The Dixon Rule: Chapter 7

DAD COMES OVER SATURDAY MORNING TO FIX MY SHOWER. I OFFER TO help him, but he waves me off and says he works better alone, so I cook up some omelets for us while I wait. He lumbers out of the bathroom literally ten minutes after he entered it and announces, “We’re good.”

I stare at him incredulously. “Do you realize I watched hours’ worth of how-to videos to try to fix that stupid thing and you did it in minutes?”

He shrugs. “Just had to adjust the control valve.”

“I hate that after all those online tutorials, I still don’t know what you’re talking about. I feel completely useless right now.”

Dad grins at me. “It’s okay, kiddo. I’ll never ask you to fix my shower temperature, but you’re still the first person I’d want by my side in a fight.”

“Obviously. Thomas would never have your back.”

“Nah, he would. He’d throw down. But then he’d feel guilty and start patching up the enemy’s wounds. You, on the other hand…”

“I’d crush their skulls to dust,” I say solemnly.

“That’s my girl.”

“Here.” I slide a plate toward him. “Let me butter your toast.”

We eat our breakfast side by side at the kitchen counter, chatting about what we’ve been up to lately. Dad is a SWAT team leader on the Boston PD, so his updates are always way more interesting than mine. He tells me about a meth lab his squad raided last week, shaking his head when he gets to the part about finding three little kids at the house, cowering in a closet. I don’t know how he’s able to do this job. Kicking in doors of drug houses. Executing high-risk searches. Dealing with hostage crises. All that adrenaline would put me into cardiac arrest. But Dad thrives on it. He’s honestly the toughest man I know.

“How about you?” he asks. “How’re the dance rehearsals going?”

“Really well! I have high hopes for this year’s competition. I think Kenji and I might be able to crack the top ten.”

“Of course you can. You’re unstoppable.”

“So is everyone else who’s competing,” I grumble. “This will definitely be an uphill battle.”

“You got this.” He leans closer and nudges my shoulder with his. “You’ve never shied away from a challenge your entire life. Never met an obstacle you haven’t been able to overcome.”

My dad is my biggest champion, and that’s pretty damn great.

It’s not until after he leaves me with a hug and a promise to stop by next week that I realize the battle I’m facing is beyond uphill—it’s a vertical line shooting straight up into the heavens.

Kenji calls as I’m getting ready for my shift at the diner and drops the bomb of all bombs.

“What do you mean you can’t do the competition?” I shriek into the phone. “Why not?”

“I need you to brace yourself.”

“It’s too late! I’m already keeled over in horror.” Anxiety flutters through me. He can’t be bailing on me. He can’t. We’re supposed to film our audition video soon.

“I got a job on a superyacht,” Kenji reveals. “I leave tomorrow for six months.”

“What are you even saying to me right now?”

“I’m going to be working as a private bartender on a superyacht owned by an eccentric billionaire whose name I’m not allowed to divulge because of the nondisclosure agreement I signed, but let’s just say he’s in tech and may or may not be a bigamist.”

I gasp. “Oh my God, you’re working for Constantine Zayn?”

Zayn is the third richest man in the world. It recently came out that the dude is legally married to two women, one in Greece and the other in America, and now both wives are trying to divorce him and coming after half of his considerable fortune.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Kenji says innocently.

“Okay, first, we will discuss this in detail later. I have faith we can find loopholes in the NDA. Second—how could you!”

He groans loudly in my ear. “I know. I’m sorry. Like, really, really sorry. I know how important this is to you. But…a superyacht, Di.”

“What about school?” He’s about to go into his junior year at Briar. “You can’t just disappear for six months.”

“I’ll come back in January for winter semester, then make up the rest of my courses next summer. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“How did you even land this job?”

“Get this! My mother does the mistress’s hair.”

“This dude has two wives and a mistress? That feels like overkill.”

“So the mistress is sitting in my mom’s salon, complaining how they lost half the yacht’s waitstaff because they were all busted for running a human trafficking ring.”

“I’m sorry. What?” My head is spinning.

“Trust me, this story is a labyrinth that would take years to navigate. So Mom goes, hey, my son tends bar to pay for college, he’d be perfect for this job. Next day? I get a call from Cons—my new unnamed employer,” he corrects quickly. “I spoke to a billionaire, Diana.”

