The Dixon Rule (Campus Diaries, 2)

If you want me, I’m yours

“HEY, LINDY.”

This is the first time Lynsey has called me since we broke up. She’s texted a few times, sure, to say “hope you’re doing well” or whatever platitude, but she never made an effort to reach out and hear my voice. Until now.

“Hey,” I say, hiding a smile. “How’s it going?”

It’s been a few days since Diana and I nailed our stellar performance of Boyfriend and Girlfriend: Madly in Love. Although maybe madly in lust is more accurate, considering I ended up making out with her in my kitchen. At the time, I thought Lynsey seemed bothered that I was with another woman, but after days of radio silence, I gave up on that notion.

And now look who’s calling.

“Thanks again for letting us stay over last weekend.”

“No problem. Tyreek seems like a solid guy.”

“Yeah.” Lynsey pauses. “Diana seemed cool too.”

“She is.”

“She’s very…loud.”

My smile springs free. “Nah. She just seems loud because you’re quiet.”

“I don’t mean loud as in volume. She’s just so outspoken. Seems like she has a big personality.”

Is that an insult toward Diana? Lynsey’s tone is completely benign, so I can’t be sure.

“Anyway, I called to say I officially filed the transfer paperwork with my Liberty advisor. I’ll be attending Briar in the fall.”

“Wow, okay, big move. What about housing?”

“When I did my interview, the department head told me there’re a few singles left in the senior dorm. Can’t remember what the building was called, but she said it’s where all the dance majors live.”

“You’ll be living on campus? Not with Tyreek?”

She laughs. “Way too soon for that. We’ve only been dating a month. Besides, I don’t want to make the commute from Boston. I know it’s only an hour or so, but it’s still kind of a pain in the butt. Why wake up early to commute when I can wake up early to rehearse?”

I admire her work ethic. I always have.

“I’ll have to figure out a way to rehearse with Sergei, though. Maybe find somewhere halfway between Liberty and Briar.”

“Right. NUABC. How are you two going to manage that?”

“We passed the prelim, so we’re already in the competition. I feel like weekend rehearsals should suffice. Or…” she trails off teasingly, “I could always steal you away.”

I bite my lip to suppress a laugh. “Oh, is that so?”

Okay, she’s definitely flirting right now.

“Maybe.” She pauses for a second. “Honestly, though…” Her tone takes on a bitter note. “I’m a little annoyed that you’re partnering with her when I asked you to do it every year and you said no every time.”

Regret tugs on my insides. I shouldn’t have lied about the competition. I think I got a little too into the role of Boyfriend. And, yes, I wanted to make Lynsey jealous. But I hadn’t been trying to hurt her, and her next question, soft and pained, tells me I did.

“I don’t get it. You’re suddenly interested in dance?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s…” I decide to lay the blame on Dixon. She won’t mind. “Diana’s hard to say no to.”

There’s a long, tense beat.

“Yeah,” Lynsey finally says. “It does seem like she has you wrapped around her little finger, the way she bosses you around.”

“She doesn’t boss me around.”

“Shane, she totally bosses you around. During our entire relationship, I don’t think I heard you argue with me about anything. Meanwhile, the entire night I was at your place, you two were bickering about something. That’s not healthy.”

“I guess.” I wrinkle my forehead. “We’re not actually arguing, though. It’s all in good fun—”

“Anyway, I like that you’re competing.” She cuts me off as if I hadn’t spoken. “It shows a lot of growth. Tells me that maybe now you’re capable of being there for someone else. Putting them first.”

Her comment triggers equal parts joy and annoyance. I like that she’s seeing something good in me, but it bothers me how quick she is to dismiss the times I was there for her. Just because I didn’t want to enter dance competitions with her doesn’t mean I wasn’t sitting in the front row at all her performances, cheering her on.

But maybe I could have done more. Tried harder. I’m probably more selfish than most people, but that’s because of hockey. It makes you selfish. You’re devoting all your time and energy to a sport and not a girlfriend. So she’s right. Maybe I didn’t always put her first. Maybe I didn’t quite find that balance between hockey and girlfriends, but given the chance, I know I can navigate those two worlds better now. I’ve seen people around me do it. Like Ryder, who only cared about hockey his entire life and yet was somehow able to convince a woman to marry him. And from what I can tell, the marriage hasn’t changed his performance on the ice, and the ice hasn’t affected his marriage.

