Breaking the Rules (The Dating Playbook #2)

by Mariah Dietz

“You should tell her. Even if you’re too afraid to admit you like her as more than a friend, you should at least admit to her that you cared enough to be one when she needed you. She deserves that.” She stares at me, daring me to insist I didn’t show up again. I consider calling her bluff, but that could take us down pathways guaranteed to make this rage inside of me come barreling out.

Poppy is the best. She's not afraid to call you out on your shit.

I empty my lungs in a long breath, pull her forward so her chest presses against mine, and wind one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist. Her arms go around me, and though her grip is loose, she doesn’t move away. I hold her for several seconds, breathing her in as I memorize the rhythm of her heart once again. It’s a tune I need to hear nearly as badly as I need to feel her—confirm her presence when her ghost has been my constant companion for the past couple of weeks.

“I thought of you every single second. I fought for you. I cut off the damn drugs in the hospital because I was terrified I’d never see you again.”

She sets her purse down, and a blue jewelry box falls open at her feet. I cringe, waiting for her to ask me about it. She leans forward to collect it, her eyes tracing over the gold chain and pearl pendant that’s been sitting in my truck for months. Then, without a word, she fishes for the lid and puts it back on before slipping it into the cup holder and starting the engine.

He totally bought her jewelry

“Maybe not all loves are supposed to? Maybe some are meant to end, teaching us lessons about ourselves and life.”

Poppy breathes out a long breath through her nose and sits back in her seat, crossing her legs. “I’m still team Lincoln.”

Me too, Poppy.

“Tell him you won’t give away the cream unless he buys the cow.” “I hate that saying,” My grin widens. “I know. That’s why I said it.”

🤣🤣

“Why are you trying to ruin our family? Do you understand the backlash of this situation? I’d lose my job. You’d lose your acceptance to Brighton. Paxton would lose his scholarship. We wouldn’t be able to afford this house or things like your boating lessons and the ability to support you once you graduate with a degree you can’t use. I’m not asking you to save me, I’m asking you to save yourself. Save your mom who everyone will whisper and talk about behind her back, and Paxton who will be in the news because of his parents, and they’ll forget all about his football career. You’ll ruin it. You’ll ruin it all. After everything you caused in the past few weeks, this is the least you owe me. The least you owe them.”

OMG, is he really trying to turn this around on HER?! She’s the one who will ruin things?! What a dick!!

I listened to Professor Adams blame Tiberius for his shortcomings that ultimately failed Rome as the second Emperor, listing off facts like his tyrannical ways and frequent absences to the island of Capri. However, Professor Adams neglected to mention how Augustus, his adopted father, had ordered for Tiberius and his first wife to divorce so that Augustus could marry her. How his family pledged allegiance in accordance with Caesar and then became victims when that relationship soured. Forced to become proud and powerful out of self-preservation and a lack of allies and trust.

Lincoln likes Roman History. Interesting. He has depth.

“I’m so Team Lincoln after this, Raegan!” Her eyes jump to mine. “This is the most romantic thing ever.”

❤️❤️

“Is it? Am I channeling Maggie as I question if he thought I wouldn’t look nice enough if left to my own devices?” Poppy shakes her head. “Push those thoughts out of your head and out the window, down the street, and into the ocean because you’re so wrong. That is not Lincoln, and you know it. This was his way of telling you he wants you to go. His way of telling you he thinks you’re as gorgeous as this dress. His way of being romantic.”

She grins. “He’s going to be wearing a tux.”

I bet he looks super hot in a tux.

The front door opens, and my thoughts come to an abrupt stop. My breaths stop, my heart stops—time fucking stops—allowing me this moment to study and admire Raegan. Her high cheekbones, bold eyes and long lashes, and her perfect lips that are stained red. Her neck is bare, drawing my attention to her collarbone, the line of the dress tastefully hinting at her cleavage. Then she smiles, and it’s nervous and hopeful and so goddamn perfect I want to tell her to forget about the party and about the reasons we should be avoiding each other and focus on all the ways I can make her feel good, all the ways I’ll pledge myself to her pleasure and happiness.

The sleeveless dress has deep cut lines, exposing only the hint of where her breast swells from her side, and fuck if that image doesn’t feel like the most erotic thing in my life.

Her eyes shine in the darkness, patient as they remain on me like I’m capable of casual conversation while she’s on my arm, her lips a breath away. She grins. “Your reaction is confirming I spend too much time in jeans and sweatpants.” I stop at the passenger side of my truck, opening the door. “I like you in jeans and sweatpants.”

