Page 11 of The Dixon Rule

“I really can’t,” I say regretfully. “I have to work.”

It’s nearly impossible finding a job in Hastings, especially during the school year. Anyone who wants solid work usually has to make the hour commute to Boston, which takes even longer when you don’t have a car, like me. When I snagged this waitressing gig at the diner in town, I didn’t think twice. It’s a necessary sacrifice—I work at Della’s during the summer and secure myself a job for the fall. I’m also coaching at a youth cheer camp in July and August, so either way I wouldn’t have been able to gallivant off to Tahoe.

“I’ll have some free weekends and a lot of weeknights,” I tell Gigi. “So I’ll definitely be able to come see you in Boston or help with wedding stuff. Attend dress fittings and all that.”

“Oh, don’t worry. My aunt Summer is handling it all.” She sighs. “So you can expect at least two emails a day.”

She doesn’t know the half of it. It’s already started. I’m planning Gigi’s bachelorette with my co–maid of honor, Mya, Gigi’s former roommate. And Aunt Summer has already unleashed herself on us. She insists on being involved in our plans, despite not even being in the wedding party. The woman is a chaos tornado in designer threads.

“I can’t believe I won’t have a plus-one for your wedding,” I realize.

“You could go with Shane.”

I laugh so loudly that the couple in the next booth glances over.

“Got it. No Shane.” She looks ill at ease now. “I’d suggest asking Percy, since you insist on staying friends with him, but honestly, I’d rather he didn’t come. I’d also rather you ditched this friend idea.”

“You don’t have to worry. I was just being nice when I told him that.” I hesitate. “And now I’m regretting it. He texted me earlier asking to hang out.”

“I hope you said no.”

“I didn’t answer.”

“Good. Don’t.”

I crack a smile. “You really didn’t like him, huh?”

“No. He was kind of a dick,” she admits, and it’s not the first time she’s said that.

We frequently hashed and rehashed Gigi’s thoughts toward my ex-boyfriend during my six-month relationship with Percy. Her biggest beef was with our age difference, although if I’m honest, that was part of his appeal and a major factor in why I stuck it out for so long when it was obvious after only a few months that we were incompatible.

Percy’s twenty-six, and while five years isn’t a massive gap in the grand scheme of things, it does make a difference in your twenties. So many guys I know who are twenty or twenty-one seem like little boys compared to those I’ve met who are twenty-five or twenty-six.

Percy’s maturity drew me to him. I can’t deny it was exciting being with someone older. He was confident, so grounded in his opinions, his goals. He was sweet and attentive. He treated me like a valued partner, rather than a glorified sex doll like a lot of guys I’ve had the displeasure of encountering. He was a perfect gentleman.

For a while.

Once I got to know him better, I realized he’s not confident but thin-skinned. He’s opinionated, yes, but in a condescending way. And that sweet, attentive man had a habit of sulking when something didn’t go his way.

“He was so possessive when we all went out that one time,” Gigi reminds me. She makes a face. “Oh, and he said he loved you during sex. That’s so cringey.”

I don’t disagree. Percy could be…intense when it came to sharing his feelings. The first time he dropped the L-Bomb was mid-ejaculation. I didn’t say it back, and I could tell by the displeased flash in his eyes that he didn’t love that. I jokingly told him I-love-yous during sex can’t be taken seriously because of all the endorphins. So a few weeks later he took me out to dinner and, over dessert he insisted we share using one fork, said it for real that time.

Again, I didn’t say it back.

I’m more of a slow burner. I’ve only told one boyfriend I loved him, and that was after six months of dating. But when Percy and I hit the six-month mark and I still didn’t feel anything deeper than “I guess I like him,” it was a sure sign we weren’t a match.

That, and he threw a glass against the wall.

Yeah.

I never told Gigi about this. Didn’t want to give her any more ammo in her dislike for my boyfriend. But after a phone argument with his older brother, Percy hurled a full wineglass at his living room wall while I sat on the couch in stunned silence, watching shards of glass explode and bloodred drops soak into the rug.

Not gonna lie—it was a massive turnoff. I know some people need an outlet for their anger. I mean, I’ve heard about those “rage rooms” where people pay actual money to smash old TVs and vases with baseball bats. And while I have a temper myself, I’ve never broken anything out of anger. Seeing Percy lose his temper like that over a silly fight about his brother bailing on Thanksgiving had given me a serious case of the ick. I broke up with him three days later.

My ex’s ears must be burning because he chooses that moment to text again. Uh-oh, he’s double texting.

I know I should respond, but I don’t know how to act around him. Every time I give him an inch, he tries to win me back.

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