The Dixon Rule: Chapter 35

SOS

“IT’S ALL ABOUT THE QUICK STEPS. PRETEND WE’RE DANCING IN A FAIRY tale. Like we’re at Cinderella’s ball.”

“Why on earth would that help me with the steps? We’re not cartoons. We’re doing this for real.”

Shane tries to mimic my steps, cursing when he messes up for the third time. It’s Thursday, and we both had early classes that let out by four, so we’re squeezing in a waltz rehearsal.

“Why can’t you lead?” he grumbles.

“Because the man leads.”

“Aren’t we trying to smash the patriarchy?”

“Yep, but the competitive ballroom dance world hasn’t gotten that memo yet. Ergo, the man leads.”

We start over, dancing across the Meadow Hill gym as the tempo gets faster.

“What the hell!” Shane yelps. “Why is this speeding up?”

“It’s the Viennese waltz.”

“So?”

“So it’s a dance of elegance and speed.”

The music reaches its crescendo and we finish in an unimpressive skid.

“Yeah,” I muse. “It needs more work.”

“You think?”

A disgruntled Shane stomps off to go use the bathroom out in the hall. We’ve already chugged two bottles of water each during this rehearsal. We’re in a difficult spot now. We’ve pretty much nailed our tango routine. We’re okay at the cha cha.

But the waltz is killing us.

“Hey, check this out,” I say when Shane returns.

I’m lying on the mat, one leg crossed over my knee and my phone resting on it. Shane flops down beside me, one big arm reaching out to accept the phone.

I can’t take my gaze off his biceps, the way they always ripple whenever he moves his arms. He’s so ripped and it’s fucking sexy. Makes it hard to concentrate.

I snap out of my ogling and press play on the video.

“Watch,” I say grimly.

A female voice chirps out of the phone speaker.

“We’re Martinique and Viktor, and this is what we have to say to Ride or Dance!”

Shane hisses. “That’s us. We’re Ride or Dance!”

“Well aware,” I reply, trying not to laugh.

The video cuts to a couple dancing the tango. With her flawless brown skin and almond-shaped eyes, Martinique is ethnically ambiguous and drop-dead gorgeous. And tall. She has those endless legs I’ve always coveted, which means she and her partner, the fair-haired Viktor, line up perfectly for the tango. The natural way they move together only serves to highlight my biggest fear—the height discrepancy between me and Shane. Our tango is good, but it could be so much better.

“The tango is our Everest,” I mumble.

“What do you mean?”

“Kenji’s small. That’s one of the reasons we liked the tango. But it’s our biggest impediment, Shane—your height.”

“Maybe it’s your height that’s the impediment.”

“No, my height is perfect. It lets you do all the cool lifts. You’re too tall to tango.”

“There’s no such thing as too tall to tango,” he says smugly.

I sigh.

On the screen, Martinique executes a graceful spin, her hand extending in a flourish. Viktor takes it, and they both turn to address the camera.

“We’re coming for you, Ride or Dance,” Viktor says with a smirk.

Shane gasps. “These dickheads are trolling us!”

“See? I told you.” I pull up their profile and squawk in outrage. “They have a hundred thousand followers.”

“Whatever. We’re at four eighty-two K.”

“You know the exact number?” I tease.

“I’m ballparking. But it was four eighty-two the last time I checked. It’s probably eight million now.”

I adore Shane’s flair for hyperbole. It matches my own.

At the potluck, my brother teased me about catching feelings for Shane, and it’s been haunting me ever since. At first, I kept assuring myself it was bullshit. Of course I don’t have feelings for him. We’re just dancing. And having incredible sex. And enjoying each other’s company. Why would anyone think there’s feelings involved? Geez.

But…

Yeah. It’s getting harder to pretend I’m not into Shane. He’s hilarious. Great in bed. So easy to talk to. Sweet when he wants to be.

Lately I’ve been wondering if maybe I want more than just a friends-with-benefits arrangement. Maybe I want—

“Holy shit,” Shane says, jolting me from my thoughts. “And they’re recruiting trolls in the comments.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re telling their followers to go to our page and comment that Viktor and Martinique are better than us.” Shane spits out an expletive. “Who do these assholes think they are? And check out this dude. I could bench press him. I don’t care if he’s like six four. He’s a twig.”

“Calm yourself, big boy.”

“Okay, little one.”

I grin at him. “Those are not becoming nicknames.”

“I don’t know. I like big boy. A lot.” He leers at me.

I hop to my feet. “All right, practice is over. I need to rethink the choreography for this waltz before we go any further. Might have to go take a dance class or two.”

“Isn’t that what this is? Dance classes?”

“I mean with professionals.”

Shane eyes me.

“What?”

“It’s an amateur competition, Dixon. Do you really need to put that much effort into it?”

“Have you met me? I can’t half-ass anything, even if I wanted to. I’m either one hundred percent in or I don’t do it.”

He nods. “Yeah, I get it. I feel the same about hockey.”

“So, yeah, let me think up some easier choreography.”

“Is that what you want to get into eventually? Choreography?”

