Page 107 of The Dixon Rule

I choke on a laugh.

“What are you all giggly about?”

“Nothing.”

Diana narrows her eyes. “Are you having impure thoughts?”

“Of course. Me and everyone else in this gym.”

She glances toward the trio of men, and they all quickly swing their gazes away. Liam fiddles with the weight. Dave starts randomly punching buttons to change the setting on his rower. And that shameful Ralph, father of three daughters not much younger than Diana, pretends to be on his phone.

“All right. Let’s do a practice lift,” Diana says. “I want to gauge the height we should aim for.” She moves to stand in front of the wall of mirrors. “Come behind me.”

Yes, please.

I step up behind her.

“Hands on my waist.”

God, why are we wearing clothes for this?

I swallow through my dry mouth and obey her, planting both palms on her hips.

“No, like this.” She covers my hands with hers and drags them an inch lower. “You need to lift me from here. It’s a more stable base. Okay, on the count of three, lift straight up. Not too high.”

I do what she says, holding her suspended in the air, and we examine ourselves in the mirror. Her arms are extended, legs together, toes pointed downward.

“Good form,” I say.

She laughs. “Stop talking shit.”

“Actually, excellent form. And check out this landing technique,” I rave after I set her down.

“Let’s do it again, weirdo. I want to see something.”

I grip her hips and heave her up.

“Don’t put me down yet.” She looks thoughtful as she studies our reflection.

I admire her flat stomach and the perfect lines of her body. The way my fingers curve perfectly around her waist. My cock twitches behind my joggers.

“Is it just me, or are you picturing us naked too?” I ask the mirror.

Diana groans. “Oh my God. Put me down.” She slides down my body, and I don’t know if she does it on purpose, but her ass presses against my dick in a torturous glide. “This is important. We’re filming in a week.”

“I think we could film it now and we’ll do okay.”

“‘Okay’ is not going to cut it.” She gasps. “Are you trying to sabotage us? Are you a saboteur?”

“I’m not a saboteur, you fucking psycho. All I’m saying is, I think we’re decent enough to show the judges we’re not going to embarrass their stupid organization. Isn’t that the whole point of this audition? Because a bunch of ballroom snobs got pissy that all these shitty amateurs were entering their precious competition?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m half-assing the audition. We don’t take chances with dance.”

“Dance is all about risk-taking.” I turn toward the camera. “Back me up, guys.”

“Do not back him up,” she orders. “Dance is about discipline. And passion. Passionate discipline.”

I stare at her. “Why are you like this?”

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