The Dixon Rule: Chapter 11

“DIANA, DO YOU HAVE A RECORD OF THE MINUTES OF THE LAST MEETING?” asks Brenda, the head of the board.

“Right here.” I lift the notebook in my lap.

“Great.”

The conference room is packed, as it always is for HOA meetings. At the front of the room is a long table where the board members sit. Brenda runs the show, while tight-lipped Jackson and perpetually mute Tracey follow Brenda’s lead or risk death. Brenda is a human dragon who will burn them to ash if they go against her.

The rest of the room comprises of rows of metal chairs. I’m seated in the front, with Shane to my left. When we first walked in, Veronika waved him over, patting the empty chair next to her. He either didn’t see or pretended not to and sat directly beside me instead, forcing his presence upon me.

“Why are there so many people here?” he whispers. “Aren’t these things supposed to be boring?”

“Give it ten minutes and you’ll understand why the word boring has no place in this room,” I whisper back, before realizing what I’m doing.

No. Absolutely not. I can’t be whispering with him like coconspirators. We are enemies.

Brenda stands to address the room. “Hello, everyone. Let’s get started. First and foremost, I see a new face among us.” She gives Shane a pointed look.

In response, he flashes his usual cocky grin. “Busted. I’m Shane Lindley. I live in—”

“We know who you are,” she says coldly.

Shane’s mouth slams shut in surprise.

“We prefer that newcomers watch and listen for their first meeting.” Her expression suggests his mere existence is an insult to her. “Participation is not encouraged.”

Priya is on my right, biting her lip to keep from laughing. This is not an actual HOA rule, so obviously the shunning now extends to the leader of our board. Last I heard, the Meadow Hill rumor mill had spun some pretty ludicrous stories about our newest resident. Marnie and Dave from Weeping Willow told me they heard Shane was escorted off an airplane last year for bullying the flight staff. I legit have no clue how that rumor even got started.

“Moving on,” Brenda says. “Are there any concerns that need to be brought up?”

Niall’s hand shoots up, as it does every meeting. “Yes. I have seen no change in the noise level since last month. I think it’s necessary to institute an eight p.m. noise ordinance.”

Ray, a stout man who always attends the meetings with his quiet wife, speaks up.

“That is absolutely ridiculous. Some of us have lives, we have kids. How am I going to get my kids to stay silent after eight p.m.?”

“I don’t know, maybe put your kids to sleep at seven. Isn’t that a usual bedtime for children?” Niall asks.

“Are you trying to tell me how to parent?” Ray’s voice grows louder.

“I am trying to tell you how to be a considerate neighbor.”

Ray is standing now, and Niall’s crossed his arms, barely making eye contact behind his thick black glasses. Ray’s meek wife, Lisa, is tugging on his shirt to get him to settle down.

“Damn,” Shane murmurs to me, “is it always this dramatic?”

“Just wait,” I murmur back, “the main item on the agenda is hiring a new pool boy because Veronika got caught fucking the last one in the bathroom by the barbecues.”

He chuckles at that, and I can’t help but smile myself. Despite all my resistance, there is an innate ease when I talk to Shane. Even when we’re fighting or snapping at each other, there’s just this…flow.

And now that I’ve acknowledged it, I find the realization incredibly disconcerting.

“That’s enough!” Brenda nearly shouts. “Both of you, stop this. The board has heard Niall’s suggestion and will take it under consideration.” She takes a calming breath. “Next on the agenda—Carla’s motion to deny Liam and Celeste Garrison’s request to list their condo online as a short-term vacation rental. Jackson?” she says, glancing at the bushy-bearded man next to her.

Jackson half rises from his chair, frowns at the bossy, uptight woman we all try to avoid, and mutters, “Motion denied.”

Carla shoots to her feet. “You have no right to do that!”

“Actually, we do,” Brenda replies. “We voted last meeting about it. The majority agreed that the Garrisons could list the unit for the six weeks they’ll be in Atlanta.”

“I voted against it!” Carla huffs. “Why doesn’t the minority have a say?”

“Because that’s not how majority-and-minority votes work,” Brenda says coldly.

“Sit down, Carla,” Jackson rumbles from the head table. “Or I’ll make you.”

“I’d like to see you try!”

From the corner of my eye, I see Shane shaking with laughter. Damn it. He’s enjoying this far too much. What if he regularly starts attending? I can’t allow that to happen. These meetings are literally all I live for.

“I have a motion,” I announce, sticking up my hand.

Brenda acknowledges me with a nod. “Yes?”

“Motion to ban all parties on the premises.”

