Page 77 of The Dixon Rule

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.

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