“Can you close your eyes? I’m not sure this is going to be my most graceful moment. I feel like I’m going to flash the entire neighborhood.” “If there’s a chance of seeing your underwear, there’s no way I’m looking away.” She cocks her eyebrow, her lips pursing as determination flattens her brow. She grips the fabric in one hand and raises a foot, balancing it on my truck, exposing a high heel and her bare leg up to her thigh. Fuck me.

I imagine her looking at me like that had I not played the friend card and set up every fucking barrier in my arsenal to stop her from continuing to slide into every aspect of my life, making me want her in each part of my day and routine.

“Hang on,” I tell her, hopping down and making my way around to her. This view is even better, her legs are both revealed, her heels showing off her toned calves. Rae smirks when I meet her eyes. “I never pictured you being a leg man.” “I’m not.” Tonight, I’m pretty sure I’m a shoulders man. Or maybe a neck man, I think, gazing over her exposed skin.

Carol takes her hand but looks at me. “Isn’t she adorable.” There are a thousand words one could use to describe Raegan Lawson, and adorable is near the bottom. Sexy, desirable, stunning, but adorable is a term one applies to a dog they see on a commercial—or a child who isn’t in the midst of a screaming fit—and a gross understatement to Raegan’s beauty.

The only times my dad is this relaxed is when he’s either flirting, or he’s impressed. He doesn’t know enough about her to understand how impressive she is, which leads me to the initial.

“Well, he’s full of surprises,” Rae’s bright smile hides the fact her tone borders on contempt, but I catch the notes, staring at her to decipher the words.

Boy is he ever...

Dad leans back like her disappointment is a personal burden. He’s smitten with her, and he doesn’t even know she’s smart and funny, and has more wit than most. That her heart seems three times larger than average.

He finishes his drink, his strong jaw tipping up, enunciating the cords of muscles in his neck and the hard plane of his chin. I once thought shirtless Lincoln was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, but tuxedo Lincoln is making a run for the title.

“If you haven’t realized how well I know you, then you’ve been pretending for a while.”

“Just because people don’t last forever doesn’t mean the feelings don’t.”

He walks back toward me, allowing me the space to see his entire form in the tux, the ease of his muscles paired with sleek style that makes my heart trip over itself. My confessions line up, ready to tell him I selfishly want to be his first priority as well as his last, my fears, my concerns, the threats that keep me up at night, the fragility of my hopes and how they shatter a little more with each day.

My bedroom is down the hall. I can see the door as we leave the art gallery—a space that is neglected and sadly underused like much of the house. I consider taking Raegan there under the guise of allowing her another step into my life when in reality, I want to kiss her until she can’t remember how to breathe, until she doesn’t remember pain, until she forgets about everything since her accident.

“Trust me; no one is going to feel responsible for you. Not like that. They’re going to be proud of you for following your passions, for loving something bigger than a paycheck and a title. They won’t be keeping tally of how much you’re making in dollars—trust me, money only gets you so far. My dad is the poster child for that sentiment. The person who sticks with you at your darkest, the one who remains on your side when everyone else gives up, the one who doesn’t lose faith—that’s worth more than any sum of money.”

Someone like him maybe?

A soft smile sweeps the frown from her face. “I don’t have a boyfriend. To be honest, I don’t have any desire to be in a relationship. I have too much going on.” She places the glasses in front of each table setting, her eyes illuminated with a heavy stream of thoughts that erase the chance of her maintaining her smile. I did that. I created that doubt. My chest feels like an opened flame, the burn so strong it curdles my blood and singes my thoughts.

“Do you look like your parents?” Gloria asks. “A little.” “Not really,” I interject. “Except her eyes are similar to her mom’s, and when she focusses really hard, she looks a little like her dad. Her brother and sister have some similarities, but even those are pretty damn thin.” Raegan stares at me like she’s surprised by my assessment.

“Was it what you expected?” He loosens his tie, freeing the top button of his dress shirt, making me stare too long.

He frees another button, then moves to his wrists—bone and skin and muscle that somehow look erotic as he rolls up his shirtsleeve.

Lincoln shakes his head in tight jerks, his jaw flexing. “We’re nothing like them. Fear isn’t what keeps pushing me back to you. Fear is what keeps me pulling away.”

“You want this. I know you want me, too.” As badly as I want to deny this, I don’t because he’s right. I’ve been trying to forget that for nearly three years, but it doesn’t negate the fact.