“I second,” Niall says instantly.

“Absolutely not,” Veronika pipes up angrily.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Veronika,” says Elaine, a high-powered attorney at a law practice in Boston. “‘All parties’ is too broad a term. Let’s narrow down the scope. Does this include children’s birthday parties? What about the monthly community barbecues?”

Brenda bangs her gavel. “Diana’s motion is denied. No vote required.”

Shane beams at me.

“Worth a shot,” I say with a shrug.

“Speaking of the upcoming barbecue.” This comes from Carla. “I’d like to discuss the dietary requirements. My son cannot get within fifty feet of watermelon. He will die.”

Shane speaks, sounding curious. “Sorry, can we back up? When is this barbecue?”

Everyone immediately clams up.

Brenda ignores his question. “We can save any barbecue discussions for the group chat. Next item—”

“About this group chat,” Shane interrupts, focusing on Jackson. “You in the Bruins shirt—I’ll give you two tickets to their season opener if you add me to this thing. I think I was accidentally removed.”

I whip up my hand. “Motion to evict Shane Lindley from Meadow Hill for attempting to bribe a board member.”

“I second,” Priya chimes in. Because she’s always got my back.

“Motion denied,” Jackson harrumphs. “I would like those tickets.”

Shane gleefully pokes me in the side. “Ha.”

Brenda taps her gavel again. “Let’s tackle the most important item on the agenda. We need to decide on a pool cleaning company.”

“Yes,” I mumble under my breath. “Here we go.”

“I don’t understand the issue with the old cleaning company,” Veronika says shamelessly.

“Are you serious right now?” Priya asks her, twisting her head to glare at our resident cougar. “We’re all wasting our time with pool services because of you, and you’re going to waste it further?”

“Because of me?” Veronika questions with an exaggerated gasp. “But what did I do?”

Carla joins in on the attack. “You made poor Niall witness your indiscretion next to a urinal, of all places!”

“I still don’t see the issue.”

“Diana, can you please read the minutes from last meeting so we might remember what exactly transpired between Veronika and the pool boy? Since she is unclear as to why we have to hire a new one.” Brenda doesn’t bother to hide her exasperation.

I flip a page in my notebook and clear my throat.

“Well, Niall detailed that he walked into the men’s bathroom during our community barbecue to find Arvin, the pool boy, hoisting Veronika up between two urinals. She yelled out, and I’m quoting, ‘Clean up this dirty hoe like you clean up our pool.’”

This sends Shane over the edge. He bends toward me, his head practically glued to my arm as he shudders with silent laughter. His T-shirt-clad chest heaves while he tries to catch his breath. His response is contagious, and I have to swallow my own wave of hysterical giggles.

“Are you clear now, Veronika, on why it would be inappropriate to continue with our old pool company?” Brenda asks coolly.

“Not really,” she answers in a sultry voice. “Can you read it again?”

“Quit it!” Jackson snaps at her. “Diego, do you have the price quotes from the other pool companies?”

“I do. Let me pull them up.” In the second row, Diego from Silver Pine fidgets on his phone.

The rest of the meeting goes off without a hitch, except for the moment when Veronika blows Shane a kiss and I can’t control my laughter again. When Brenda dismisses us, I walk out of the conference room with Priya and Niall, leaving Shane at the board’s mercy. Brenda has cornered him at the door.

“Good job in there,” I tell my fellow Red Birchers. “I know Lindley’s entertaining, but don’t get lured in.”

“I haven’t been lured,” Niall says firmly.

“Good, Niall. Stay strong.”

He holds out his fist expectantly. I stare at it. Then I sigh and bump it with my fist. So that’s what we do now, Niall and I. We fist bump.

Shane catches up to us as we exit through the back doors of the Sycamore.

“That was the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced,” he crows. “Dixon! Why didn’t you tell me how lit these meetings are? I’m never missing one. Oh God, what if I have some Sunday games this season? What do I do? Can you film them for me?”

“Brenda doesn’t allow cameras in the conference room,” Niall says curtly.

Shane heaves a sigh. “Yeah, of course she doesn’t. That’s so Brenda.”

I swallow my own sigh, but it hisses out of my lungs when a notification buzzes on my phone.

Traitor!

Shane checks his phone and whoops. “Guess who scored a second chance at the group chat.”

Priya gives him a cool look. “Congratulations. Try not to send any highly insensitive breakup messages to it.”

He narrows his eyes at her, but she and Niall are already walking ahead of us.

“What does that mean?” Shane asks me.

“Oh, sorry, hold on.”

