Page 21 of The Dixon Rule

They can’t.

The inner debate goes on for a while. Until my fingers make the decision for me and dial her number. One ring in and I regret it, but it’s too late. She’ll see the missed call. Maybe she won’t pick up, though. Maybe—

“Hey,” she answers, sounding surprised. “What’s up?”

“Hey.” My vocal cords sound like they’re wrapped in two bags of gravel. I clear my throat. “I was just scrolling Insta and saw the post of you and Sergei. I realized we hadn’t spoken in a while, so I wanted to check in and say hi.”

“Oh. Yeah. No, you’re right. It has been a while.” She doesn’t sound put off that I called. “Actually, I ran into your mom last night at the pancake house.”

“You’re home?” My heart speeds up, then stutters for a beat, because Lynsey saw my mother and didn’t even text me about it? I guess that shows where her head is at. “I’ll be there tomorrow until Friday. How long is your visit?”

“I’m leaving this afternoon. Going up north to Monique’s family’s cabin for a week.”

“Nice.” Last July, I went with her on her best friend’s annual lake trip.

Do not bring that up—

“We had the best time there last year.”

Fucking tool.

“We did, didn’t we?”

I chuckle to myself. “Remember night swimming?”

“Oh, you mean when you almost got your dick bitten off by a snapping turtle?”

“It did not almost bite my dick off. It just brushed my thigh.”

“That’s mighty close to your dick, Lindy.”

The nickname makes my heart clench. And it reminds me of all those times we laughed about what would happen if we got married. She’d be Lynsey Lindley. Very firmly, she’d declared it was too much of a tongue twister and vowed to never take my name. Eventually we compromised and decided she’d hyphenate.

Not that it matters anymore.

“You’re right, it did get a bit too close for comfort,” I relent, still chuckling. “Man, that was a fun trip.”

“It was.”

A short silence falls.

Don’t tell her you miss her.

“I miss you.”

There’s a pause.

“As a friend,” I add, fighting a grin. “I miss our friendship.”

“Yeah, I can hear you smiling right now.”

She knows me too well. “I’m not.”

Another pause.

“I miss our friendship too,” she admits. “But I still think distance is the right move.”

She’s not wrong. I can’t imagine the agony of talking to her regularly while not being together.

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