Page 185 of The Dixon Rule

“Clearly these old ones do because he went with his ex.”

The two women continue to argue on my behalf. They’re the devil and angel on each shoulder, except they’re sitting in the passenger side and the driver’s seat. And I don’t know which one of them to believe.

Finally, I interrupt with a loud groan. “I’m with Mya here, G. It was a fake relationship, and it meant nothing to him.”

“He entered a dance competition with you. He wouldn’t have done that if you don’t mean something to him.”

“Yeah, as a friend. But his goal from the beginning was to get his ex back. And I begged him not to go with her tonight and he chose her. So that’s proof of his intentions.”

“I agree,” Mya says.

My heart splinters. I can’t believe he left. I can’t believe he picked her. We’ve been together for months. We see each other every single day. It’s like how the couples in the Fling or Forever hacienda maintain that time moves differently in there. One day in the hacienda is like three months of dating. Having Shane next door, being in contact with him every day, has accelerated this relationship.

It’s not a relationship.

Right. I guess it isn’t.

“Let’s just drop it,” I mutter. “He made his choice. Do you mind dropping me off at home first? I don’t feel like going out.”

“No problem,” Gigi says quietly.

I barely say another word for the rest of the car ride. Eventually Gigi puts on music, and she and Mya talk quietly. They try to include me here and there, but I nod or mumble a yes or a no until they give up.

And right when I think this night can’t get any worse, when Gigi turns onto the street toward my apartment complex, I see something that makes my blood run cold.

I’ve had my gaze glued out the window to avoid making conversation, which means I’m laser-focused on my surroundings and don’t miss the familiar vehicle parked near the driveway of Meadow Hill. A dark-gray hatchback with an NYU sticker on the back bumper. As we drive past it, I catch a blur from the driver’s seat.

“Stop the car,” I blurt out.

“Why?” Gigi asks in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“That was Percy back there. In the gray car.”

When she keeps driving, I smack the back of her seat. “Gigi, stop the car.”

“No. You have a restraining order against him.”

“Exactly, and he’s not allowed to be here.”

The TRO distance requirement is one hundred yards, and he’s parked ten feet from the entrance of my apartment complex. What is he thinking?

“Stop the car, damn it. I want to go over there and find out what he’s up to.”

“No,” Gigi repeats, her tone brooking no argument. “The only thing you’re doing right now is calling the police.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

SHANE

I was an accessory

“THANKS FOR DOING THIS,” LYNSEY SAYS.

We’re in a small corner pub tucked away on a quaint cobblestone street. The interior is a blend of exposed brick walls, dark wooden beams, and a collection of tables, booths, and worn leather armchairs nestled in corners of the room. We find an empty pair of armchairs and sit across from each other.

It’s not as crowded as I would expect for a Saturday night. Only the murmur of conversation and occasional burst of laughter fills the air, offering a more intimate environment. It makes this feel like a date. But it’s not a date. And I’m distracted because I know Diana is pissed at me. It’s going to take a lot of groveling to make this up to her.

“So what’s up?” I ask Lynsey.

---