“I’m happy for you. I truly am. But…goddamn it, Kenji. This is NUABC!”

“I know. I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone else, though.”

“Yes, I’ll have my pick of all those ballroom dance enthusiasts wandering the streets of Hastings hoping to compete one day.”

“Post an SOS video on Ride or Dance. See if anyone in the Boston area wants to audition to be your partner.”

“Okay, that’s not a terrible idea. But I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m sorry. I was having fun at rehearsals. But let’s be honest—we’re never going to place.”

“That’s not true,” I protest. “We might make the top ten. That’s like two grand in winnings.”

He snorts loudly. “We both know we’re not winning any money. We came in fifteenth in our category last year. Out of twenty.”

He’s right. It’s unlikely. But I don’t like seeing my dream balloon burst like this. It’s nicer when it’s floating around signifying hope and glory. Like maybe this year we’ll nail the Viennese waltz, and the judges will sit there in awe, weeping from the sheer beauty of our bodies in motion. Maybe all the other competitors will break their legs in a tragic summer skiing accident the night before. I really don’t understand why Kenji is being so pessimistic. The dream balloon is full of endless possibilities!

“Please don’t go. Please?” I make a last-ditch begging effort, but Kenji was lost to me from the word billionaire.

As I change into my waitressing uniform, I’m grumbling under my breath the entire time. I don’t handle disappointment well, especially when it’s due to something that isn’t in my control. It’d be one thing if I backed out myself, but the choice was taken from me, damn it.

I’m officially adding Constantine Zayn to my list of archenemies, under my old gymnastics coach and Shane Lindley.

My mood only worsens when I start my shift at Della’s Diner. Each customer I serve is worse than the last. One man makes me return his pie three times because he doesn’t like the way the crust looks. I’m finally forced to get my manager, who informs the picky patron that he has to pay for two out of the three pieces because despite the offensive crust, he still ate nearly half of each slice.

After work, I duck into the bathroom to change out of my uniform and into denim shorts and a striped T-shirt. I’m meeting Gigi for dinner at Malone’s down the street.

My white tennis shoes slap the pavement as I hurry down the sidewalk toward the sports bar at the corner of Main Street. Gigi texted to say she’d already arrived and grabbed us a booth.

“Kenji has betrayed me,” I announce as I slide across from her.

She lifts her eyes from the menu. Her lips are twitching with humor. “That’s a pity.”

I glare at her. “It’s not funny.”

“What happened?”

“He bailed on the competition.”

“No! Okay, that is pretty bad.”

“See? I told you.”

“Can you find another partner?”

I moan. “Who, Gigi? Who is going to spend their summer learning the tango well enough to execute a routine good enough to qualify for the most important dance competition of all time?”

“I don’t think it’s the most important of all time—”

“All time for eternity,” I say stubbornly.

I can tell she’s trying not to laugh at me again. To her credit, she spends the next ten minutes brainstorming where I can find a new partner, but I’m not feeling hopeful. The dream balloon is completely deflated. Doesn’t seem like NUABC is in the cards this year, and I’m bummed.

We spend the rest of dinner chatting about the wedding, for which Gigi has very little involvement. Her aunt is running the show and we’re all just along for the ride. We have a fitting scheduled for next week, and I’m looking forward to seeing my dress. Mya complained via text the other day how we weren’t allowed to pick our own dress styles, but I had to remind her that Summer Di Laurentis is a highly-in-demand fashion designer. No way she’s going to steer us wrong. Plus, the bridal party is wearing sage. I rock a mean sage.

“Oh, I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” Gigi says when I mention that Mya and I have a video call scheduled tomorrow to discuss all things bachelorette. “Would you guys be super offended if we don’t have one?”

“Are you serious?”

“Fuck, I guess that means yes.”

“No, it means no!” Relief washes over me. “You have no idea what a logistical nightmare this has been. Everyone on your hockey team is scattered all over the country, you have five thousand aunts and cousins, everyone has jobs or are away on summer trips. No joke—Mya and I have been struggling here, and you know the two of us can normally plan the hell out of a girls’ trip. We can still make something happen, but—”

“Oh my God, let’s skip it, then,” Gigi cuts in, equally relieved. “There are way too many things going on this summer. We leave for Arizona tomorrow and I’m not even packed. That’s why we have to bail on the party tonight.”

