not to have feelings for her. If you’ll remember, last year after her accident, I didn’t see her for weeks.”

  “You were a raging asshole during that time.”

  He grabs two forks, his eyebrows raised as though I’ve arrived at his exact point. “And now everyone says I’m mellow.”

  I scoff. “Mellow? Who the fuck says you’re mellow?”

  He grins. “People.”

  “You’re such a liar.”

  “Poppy thinks I’m mellow.”

  “She’s too nice to tell you the truth.”

  “Was she too nice to tell you no when you made this idiot proposal?” he asks, spearing his eggs.

  “Think about this. I know Candace is my weakness, and right now, to be completely honest, I want to have another drink, and the only thing keeping me from that is football. I need another reason to keep on this path of sobriety and avoiding Candace.”

  “You know Candace will lay her claws into Poppy, and Poppy is no match for Candace. She’ll be shredded.”

  I shake my head. “I won’t let that happen.”

  “No offense, man, but you’ve seen what she’s led you to do, right? How did you get in this position?”

  I clench my jaw and take my plate to the table, where I set it down before grabbing a couple of coffee mugs.

  “How long?”

  “What?” I ask, carrying the filled mugs back to the table.

  “How long are you going to pretend to be dating?”

  I consider how long it might take for Coach Baker to stop looking at me like a ticking time bomb, for my teammates to stop making cracks about my drinking, and when the addiction Candace and I both have that has kept us together will wear off. “I don’t know.”

  “Who are you going to tell?”

  “Poppy already told Rae, so I figured you’d find out sooner or later, but you and maybe Caleb?�
��

  “You’re serious about this?”

  “Dead serious.”

  Lincoln takes another bite of egg. “I hope you come out of this on the other side.”

  The locker room feels like a refrigerator this morning after hitting the gym and lifting weights. The furnace isn’t working along with an entire bank of lights, making the space seem even colder. I lace up my red cleats, already dressed for practice.

  “November, baby! We made it,” Arlo says, dropping his bag beside me on the bench.

  “You’re late,” I tell him.

  “I’m early,” he counters. “We’ve got sixteen minutes before practice.”

  Most of the team is already here. Tardiness is one thing that Coach Harris loathes and won’t accept from any of his players.

  “Did you get Icy Hot on your nutsack again?” Arlo asks as he pulls on his practice jersey.

  I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”

  A smirk consumes his features. “Let me guess, more Candace drama? Lay it on me. I’ll help you sort shit out.”

  “You’re about to have your own drama. I saw that sweater getup you wore in Olivia’s family portrait. You know that picture’s going to be shared and blown up, right?”

  “I owned that sweater. I made it look good.”

  I laugh, grateful for the distraction that keeps me from watching for Derek Paulson. The asshole transferred here last year as a junior and tried dating Raegan for the first half of the year. It was his stupid ass that caused the accident that nearly cost my sister’s life and his stupid ass who Candace is trying to use to piss me off. She knows our history. I held nothing back when I bitched about how Derek was out for himself and wasn’t a team player, how he attempted to sabotage others, and weakened our team’s morale and comradery. Candace knew exactly what she was doing when she made out with him and then tagged me to ensure I’d see it. “It had a Christmas tree on the front.”