Page 2 of The Dixon Rule

The jingling of a bell beckons me from the staircase. With a hoarse meow, the gray, striped cat appears on the top step. She sits down, all prim and proper, and stares at me defiantly.

Yeah, I’m here, she’s taunting. What are you gonna do about it, bitch?

I slowly lower myself to my knees so we’re closer to eye level. “You are the devil’s cat,” I inform her.

She studies me for a moment, then lifts one paw, giving it a demure lick before setting it back on the tile.

“I mean it. You were brought here from hell, personally delivered by the cold hands of Satan. Be honest—did he send you up here to torment me?”

“Meow,” she says smugly. Unblinking.

My jaw drops. Bitch basically just confirmed it!

I shuffle forward on my knees, gripping the top of my towel. I’m two feet away when, without warning, voices echo in the lobby and footsteps thunder from the bottom of the stairs.

Lucy bolts, literally jumping over my shoulder like she’s a tiny hurdler in the feline Olympics. She flies through the open crack in my door, leaving me so startled that I stumble forward. My hands instinctively splay out in front of me to catch myself, causing me to lose my grip on my towel.

It hits the floor just as a shadow falls over me.

I screech in surprise. The next thing I know, three hockey players are staring down at me.

At naked me. Because I’m naked.

Did I mention that I’m naked?

“You okay there, Dixon?” drawls a deep, mocking voice.

My hands rush to hide my nudity, but I only have two of them and there are at least three zones I’d prefer obscured.

“Oh my God, look away,” I command, snatching the towel off the floor.

To their credit, the guys do avert their gazes. I shoot to my feet, hastily securing the terrycloth in place. Of all the people who could’ve found me in this predicament, it just had to be Shane Lindley and his friends. And what are they even doing here—

Understanding dawns. Oh no.

Dread forms in the pit of my stomach at the sight of Shane’s amused dark eyes. “No. It’s today?”

He flashes a broad smile, showing off a set of perfect white teeth. “Oh, it’s today.”

Satan strikes again.

Shane is moving in.

Luckily, not with me. Because that would be doubly appalling. I could never share an apartment with such a cocky jackass. It’s bad enough that we’ll be sharing a floor. Shane’s parents—because they’re rich and apparently believe that excessively spoiling their children is conducive to raising humble adults—bought their not-at-all-humble son the unit next to mine. It’s been sitting vacant since my last neighbor, Chandra, retired and moved to Maine to be closer to family.

My best friend, Gigi, is married to Shane’s best friend, Ryder, so she warned me the move would be happening sometime this week. I would’ve appreciated a more specific day and time, however. Or at least a heads-up text today. Then I could’ve been prepared and maybe not in a towel. I’m definitely yelling at her about this at dinner tonight.

“Don’t worry, we didn’t see a thing.” The reassurance comes from the boy-next-door face of Will Larsen.

“I saw your tits and one butt cheek,” Beckett Dunne says helpfully.

I don’t know whether to laugh or groan. With his perfect face, faint Australian accent, and wavy blond hair, Beckett is too sexy for his own good. Anything that exits his mouth simply comes off as charming, whereas from anyone else it would be sleazy.

“Erase them from your memory,” I warn.

“Impossible,” he replies, winking at me.

I glance back at Shane, my good humor fading. “It’s not too late to sell,” I say in a hopeful tone.

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