“What party?”

“The party at your apartment complex? Beckett’s goodbye thing.”

“What! Is he moving? Why didn’t I know about this?”

She grins. “He’s not moving. He’s going on vacation.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s extra.”

“Beyond extra.”

I purse my lips for a moment. “Eh. I’d still suck his dick.”

She bursts out laughing.

“Ugh. Stupid Shane, though. Why is he throwing a party? I just wanted one quiet night to catch up on Fling or Forever.”

“Holy shit, we didn’t even get to talk about that!” Her gray eyes become animated. “Did you see that Leni and Donovan date? I’ve never heard so much bullshit escape a man’s mouth.”

I nod my agreement. “Donovan is as shady as they come. He’s not there for the right reasons. He’s only pretending to like Leni, and I feel so bad for her because she’s so sweet and she genuinely likes him.”

“That relationship is a dumpster fire waiting to happen,” Gigi sighs.

Speaking of dumpster fires, Shane’s about to invite the wrath of the Meadow Hill HOA, judging by the amount of noise I hear coming from the pool when I get home. Granted, it’s only nine o’clock. Technically Niall can’t start complaining until midnight.

On the other hand, I assume after the pool lights automatically turn off, Shane will move the party to Red Birch, which will give Niall a nervous breakdown.

I let myself into my apartment, kick off my sneakers, and go to feed Skip. As I sprinkle fish food into his tank, he stares up at me with those lifeless eyes and I stare back until he feels self-conscious and swims away. That’s right, Skip. You’re not the boss.

Even with the balcony door shut, noise drifts in from the pool area. Muffled laughter, music, and the drone of voices. Curious to see who Shane paid to attend his party (because nobody would willingly be his friend), I slide the glass door open and step up to the white railing.

It’s a decent-sized gathering. Maybe two dozen people, half of them in the pool, the others draped over lounge chairs or sitting around the white tables on the deck. An outdoor speaker plays a chill pop song on low volume, which tells me Shane is trying to be mindful of our neighbors so they don’t hate him. Joke’s on him. All the neighbors already hate him.

I’m trying to back away when Shane spots me, his dark head swinging toward my balcony. He’s standing in the middle of the pool in waist-level water, wearing red swim trunks and holding a beer. The sun has already set, but the moon is nearly full and sits high in the sky, illuminating every chiseled feature of Shane’s face.

When our gazes lock, he raises the beer bottle. “Dixon,” he calls. “Come join.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you over the music.” I point to my ears, feigning cluelessness.

Effortlessly, he hoists himself out of the pool. Water drips from his hair and runs down his body in twisting lines. His ab muscles glisten as the moonlight shines off the droplets. I try to peel my eyes away, but I can’t even blink as I watch him move toward me.

Then I realize what’s happening and almost gag in revulsion.

Oh my God. I was admiring Shane Lindley’s body.

I need an intervention.

“I said come join us,” he repeats, walking barefoot across the grass. He stops about ten yards from the balcony. “It’s a good time.”

“No, thank you.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would be breaking a Dixon rule. You and I don’t fraternize.”

“What about us? Do we fraternize?” Beckett Dunne sidles up to Shane, also barefoot and shirtless. His blond hair is wet and nearly reaches his shoulders.

Lord, he’s an Australian god, so delicious I can’t help but ogle him. At least him I’m allowed to ogle.

“I’m lonely, Juliet,” Beckett drawls up to the balcony. “Come keep me company.”

I flash him a sweet smile. “Hard pass, Romeo.”

“C’mon, one drink.”

“Di!” someone shouts.

I peer past the guys’ broad shoulders and spot Fatima from cheer camp. She’s wearing a sleek black one-piece and waving at me from one of the lounge chairs. Damn it, they lured her into this? And is that Lily and Gia in the pool? Lily is another counselor, while Gia is on the Briar squad with me. The two bikini-clad young women are in the shallow end, laughing with Will Larsen and a couple guys I don’t recognize.

Why are all my friends here?

My gaze flicks back to Shane’s and Beckett’s muscular bare chests.

I mean. That’s why.

“Fine,” I relent, although I make a point to grimace at Shane. “I’ll be right down.”