I shrug. “I haven’t had enough formal training to choreograph real dancers, but I’d enjoy being a cheer coach and doing choreography for competitions. I think I’d be really good at it.”

“I think so too.” He trails after me toward the door. “I’m gonna grab a shower before I come over for the finale. If that’s still the plan for tonight.”

“Obviously.” The winners of Fling or Forever are being announced tonight.

Upstairs, I take a quick shower to rinse off the dance sweat, then put on comfy clothes, feeling lighter than I have in months. I know a large part of that has to do with Percy no longer being at Meadow Hill. The Garrisons are back from Atlanta and back in Sweet Birch, and Percy is all the way across town at his new townhouse.

It’s a huge weight off my chest, being able to walk down the path without worrying about bumping into him. Without worrying about seeing him at the pool. I can already feel my anxiety lessening. Now, when I picture his face, my throat only closes up a little, not completely. My hands tremble but don’t shake.

I’m hoping the more time that passes—and the more physical distance between me and Percy—the less anxiety I’ll feel. Until maybe one day I won’t feel it at all.

Shane and I reconvene an hour later in my apartment. I pour myself a glass of the Pink Stuff, since tonight is basically my last chance to drink without worrying about hangovers. Saturday is the first football game of the year, and the squad needs to be in elite shape for the season opener. But I know Shane has hockey practice tomorrow morning, so I raise a brow when he gets himself a beer.

“Should you be drinking when you have practice?”

“Just one. You’ll have to get drunk enough for the both of us.”

The episode starts with Zoey and the Connor on their final date aboard a luxury yacht. After Zoey was voted back into the hacienda from the Sugar Shack, Connor was like a new man. Realizing how close he’d come to losing her, he went above and beyond to prove to her that she was the only woman for him. His transformation has been amazing. We’ve watched him go from a douchebag radio host who rated women’s breasts on a scale of “lickable” to “motor-boatable,” to a sweet, thoughtful, grown man in love.

Or so I thought.

Halfway through the finale, Jasmine tells Zoey that the Connor told Ben that he might not be ready for a serious commitment.

“What!” I shout at the screen. “What are you saying right now? Stop trying to sabotage them!”

Shane is agape. “Do you think Connor actually said that? I don’t remember them showing a scene like that.”

“Jas is totally stirring up trouble,” I say firmly. “There’s no way.”

But then Ben backs Jasmine up, confirming to Zoey that Connor did indeed say it.

“Oh my God,” I moan.

“What the fuck was he thinking?” Shane growls.

Zoey starts to cry. For the next fifteen minutes, we’re glued to the screen. The Connor does some damage control, scrambling to reassure Zoey that he and Ben had the commitment conversation nearly a month ago. But Ben and Jas insist it was “just the other night.”

“They’re lying,” Shane says. “They’re totally trying to knock Zoey and Connor out of the Forever Couple running.”

“Fuckin’ saboteurs.”

We’re still ranting about Jas and Ben when Will sends me an SOS. That’s literally what the message says. “SOS” and nothing more.

Grinning, I unlock my phone.

“Who is it?” Shane asks.

“Will,” I say as I type a response.

Shane peers over my shoulder. “Are you sexting with my teammate?”

“No.”

“I saw your last message! You’re asking him to say you’re hot.”

“It was a joke.”

“No. No way.” He points a warning finger at me. “You’re not going to make me into a cuck, Dixon.”

I snort. “I’m not making you into a cuck.”

“I mean it. You can’t expect me to be your fake boyfriend and then flirt with my friends. It makes me look like a fool.”

“Fine. Good point,” I relent. “You know what? I’m sorry. I won’t flirt with Will when he’s here.”

“What do you mean when he’s here?”

“He’s coming over to crash.”

“Again?” Shane narrows his eyes. “Why does he have to? He’s got a three-bedroom townhouse. Even if he’s plastered at the bar and needs to walk home, he can just walk home. To his own home.”

“It’s a whole thing,” I say vaguely.

“Elaborate, please.” Shane sounds exasperated.

I don’t want to betray Will’s confidence, but…maybe this is something Shane can help him with. Because the fact is, Will can’t keep running from his problems and hiding from Beckett in Meadow Hill every time the guy brings a woman home.

Shane’s usually pretty good at reserving judgment. Maybe he can talk some sense into Will where I’m failing.

“Okay, so…” I hesitate. “I’m going to tell you something, but you can’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

Turns out I’m the worst secret-keeper ever. But I trust that Shane’s not going to say anything. He hasn’t blabbed about our fake relationship after all, and it’s been months.

“Will doesn’t want to be at home when Beckett has a girl over,” I tell him.

He frowns. “Why the hell not?”

“So you know how the two of them like to…?” I let the question hang.

“Screw the same women at the same time?” Shane finishes dryly.

“See?” I accuse. “That’s why his head is so messed up. He’s afraid of the judgment. Society is so judgey.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. Everyone has their kinks.” Shane grins. “Like how you enjoy it when I boss you around and how I enjoy bossing you around.”

“But you’re not into threesomes?”