I’m busy fiddling on my phone.

ME:

Guys, Shane has requested to be removed from the group chat. He’s overwhelmed by human interaction. Don’t re-add him, please. He finds group situations super stressful and was too embarrassed to say anything in the meeting.

An alert pops up on his phone. Shane’s jaw drops in outrage.

I smile at him. “That’s right. This girl is not afraid to abuse her admin powers.”

Later that night, there’s a rap against my door. I answer it to find Shane’s scowling face. His expression is as dark as the black T-shirt hugging his muscular chest.

“I’m sorry, I don’t do solicitors,” I say sweetly.

He brushes past me to step through the doorway. “What was Priya’s comment about?”

“What?”

Shane stalks into the living room, his eyebrows drawn together in consternation. “That comment Priya made after the meeting about insensitive breakup texts. I’ve been thinking about it all day and I can’t make sense of it. I know I’ve joked about you turning the neighbors against me, but have you been talking shit about me? Like actual trash talk?”

“Trash talk? No. The truth? Yes.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the way you handled the situation with Crystal was insensitive. And, frankly, really mean.”

He stares at me in confusion. “Crystal? This is about Crystal?”

I head for the kitchen to continue the task I was undertaking before Shane showed up at my door. I grab a bottle of tequila from the cabinet next to the sink and place it next to the blender.

Shane storms after me, his anger intensifying. I see it in the tight set of his shoulders. The way he curls the fingers of one hand over the edge of the white granite counter.

“How exactly did I handle that situation poorly?” Irritation and disbelief mingle in his expression.

“Are you kidding? I read your text, Lindley. It was harsh as fuck.”

“Are you kidding? Literally this morning I heard you telling your ex you’re not interested. How is what you did any different?”

“What I said to Percy came after months of him showing up and texting. I was harsh because he wasn’t getting the message. The first time I broke up with him, I didn’t just say, sorry, get lost, take care.”

Rolling my eyes, I pour strawberry margarita mix, tequila, and ice into the blender, and hit the power button. The ingredients crash into the blade, cubes flying around in the pitcher like tiny pieces of glass from a broken window. I hold the button for longer than necessary. It’s my passive-aggressive way of sticking it to Niall.

When the noise stops, Shane speaks again, a frown twisting his mouth. “That’s not what I said to her at all.”

“Bullshit. I read your message.”

He shakes his head, appearing even more annoyed. “So what you’re saying is, you read that entire message thread, but you’re only judging me based on the last one? Which, yes, admittedly, it was harsh, but she was saying some pretty nasty shit before that.”

“The last one?” I echo, wrinkling my forehead. I think back to the text exchange Crystal showed me. “There was only one message on that thread, Shane.”

“No, there were about twenty messages. Maybe more.”

Suspicion flickers through me. I don’t know who I’m feeling mistrustful of, Crystal or Shane. Noticing my expression, he curls his lips and pulls his phone from the pocket of his navy-blue sweatpants.

“What, you don’t believe me? Here. Read the damn thing for yourself.”

I see him scrolling up an alarming wall of text before he finally hands me his phone.

“It starts here,” he mutters. “Where she says it was the best date she’s ever had.”

As I start reading, a needle of guilt pricks at me. The more I read, the guiltier I feel.

Shane is actually nice in most of the messages. He lets her down easy. Even when she accuses him of leading her on, he handles it with tact and kindness.

In response, she… Oh boy. Crystal comes off a bit unhinged here. But who am I kidding? I can’t say I’ve never done the same. I think most women have a mortifying, borderline-stalker, pleading-text session in their romantic histories, and if not, I commend them for never succumbing to insecurity or desperation.

I can totally understand why Crystal deleted everything leading up to Shane’s final message. Her own messages go from sappy to pathetic to bitterly unattractive.

By the time Shane wrote, I’m not interested in seeing you again. Best of luck it’s clear he’d had enough of Crystal’s verbal abuse.

Also…

I look up from the screen. “You didn’t have sex?”

“No.” Indignation flashes in his expression. “Did she say we did?”

I try to recall her exact words. I think she used the phrase “hook-up,” but when I said I couldn’t believe he would treat her like that after having sex, she didn’t correct me.

“She implied it,” I admit.

Now that I know it was just a kiss, I feel even worse for Shane that Crystal exploded on him. She’d threatened to tell every girl she met that he was a user.

That would rightly piss me off too. I don’t blame him for snapping. Same way I snapped at Percy today. When someone can’t see reason or refuses to hear you out, sometimes you end up losing it. I’m not excusing the behavior, but I understand it.