So why can’t I do it?

“I guess I have matured a little,” I say with a wry chuckle. “Or a lot, considering I’m willing to do the tango in front of an audience.”

“Oh, is the tango one of your events? What categories are you entered in?”

“Actually, I’m not sure. We’re still working on our video for the prelims.” Look at me, spitting out the NUABC lingo.

“Well, let me know if you qualify.”

“Why? You feeling threatened? Are you and Sergei gonna try to scope us out? Spy on us to steal our routines?”

“I’m not worried,” she says haughtily.

“You should be because we’re coming for you, girl.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yup.”

“Bring it.” She laughs. “Anyway, I’ll keep you posted on the transfer. Talk to you later, Lindy.”

We hang up and my whole body is buzzing. I want to tell someone about this, but no one’s going to give a rat’s ass that my ex-girlfriend called me. Every single one of my boys will rag on me mercilessly.

But…my new “girlfriend” might be supportive. I brighten at the thought. I’ve heard Diana shuffling around next door all morning. I don’t know what she’s doing, but it sounds like she’s been walking back and forth through her apartment for hours.

In high spirits, I pop over next door and knock loudly. “Hey, it’s me. Let me in.”

“Go away. I’m busy” is her muffled response.

I knock again. Louder.

“Quiet!” comes a shout from downstairs.

“Oh, lay off it, Niall!” I shout back. “Come on, Dixon, I have news.”

After a brief silence, I hear her approach the door. “Fine, but don’t be alarmed when you see my face.”

“Why would I be alarmed—”

The door swings open, and I hiss in a shocked breath.

She’s sporting quite the black eye. Not a full-on shiner, but she’s bruised and swollen underneath her eye and above her cheekbone. The coloring is a reddish blue, rather than black and purple, which tells me the bruising is a couple days old.

I try to recall the last time I saw her. Not since Saturday morning, I realize. Shit, how have we not run into each other even once in four days? All I’ve been doing is golfing, working out, and swimming, and two out of those three activities have taken place in our shared apartment complex. Where the hell has Diana been?

“What happened?” I exclaim. “Are you okay?”

“Cheer camp,” she says ruefully.

My jaw drops. “What are they doing over there? Making you guys compete in blood sports?”

“The other counselors and I were showing the girls how to form a pyramid, and I was on top. Took an elbow to the face when the thing collapsed.”

“Damn. Have you been icing it?”

“I have. Fucking sucks, though. Anyway, what’s up?”

I trail after her into her apartment. I notice she’s cleared the coffee table away from the couch and rolled up that super-tacky burgundy rug; it’s leaning against the wall by the fish tank. I glance at the big, empty space she’s created.

“What are you doing in here? I’ve been hearing you move around all morning.”

“I’m practicing some choreography I want to teach the kids tomorrow.”

“Have you found a ballroom dance partner yet?”

“No,” she says glumly.

“That’s not true.” I tip my head at her, grinning. “You have.”

Diana narrows her eyes. Well, her other eye. The left one was already squinty thanks to the swelling.

“I just got off the phone with Lynsey. She told me I’m exhibiting great maturity and growth by entering this dance competition. So…” I shrug. “If you want me, I’m yours.”

For the first time since I moved in next door, a huge, genuine smile—one that’s directed at me—stretches across her face.

“Are you for real?”

“Yep. Let’s dance, Dixon.”

Diana once again shocks me—she steps forward and wraps her arms around my waist. Pressing the non-injured side of her face against my chest, she hugs me tightly. I’m so stunned, I stand there with my arms dangling at my sides.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “I really needed this.”

I don’t know if she’s talking about the dancing or the hug or something entirely different altogether, but the way her voice catches elicits a pang of concern.

I force myself to shrug it off because I know Diana and how prickly she gets when you poke too hard into her business.

So I merely return the hug and say, “We’re going to crush this thing.”