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

not too hot. I check his humidifier to make sure there’s enough water, make sure his night light is on, and press the stuffed whale that Rae got him when he was a toddler closer.

I leave his door open and head downstairs, Sampson trailing me. Sometimes, I miss living here, the comfort, the space, the familiarity of each cupboard and drawer and closet and knowing the neighborhood as well as I do, but this house has always been too big, too quiet, too empty, and I don’t miss those details, though I worry Dylan will experience an amplified version. Granted, Dylan’s always been an extrovert, comfortable with making friends and talking to strangers. I doubt he even notices the silence here because he’s always filled it with games, toys, and friends.

I pass the grand piano that I used to practice on for hours each week, the formal dining room that we only use for holidays and guests, and go straight into the family room and locate the remote that I re-program. I lay a blanket across the couch so Sampson can sit beside me. He doesn’t need more of an invitation, curling up alongside me, head on my lap as I flip through the TV, desperate for a distraction. I probably need to text Pax. I definitely need to make sure I let Rae know I left.

I blow out a breath and reach for my phone, discovering a couple of missed texts from Rae.

Raegan: Sure. Where are you? Want me to go with you?

Raegan: Poppy?

Raegan: Don’t make me sound the alarm…

Me: Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to disappear.

Me: I’m okay. I just needed to get here. Have fun at the party. I might spend the night at my parents. I’ll see you tomorrow night.

Raegan: Is Dylan okay?

Me: Yeah. It seems like a mild case of the flu.

Raegan: Want some company?

Me: No. You should stay and have fun.

Raegan: Call or text if you change your mind.

This is one of the downsides of dating my best friend’s brother. I don’t want to talk to her about what’s going on because it seems impossible for her not to pick sides, and yet, I’m desperate to talk to my best friend about all of these questions and doubts.

Paxton

“I’m glad your parents are back, but this weather has me missing their house,” I tell Ian as I walk beside him to the beach.

He chuckles. “I’m telling you, we’re going to have to put the pressure on Banks. We could fit in his damn garage. That place was huge.”

I grin, feeling a sense of calm wash over me with the quick resolve that settled my thoughts on my drive here, my focus and purpose are on Poppy, a resolution in hand. “I’m pretty sure he likes his cars more than us.”

Ian laughs. “Without a doubt.” The wind whips, carrying the scent of the bonfire toward us. “But, this is still pretty damn sweet,” he says, stopping with a view of the group that has gathered to come and celebrate with us—for us.

“Every time we walk into a packed arena, I’m still shocked people have come to see us play.” My words feel like an admission.

Ian grins. “It’s been a wild ride.” He sets his hand on my shoulder and releases a breath. “It’s really strange that it’s all about to end. I’ve been so ready for us to win so we don’t have the weight and pressure resting on our shoulders, but now that we’re so close, I wish I could rewind and play this season all over again.”

I breathe in the sea air, feeling the same solemn and sweet taste of melancholy.

“Why aren’t we celebrating?” Hoyt asks, throwing his arms around Ian and me. Behind him, Arlo is making his way down, his attention on his phone.

“You guys go. I need to talk to Kostas.”

Ian nods, ribbing Hoyt before they head toward the crowd.

“Hey,” I say, reaching Arlo.

He lowers his phone and looks at me. “What’s up, Captain?”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “You got my wrath, and it was undeserved.”

“I can take it,” he says. “But, next time, I might ignore your red jersey and sack your ass.”

I chuckle. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

He grins, his demeanor switching as he pockets his phone. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Are we good?” I ask, offering my hand.

He takes my hand. “We’re always good. You just have to remember that I’m on your side. We’ve got this.” His voice trails off as someone approaches us. I turn, expecting it to be Lincoln, but instead see Mike, Poppy’s ex.

“You got a minute?” he asks.

“Have I mentioned how nice it is that Liv’s ex lives in Texas?” Arlo asks, shaking his head. “If you need me, I’ll be over there, watching.” He tips his head to me. “Don’t punch him. We need you Saturday, and Coach Harris frowns on violence. Granted, we could always say he tripped on a piece of driftwood…” He turns his gaze back to Mike with a silent threat.

“We’re good,” I say.

Mike’s staring at Arlo, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw flexed. He’s not worried, which makes me more nervous than I care to admit.

“What can I do for you?” I ask, attempting to keep my cool and show him that I’m as unaffected as he is.

“I don’t know you, but I know you’re not the right guy for Poppy.”

“And you are?”

“Do you know one goddamn thing about her? Seriously, one thing? Do you know that she’s terrified of lightning? That she never wears yellow and hates Valentine’s Day?”

He’s wrong—at least, he is about Valentine’s Day—but I don’t tell him that because he’s trying to make this a dick measuring contest.

“Our families are friends. Our friends are friends. I know everything about her—hell, I experienced it with her. You’re going to graduate and be drafted and have a crowd of people vying for your attention and kissing your ass, and you know that’s not her scene. If you know anything about Poppy, you know she doesn’t like