“No, I wouldn’t share you with someone.” He meets my curious gaze. “I’d let him watch, though.”

Heat tingles between my legs. “Look but don’t touch?”

“Exactly.” Shane moves closer, resting his hand on my leg. A thoughtful gleam enters his eyes as he lightly strokes my thigh. “Would you let someone watch me fuck you?”

I swallow. “Maybe. Depends on who, I guess.” I gulp again. “But we digress. We’re talking about Will. The threeways are starting to make him feel like there’s something wrong with him. He’s trying to take a break from it.”

“So he’s coming over tonight in order to keep his dick in his pants?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” I sigh. “I don’t know if he’ll raise the subject with you, but if he ever does, maybe you can talk some sense into him. Tell him it’s really not a big deal if he has a threesome kink.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He glances back at the screen. “Oh shit. British host is back. This is it.”

Shane and I watch the rest of the finale. I breathe in relief when Zoey and the Connor patch things up, then crow in triumph after it’s revealed that Ben and Jasmine were lying about when the commitment comment was made.

“I love you,” Connor’s telling Zoey now. “With all my heart. A month ago, I wasn’t ready to commit to you. To anyone, really. But I’m ready now, Zo. I want you to be my girlfriend. Not just in the hacienda but in the real world.”

“I want that too,” Zoey says shyly.

The British host then asks the final two couples to stand in the gazebo, where the public voting is revealed. Shane and I are cheering when Zoey and the Connor win the final vote to be crowned the Forever Couple. Well, I’m cheering. But Shane looks pleased, and I’m certain he’s doing flips and roundoffs in his head.

Around ten o’clock, Richard from the Sycamore buzzes to let me know Will has arrived, and a few minutes later I’m letting him into my apartment. He greets me with a hug, then walks over to say hi to Shane.

“What are we watching?” Will glances at the TV.

“Nothing,” Shane lies.

I notice he changed the channel from TRN to TSBN when I went to answer the door. Football preseason highlights now flash on the screen. Oooh. Someone doesn’t want Will to see us watching the FoF reunion show.

“I’m actually heading home now,” Shane says. “I wanted to go to bed early tonight.”

Will wrinkles his brow. “You’re not crashing here?”

“Why would he crash here when he has his own bed?” I answer for Shane. “I don’t need him clinging to me all night and suffocating me with his love.”

“You fuckin’ love my love,” Shane grumbles. He gives Will a firm look. “She loves my love.”

Will snorts.

“Do you need a ride to practice tomorrow morning?” Shane asks his teammate.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Cool. Alarm’s set for seven thirty. I’ll knock on the door at eight. If you’re not ready, I’m gone.”

“I’ll be up,” Will promises.

“Let me walk you out,” I say, linking my arm through Shane’s.

At the door, he gives me a deep, elaborate kiss with more tongue than necessary.

“You don’t have to lay it on so thick. He already believes we’re dating,” I mumble against his lips, although I’m not really complaining. Shane’s kisses melt my brain.

“I can’t believe we don’t get to fuck tonight,” he mumbles back.

If it were up to Shane’s libido, we would be having sex at least twice a day. Again, no complaints from me. I’ve never had sex this good in my life.

I lock up after he leaves and return to tackle my nightly skincare routine. This time I don’t rope Will into it, but he stands in the bathroom doorway, watching me in the mirror.

“You and Lindley are still going strong, huh?”

“Who would have thought, right?”

“I mean, no one.” Will snorts. “You gave him so much shit last year.”

“Yeah, ’cause he’s obnoxious. That hasn’t changed.”

“Exactly. That hasn’t changed. So what’s different now?”

“His dick,” I confess. “I’ve fallen into his dicksand.”

Will nods solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

Once my face is nicely moisturized, I set Will up on the couch with clean sheets, two pillows, and a thick blanket. Despite what some people might think, I do respect Shane enough to not share a bed with his teammate. Fake relationship or not, we’re still exclusive friends with benefits, and I wouldn’t be thrilled if he was sleeping with another woman in his bed, even if they were platonic. But that’s because I’m a possessive bitch. Even over my temporary man.

“Thanks again,” Will says gruffly. “I’m sorry I keep imposing on you.”

“It’s not an imposition, I promise.” I give him a kiss on the cheek and then go to my bedroom, climbing under the covers.

I can’t fall asleep, though. Because…goddamn it, I want to have sex. I’ve grown so accustomed to a Shane orgasm before bed, and now my body is humming beneath my duvet.

Around eleven thirty, I still can’t sleep, and now I’m thirsty, so I leave my room and go to the kitchen. As I tiptoe past the couch, I peek at Will, who’s passed out on his back, snoring softly. He’s completely out.

I pour myself a glass of water, and as I lean against the counter to drink, my gaze once again travels toward Will. Maybe there’s no harm in a quickie. I can just hop next door, get off, and come back. Will won’t even notice. He’s dead to the world.

Back in my bedroom, I pull out my phone and text Shane.

We don’t have to use your bed, I start to type, but he’s already followed up with, On my way.