Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone Mariah Dietz (best novels to read .txt) 📖

“My hands remained out of the end zone at all times.” Arlo raises his large hands as though to prove a point.

“Paws off,” Paxton declares. “Otherwise, you're going to be trying to catch the ball with your teeth this season.”

“Man, you're going to have your work cut out for you,” Arlo says, smiling. “Freshmen are the flames, and we’re the moths. You know how it works.”

Pax shakes his head. “Poppy and Raegan are off-limits. You guys hear anyone on the team or anyone else saying something, you kick their ass.” Pax’s blue eyes that match mine in both shape and color peer around us.

“Easy, caveman. Remember, you've evolved a few hundred centuries. Lower your stick, and remember that times have changed. Also, we’ll kick your ass if you meddle with who we date.”

Pax throws his arm over my shoulder, folding his arm, so he has me in what likely looks like a loose headlock. It’s something he's done since we were young. “Don't get all huffy. Trust me, you aren’t interested in anyone on the team. They’re all just looking to get laid.”

I shrug. “Maybe we are, too?”

Arlo cheers again to push Pax off the thin ledge his sanity was stacked upon.

Pax sputters, tightening his grip around my neck. “I did not just hear that.”

“No shaming!” Arlo says. “How many girls did you sleep with your freshman year?” he poses the question to Paxton.

I raise my hands to cover my ears. “La, la, la, la, la. I don’t want to know. La. La. La. La.”

Paxton pulls my hands free. “Probably less than half the number of girls The President banged.”

I cringe at the reminder of the third rule I have for dating—never date a player.

Lincoln makes no attempt to argue the point. Instead, his full lips pull into a delicious smile that makes my stomach tingle. Good God, I love his smile. Everyone does. And to make matters worse, he knows it and uses it to his advantage, wielding it like a weapon.

Poppy grins. “Don't worry, we don’t plan to bother with the football team. You guys can stick to your cleat chasers. We're interested in the rugby team. Did you know they don't wear any pads?” She raises her eyebrows to let the insinuation sink in. “Talk about real men.”

The three of them automatically reply, throwing insults and jabs at the sport and the players.

“Real men, “Arlo scoffs and grabs himself through his jeans. “I'll show you—”

Lincoln smacks the bill of Arlo’s baseball hat, sending it flying.

“You guys are better than asshole jocks,” Pax adds.

“Wait. So, you do know you're all a bunch of assholes?” I ask, feigning surprise.

Pax grins. “You should find a nice guy. Maybe a tech geek or a book nerd like you?”

“Watch it. I know where you sleep, and I still have your spare key,” I warn him.

“Want to use it tonight?” Arlo waggles his eyebrows.

“Don’t push me, Kostas,” Pax warns. “Your ass will be doing lines today for practice.”

Arlo only laughs, undeterred. I'm fairly certain he only flirts with me to irritate my brother.

Poppy giggles. I duck out from under Pax and veer to the left in the direction of my first class. “I have to get to class.”

“We still have twenty minutes!” Poppy protests.

“I know, but I want to get a good seat.”

She frowns, her shoulders sagging. “Soak it up while you can because, after this week, you’re going to be a normal college student, slipping into class with five seconds to spare.”

I don’t even attempt to remind her that won’t ever happen. She already knows my aspiration to become a cetologist can’t be rivaled with.

“My fingers are crossed that you have a rugby player in your class!” Poppy yells.

I laugh. “You, too!”

Paxton shakes his head. “At least spare me the details.”

“Done,” I agree.

“Where are you headed?” he asks.

I scrunch my nose. “Math.”

Pax grins. “I'm heading over to the Pratt Building, too, hang on. Poppy, if you need anything, just let one of us know.” He pauses, his gaze moving between her and me. “I’m serious, though. You guys don’t want to get mixed up with any athletes. All they care about is the game and what happens on the field. None of them are looking for anything serious because they’re all hoping to either be drafted or possibly transfer to a new school for a better position.”

Rule number four feels like a lead weight in my stomach: don’t get attached to someone who’s going to leave soon. Poppy’s ex-boyfriend, Mike, taught me this lesson, and I already know Lincoln will be moving on to bigger and better things—possibly as soon as the end of this year, next year at the latest.

“We’re not looking for engagement rings,” Poppy tells him. “I don’t know why guys always assume girls want to get serious? Have you ever stopped to consider maybe we just want to casually date?”

Paxton’s eyes narrow in thought, then he looks at Arlo and Lincoln. “Pretty sure we’ve seen enough crying girls to prove otherwise.”

“Tears of joy,” I say.

Pax smirks. “This isn’t high school. Here, athletes are practically celebrities. People ask for our autographs and our pictures. Follow us on and off-campus. They randomly show up at the house. I’ve had girls sneak into my bed. I get sexts every damn day, and I’ve been proposed to at least a dozen times. Trust me when I say there are a lot of girls looking for more than a good time. They want money and fame, and they know that’s a possibility if they find the right dude.”

“That’s pathetic,” I say.

His smirk grows as he shrugs. “Is it? Do you know how much a first draft athlete makes?”

“If a girl is only trying to sleep with you because she’s hoping to date a famous athlete, then she deserves to shed a few tears,” Poppy says before I can consider girls looking at my brother in the light he’s painting.

I look at my best friend, and she’s