Page 118 of The Dixon Rule

I’m using him as a dance partner.

As my bodyguard for Percy.

As a dick provider.

Oh, and he’s a better reality show watcher than Gigi. He actually catches all the episodes. Gigi claims she doesn’t have time to watch an episode every single night because what kind of show requires that kind of commitment from their viewers, and to that I say a true fan makes the commitment. And Shane is proving himself to be a true fan. He’s strangely protective of Zoey. And not even because he wants to bang her! I asked, and he adamantly insisted she’s not his type.

On Sunday morning, I wake up to a familiar text. The same one I’ve received three days in a row now.

SHANE:

Morning sex?

I lazily type a response.

ME:

I can’t. HOA meeting.

SHANE:

Oh shit. Forgot about that. Get dressed. Meet you in the hall.

He’s coming to another meeting?

I suppose I don’t blame him. There’s literally no greater entertainment. I look forward to these meetings the way I imagine the bloodthirsty citizens of Rome poured into the Colosseum on alternate Sundays.

On our way to the Sycamore, I muse to Shane, “If my aunt hadn’t died, I’d never know the joys of Meadow Hill HOA meetings.”

“One, that’s macabre as fuck. And two, after the meeting—you, me, naked?”

“No, I have to go to work. But we will definitely be naked when I get back.” A groan slips out. “Oh my God, why am I like this? You and your stupid dicksand.”

“Dicksand?”

“Yeah, like quicksand. But your dick is the trap, and I’ve been sucked into it.”

“Wouldn’t your pussy be the quicksand ’cause it’s the one sucking my dick into it?”

We stare at each other for a moment.

“Why are we like this?” he sighs.

“I don’t know, but—wait, no, don’t say we. You. You are the weird one.”

Although the way that we get one another’s eccentricities is a tad unsettling. The last person I want to form a kindred weirdness connection with is Shane Lindley.

“Your ex isn’t going to be here, is he?” Shane asks as we enter the building.

My stomach drops at the mention of Percy.

It seems like I only manage to keep my anxiety at bay so long as I don’t allow myself to remember Percy exists. But then I see him on the path or someone brings him up, and the panic returns. In an instant, I feel that phantom pain in my eye, that suffocating tightness in my throat, and I remember I’m not the Diana I was a month ago.

I’m the Diana who lets a man hit her.

“Dixon?” Shane is oblivious to my inner turmoil.

“Oh, sorry. No, Percy’s not an owner. Renters aren’t allowed to attend these meetings.”

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