I return the phone without another word. Shane folds his arms against his chest. His biceps flex, drawing my gaze to his smooth, brown skin. I sort of like that he doesn’t have tattoos. The lack of ink only emphasizes every vein and muscle when he crosses his arms tighter.

“I’m waiting,” he says.

I grit my teeth. “I’m sorry.”

His lips tick up with humor. “For what?” he prompts.

“For jumping to conclusions and thinking you were a dick to Crystal. In my defense, you’re an obnoxious ass most of the time, so I assumed you were being consistent.”

“How is this a good apology?”

Ugh. Fine. I know when to be the bigger person when I need to be.

“I’m sorry. I think you handled that entire conversation nearly flawlessly.” Curiosity tugs at me. “Did you mean what you said to Crystal about not being over your ex?”

Discomfort puckers his brow. “It’s complicated.”

“That means yes.”

Shane shrugs, the fingers of one hand ambling along the shiny surface of the counter. This subject clearly makes him uneasy.

“We were together four years. That’s not something you can get over with the snap of your fingers.”

“Dude, it’s fine. You don’t have to justify why you’re still mooning over your ex.” I grab a tall plastic cup out of the dishwasher and walk back to the blender. “On that note, you can leave now. I have a margarita to drink and four episodes of Fling or Forever to catch up on.”

“Cool. Wanna order a pizza? I’ll grab some beer from my apartment.”

I stare at him. “I didn’t invite you.”

“Oh, I invited myself. Was that not clear?”

And that’s how Shane and I end up on my couch, with drinks in our hands and an open box of pepperoni pizza on the coffee table, while I give him the rundown on the current couples in the hacienda.

“So Leni is my favorite girl. But we hate Donovan. He’s not good enough for her. And Zoey and the Connor are my favorite couple at the moment.”

“The Connor?”

“I know. It’s obnoxious, but luckily, he doesn’t make her call him that. He’s a radio DJ in Nashville. Total frat-boy type. Very douchey.”

“What’s our girl Zoey doing with him, then?”

“I think it’s an opposites-attract situation.”

Shane reaches for another slice, chewing slowly as we watch the exchange unfolding on the screen. As always, I’m riveted.

“All I’m saying is, I would be open to it.” Zoey’s voice is soft but firm. “I’m not completely closed off.”

Connor is upset. He runs a hand through his dark curls, leaning forward on the edge of the daybed. “What the hell, Zoey? You’d seriously be cool if Ben picked you?”

“Who’s Ben?” demands Shane.

I pause the show to explain. “Ben’s the new guy. Every week, a new boy and girl arrive, and each one has to break up an existing couple.”

“Damn. What happens to the people who get dumped?”

“Okay, so they—” I’m starting to become animated. “They go to the Sugar Shack.”

Shane snorts. “Who makes up this shit?”

“The greatest producers of all time.”

I unpause.

“The Sugar Shack sounds like a place where people go to fuck,” he remarks.

I hit pause again. “No, that’s the Sugar Suite.”

He breaks out in a deep rumble of laughter.

“Every few episodes, the public votes on which couple gets an overnight in the Sugar Suite. I think this is why the Connor is so upset right now, because Zoey and Connor just had the overnight. And! They did stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Shane sounds intrigued.

“I don’t know. They can’t show it. But it looked like his hand was moving under the blanket. People get very attached after they go to the Sugar Suite.”

“Well, especially someone like Zoey,” Shane agrees. “She’s so sensitive.”

I try to gauge if he’s mocking me.

“What?” he says sheepishly. “You can just tell. Did you see how upset she got when Jas made fun of Todd’s chest hair? She pulled Todd aside and told him it looked nice.”

“If she’s so sensitive, why is she open to Ben?” I counter. “We both know if Ben picks her, the Connor may end up alone because Erica is for sure not picking the Connor.”

“No, he’s not alpha enough for Erica.”

“I’m unpausing now. Hush.”

Shane chuckles as he reaches for his beer. “You’re so fucking bossy.”

By the time the episode ends, we’ve demolished the pizza and consumed a drink each.

“Let me grab another beer before you put the next one on,” Shane says, rising from the couch. “Want a top-up?” He nods at my nearly empty glass.

I hand it to him. “Yes please.”

Rather than walk off, he peers down at me, thoughtful.

“What?” I say.

Shane gestures toward the pizza box, the beer, the TV. “This is a truce, right?”

“No.” I snicker. “And you’re naive for even asking that.”

“I know. I felt stupid the moment I said it.” He lets out a sigh. “Let me grab those refills.”