His words echo in that hallway carved into my heart, the one I’ve worked dutifully to avoid, and makes me regret all of my angry words and claims of not wanting him. I want to plead with him to forget everything about tonight except the feelings he has for me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m sorry to leave the night like this. I just don’t know how to do this anymore.” Tears make my eyes feel as weighted as my heart as I take in his rumpled tie and exposed skin, filing this memory away in a locked space where I vow to remember the perfection of Lincoln Beckett.

😭😭💔

Lincoln narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything, making the moment almost feel like it didn’t happen, like there’s an option for an alternate ending to this night. He takes his jacket, folding it over one arm, then leans so close I feel unsteady. His lips graze my temple in a chaste kiss that conveys less than his silence. He slips a small, sleek box from his pocket and into my hand. “Happy birthday, Kerosene.” His voice floats over my skin, paralyzing me as I watch him descend the porch and the driveway, taking what’s left of my strength with him.

Maybe it will be easier to admit that I’m tired of staying away from her, that I hate the idea of not seeing her smile and being the one who she communicates in silent glances with. How I’m tired of feeling so damn undone when she’s gone, and how badly I want to feel her beside me through the bad and good, the terrible and fucking amazing—I want her there for all of them.

Raegan smiles, her actions slow as she leans forward to hug me. In all the time I’ve known her, I can’t recall ever holding her like this, studying the way her body aligns with mine so seamlessly, even with the completely platonic gesture.

“We just make it worse each time,” I tell him. “Our words are weapons, and our actions are grenades, and we keep aiming them at each other. I don’t want to hurt you, and I can’t take being hurt by you, so one of us just has to pull the pin and let it blow up before it takes us both down.”

“Upstairs, Raegan. Change your clothes and get to school. I told you to mind your own goddamn business. You don’t get to stand in my kitchen and judge me, especially not when you’re dressed like a hooker.”

Excuse you?!?!

I pull her shirt free, admiring the pink and gray leopard print bra that presents her breasts to me like a present waiting to be unwrapped. I take in her chest, the delicate bones around her neck, the flat planes of her ab muscles, and then back to her face and the fine layer of freckles that sprinkle her cheeks. Her eyes are shining, expressing her need and desire as she watches my gaze feast over her. “You’re fucking perfect.” I place a hand on her chest, running it from her neck down past her belly button. Her skin is impossibly soft and smooth. I grip the back of my sweatshirt and tee in one fist and haul it over my head.

She bites her bottom lip, the sight so fucking sexy I have to readjust myself. She watches me, her lip turning white as she bites harder.

I trace the shoulder strap of her bra, and she presses up on her toes, her kisses becoming faster with excitement. I trace the strap to the clasp in the back, and she pulls my bottom lip into her mouth before freeing it and tilting her head in the opposite direction, tracing over my sides with her fingers. I release the clasp and kiss her fully before leaning back to watch the fabric slip down her arms and fall next to us. Her breasts are full, hard nipples conveying her need.

I lean down, tracing the pink of her nipples with my tongue. She gasps, leaning into me, a hand in my hair. I pull her breast into my mouth, flicking my tongue against the sensitive flesh until she moans. The sound is a drug, hitting my bloodstream instantly. I move to the other nipple while releasing the button on her jeans. She slides a hand along my jaw and reaches down with her other hand, tugging the fabric down.

Her eyes are closed, her lips swollen. I slow my licks, and she slowly opens her eyes, watching me as I slide her jeans down the length of her legs. Her underwear is a thin slip of pink lace that matches her bra. “God. I want to see all of your underwear,” I tell her, going down on my knees. I press my nose to her entrance, breathing in her sweet and musky scent.

I link my fingers in the lacey fabric, sliding it down her hips, down past her knees all the way to her ankles where I gently lift each of her feet and grasp the material, taking a deep breath of her scent before shoving them into my pocket.

addiction. I lean forward, licking her seam, loving the way she loses her breath and footing, as she grasps my shoulders. I lick her again and again, my tongue flat and hard against her. She tips her chin into the air. I lap at her again, moving my hand to fully expose her.

I lean forward, tonguing her clit until she moans. I release myself and reach for her hand, pulling her fingers toward her center. “Feel that?” I ask. “You’re dripping for me.” I groan, watching her dark nails slide against her tender flesh, dipping a finger inside of her. Her breaths stutter, her chin falling back again.

I slip my finger back inside of her. Her hips jerk forward in response. “God, you’re so responsive. So tight.” I sigh. “So fucking perfect.” I lean closer, my eyes tethered to hers as I breathe her in. She’s so wet, confirming she wants me as badly as I want her. I slide a second finger into her and add my tongue, licking, tasting, and rubbing her until she’s moaning and slipping down the wall,