Page 32 of The Dixon Rule

I stretch my towel over one of the loungers and settle on top of it, deciding to scroll on my phone for a while before swimming laps. I just completed an hour workout in the Meadow Hill gym, and I think maybe I overdid it. It’s arm day, so the thought of using my arms again to propel myself through water makes every muscle in my body weep.

I take my off-season training seriously, but this summer I’m kicking it into a whole new gear. I plan to be in the best shape of my life when hockey season starts. There’s no room for slacking off anymore. This time next year, I’ll be reporting to training camp. The last thing I want to do is show up for my first NHL training camp huffing and puffing like a fifty-year-old smoker because I let myself get out of shape.

I find some new messages in our guys’ group chat. THE BOYS ALL CAPS, as Beckett named it. And yes, ALL CAPS is part of it. I truly don’t know why women fawn all over that guy. He’s not funny.

BECKETT:

Anyone feel like hitting up a club tonight?

WILL:

Pass. I’m too sunburnt to move.

Originally the group chat was only for me, Beckett, and Ryder, but Beck added Will after they became joined at the hip. I’ve never met two dudes more obsessed with time-travel movies. And group sex. They do a lot of that too. But I don’t judge.

BECKETT:

You should have asked one of the milfs to rub sunscreen all over your dick.

WILL:

I don’t fuck the clients. Gonna keep saying that until you’re forced to accept it.

BECKETT:

Never. Ryder, you down?

RYDER:

Me personally? Fuck no. But lemme ask the wife. If she wants to go, I’ll go.

BECKETT:

Wow.

RYDER:

Wow what?

BECKETT:

That woman owns you now. You realize that, right, mate?

RYDER:

Yes and?

I raise a brow at the screen. Lord, what’s happened to my buddy Ryder? Dude’s gone from avoiding girlfriends like the plague to getting married and happily handing over his balls on a silver platter.

Although I suppose if my wife were Gigi Graham, I’d gladly let her handle my balls.

I heard her come once. I still think about that sometimes. Jerked off to it a few times too, though I’d never tell Ryder that. He’d rip my throat out.

Or maybe he wouldn’t?

I mean…he was fully aware I was standing outside the door of that study room when he and Gigi fooled around in the library last fall. And I’m sure he knows I would’ve had to be painfully hard listening to her soft moans. Part of me thinks he might’ve let me watch if Gigi had wanted it. He’d give that woman anything she asked her. Man’s smitten.

Watching isn’t my kink, though.

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