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

This is what I breathe for. What I live for, and I realize that the rules Poppy and I made are as vital as the rules of football. One game at a time. One practice at a time. I will prove to everyone that I am still the leader of this team and am a force to be reckoned with.

We received the kick to start the game and our offense takes the field. The breeze hits my face, wintry and sharp. Right now it feels too cold, but soon it won’t be cool enough.

We huddle up, and I announce a run play. We’re known for our speed and it’s how we prefer to start our games, especially with having Arlo back. In addition, the running plays instantly get the crowd excited and also helps settle the nerves, warm the guys up.

Opposing teams study us as closely as we do them, so there’s little doubt they know how this is going to start, but our dynamics are vast and Arlo doesn’t play like he’s recovering from a knee injury, rather, like he’s auditioning for the biggest game of his life, each and every time he hits the field. I hand it off to Arlo, and he’s fearless and poised as he hits the hole and charges, colliding with their linebacker and picking up five yards before he goes down, giving us second and five. This is a good tone for us to start off and as we huddle again, I can sense the energy that’s rolling over my team. I call a quick slant for Lincoln. Our friendship has undoubtedly sharpened our game, but I also believe it was the origination. Playing football is in my veins, but playing with Arlo and Lincoln takes this game to the next level for me. We thrive off of each other’s success and play together like we’re in each other’s heads.

I take a quick drop and pass to Lincoln who gains seven yards, giving us a new set of downs. Our rhythm is spot on tonight, and the crowd senses it. They’re on their feet, chanting and clapping. “Let’s take a shot early,” I say, calling a deep out that has our guys fading towards the sideline, one of my favorites to throw. We set up in shotgun formation and I receive the hike, anticipation running in the form of adrenaline coursing through me, warming me and making me aware of each movement. I’m looking the safety off while Lincoln prepares to make his move, but before he can get there, the pocket collapses. I evade the defensive end and start to scramble, keeping my focus on Lincoln. As I get out of the pocket I see just enough daylight for Lincoln so I plant my left foot and throw the ball like an arrow, straight and as far as I fucking can before I’m tackled. The crowd erupts, confirming the pass was a success and then I hear through the radio in my helmet as coach confirms the touchdown.

When the buzzer sounds and the clock runs out, relief fills me, making me forget about the sacks they managed to get in, the way my arm and shoulder are aching, and the hits that made me question tonight’s game on more than one occasion.

We did it.

We pulled off another win and with it another step closer to my goal as the media comes down on the field, cameras flashing as broadcasters and journalists work to gather their stories and shots.

“You did that,” Lincoln says, bracketing his hands on my shoulders. “This was your game, man. This was genuine, old-school Pax who came tonight, and you proved that nothing could stop him.”

I grin, pulling my helmet off. The cool night air blows against my face and the back of my neck that are hot and sticky with sweat as hundreds of flashes blind me. I ignore them, turning toward Lincoln and pulling him into a quick hug.

“You’ve got this,” he says, patting my shoulders before he releases me.

Arlo joins us, his smile as bright as the lights out here. “We fucking destroyed them,” he says, hugging me. “You fucking railed on them. Every time they tried to rattle your cage, you stepped up and sent them packing.” He cups my cheeks like he’s going to lay a wet one on me, and, knowing Arlo, I wouldn’t doubt that he would. “Where’s your girl? This was her. I need to thank that girl!” He looks past the lights and our team in the direction of where family, close friends, and significant others are beginning to trickle onto the field.

“Poppy!” he shouts.

She’s with Rae, hanging back, waiting for us to complete interviews, and shuffle into the locker room. It’s supposed to rain tonight, so the bonfire has been rescheduled, and now it’s a party that I know neither of them is looking forward to attending.

“Poppy!” Arlo shouts again.

She gives a subtle shake of her head, her eyes noticeably round, even from here. We’ve managed to keep our situation public enough without it becoming dirty laundry that we have to wash and sort out among our families because hers, like mine, would likely find our set of rules both childish and insane. But before either of us can control the scene, Hoyt sweeps her off her feet, leaving Raegan with a shocked expression, and starts heading toward us.

I can feel the weight of this moment and how it will, without a doubt, echo into our lives as Hoyt puts her down with a victorious grin. “I got your queen, Captain!”

Indecision swims in her green gaze. I try to offer an assuring smile—a silent promise I’ll be there to face whatever wrath we receive—as I close the short distance between us and thread my fingers into her auburn-colored hair.

“I’m not sure how I feel about what just happened,” she says.

“We can write a rule about it,” I murmur.

She flashes a grin, and I feel it as