Page 65 of The Dixon Rule

My heart flips as, for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. But he merely smiles and winks. His hand absently moves down my bare arm in a lazy caress.

I swallow. “So, what were you guys doing before I showed up?”

“Nothing really. Just chatting, catching up,” Shane answers.

“You two attended high school together, right?” I say, glancing from Shane to Lynsey. “What about you?” I ask Tyreek. “Are you also from Vermont?”

Tyreek shakes his head. “I’m from Boston. I go to BU.”

“Nice. What’s your major?”

“Kinesiology.”

“Really? Me too,” I exclaim.

“No shit. Are you an athlete?” Tyreek asks.

“Cheerleader.”

Lynsey joins the conversation with a polite smile. “Oh, that’s cool. I’m at a performing arts college. We don’t have any NCAA teams, so I’m not too knowledgeable about that stuff, but is cheerleading recognized as a sport now?”

“No, it’s not.” I don’t know if she meant to be bitchy, but it comes off that way. Still, I return her smile. “It should be, though. We work our butts off.”

But she’s not the first person to imply, whether intentionally or not, that cheerleading isn’t an official “sport.” The NCAA still doesn’t recognize it, which is total bullshit, because can anyone really say with a straight face that cheerleaders aren’t athletes? We train hard. We’re flexible as fuck. Hell, I can knock out tumbling routines that a hockey player like Shane wouldn’t even begin to know how to execute. Which isn’t to say cheerleading is more demanding than hockey. Only that we’re athletes and deserve the recognition.

The Briar cheer program is very competitive. The moment the school year starts, we’re off and running. Killing ourselves and pushing our bodies to the limits to prepare for regionals in November. Then, if we’re lucky enough to move on, it’s off to nationals in the spring.

Surprisingly, Lynsey’s boyfriend has my back. “Yo, for real. Our squad is nuts.”

“Do you play BU football?” I ask him.

“Basketball. And, bro, the routines those women bust out during halftime? It’s incredible.”

“Trust me, I know. BU has a solid squad. They almost edged us out at regionals last year.” I glance at Lynsey. “How about you? Shane says you’re a ballet dancer?”

She nods. “I train at the Liberty Conservatory in Connecticut.”

“Oh, that’s amazing. They have an excellent program.” I reach for my glass again until I remember what’s in it. So it remains on the coffee table and I discreetly pull back my hand. “I actually studied ballet until I was fourteen.”

“Really?” She seems interested now. “Why did you stop?”

“It was too—” I halt, because I nearly said pretentious. “Rigid,” I finish. “I like to think I have discipline, but ballet required more than I was willing to give. Same for gymnastics. When I was a kid, I dreamed of going to the Olympics. Until I realized that you literally don’t get to have a life. You have to live and breathe gymnastics. To be honest, I prefer teaching to doing. I’m coaching at a youth cheer camp this summer and it’s so rewarding.”

Lynsey wrinkles her nose. “I could never teach. I don’t have that kind of patience, especially with children. I get annoyed when I see them doing something wrong.”

Her remark doesn’t surprise me. I’m rapidly forming an opinion about Shane’s ex, and it’s not entirely positive.

“I don’t mind it,” I say. “Sure, children make lots of mistakes—because they’re kids. They’re so eager to learn, though. There’s nothing I love more than seeing them master a skill.”

She shrugs. “I get more satisfaction mastering my own skills.”

I’m very aware of Shane’s fingers still stroking my arm. When I finish speaking, he leans in and nuzzles my neck before giving my cheek a quick peck. He’s being so affectionate. It’s disconcerting. I also can’t handle how good he smells.

“I bet you miss having this guy around to dance with,” I tease, grinning at Lynsey while patting Shane’s thigh. “I can’t keep him off the dance floor.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. That’s how we met, actually. He cleared out the whole floor and tried to woo me with dance. Performed a solo and everything. Babe, tell her about it.”

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