Page 12 of The Dixon Rule

“Man, he really wants to come over tonight,” I say, glancing at my phone.

“He can suck a dick.”

I grin and polish off the last bite of my burger. After dinner, we take a walk along Main Street, popping into some shops to browse handcrafted knickknacks and one-of-a-kind clothing, and then Gigi drives me home. She still has to get back to Boston tonight; she’s staying with her parents until she and Ryder move into their own place in September.

“I wish you were in the dorms this summer, so you wouldn’t have to drive more than an hour to hang out with me.” I pout.

“Honestly, I’m barely going to be around these next couple months. I’ve got wedding-planning shit. Then Arizona next week, so Ryder is super stressed. Then Tahoe with the fam, Italy with the husband, and the wedding itself.”

I whistle. “Jeez. World traveler over here. And stop doing things backward, will you? Elopement, Italian honeymoon, and then wedding? Who taught you life?”

She snorts.

I don’t comment on the Arizona trip because it’s an awkward subject. They’re going out there for Ryder’s dad’s parole hearing. It’s tragic, really. Ryder’s dad killed his mother when Ryder was little. He took a plea deal and is up for parole after only fifteen years, but the prosecutors don’t think he stands a chance of getting out. Still, I can see how it would be stressful for Gigi’s new husband.

She slows down at the massive white sign that reads MEADOW HILL and pulls into the circular driveway in front of the Sycamore building.

Gigi puts the car in park. “I’ll see you this weekend?” We have dinner plans again.

“Definitely. And if you’re able to get away from your fam before that, let me know. Come over and swim. You might have to watch a dance rehearsal depending on the day, but Kenji and I only practice for about an hour.”

“I’ll let you know. Love you.”

“Love you.”

I give her a side hug and slide out of the SUV, tucking my purse over my shoulder. Gigi drives away just as another vehicle pulls up. I’m naturally curious—fine, nosy—so I glance over in time to see a familiar face emerge from the back seat.

I narrow my eyes. It’s Crystal Haller, one of my fellow cheerleaders.

Oh, come on.

That fucking asshole. Why!?! We just had a talk about this.

“Diana. Hey.” Crystal approaches with an awkward smile.

We’re not close. As captain of the team, I make an effort to try to bond with every squad member, but I can’t be expected to become best friends with dozens of people with different personalities. Crystal and I have never clicked. She’s a bit snooty, to be honest. We’re both counselors at cheer camp this summer, and she’s dropped several comments since camp began about how she doesn’t really need the money, but it’s nice to have a little “pocket change.”

For me, this isn’t “pocket change.” It’s what pays my mortgage.

We approach the main doors of the Sycamore, pausing out front. “I forgot you lived here,” Crystal says. “I’m here to see—”

“Yeah, I know. Lindley.”

She’s startled. “How did you know that?”

“He’s my new neighbor. I assumed it was only a matter of time before the girl parade started.”

That gets me a deep frown.

“Sorry,” I hedge. “I didn’t mean it like that.” I pause. “Actually. I did. You do know he’s a player, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Di. I am fully aware that he’s a player.”

I relax at her use of my nickname. Means she can’t be that mad about the girl-parade remark.

“Okay, good. Just, you know, temper your expectations. Audrey sprained her ankle because of the guy.”

“That’s unfair. He didn’t sprain her ankle.”

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