Page 35 of The Dixon Rule

My mood only worsens when I start my shift at Della’s Diner. Each customer I serve is worse than the last. One man makes me return his pie three times because he doesn’t like the way the crust looks. I’m finally forced to get my manager, who informs the picky patron that he has to pay for two out of the three pieces because despite the offensive crust, he still ate nearly half of each slice.

After work, I duck into the bathroom to change out of my uniform and into denim shorts and a striped T-shirt. I’m meeting Gigi for dinner at Malone’s down the street.

My white tennis shoes slap the pavement as I hurry down the sidewalk toward the sports bar at the corner of Main Street. Gigi texted to say she’d already arrived and grabbed us a booth.

“Kenji has betrayed me,” I announce as I slide across from her.

She lifts her eyes from the menu. Her lips are twitching with humor. “That’s a pity.”

I glare at her. “It’s not funny.”

“What happened?”

“He bailed on the competition.”

“No! Okay, that is pretty bad.”

“See? I told you.”

“Can you find another partner?”

I moan. “Who, Gigi? Who is going to spend their summer learning the tango well enough to execute a routine good enough to qualify for the most important dance competition of all time?”

“I don’t think it’s the most important of all time—”

“All time for eternity,” I say stubbornly.

I can tell she’s trying not to laugh at me again. To her credit, she spends the next ten minutes brainstorming where I can find a new partner, but I’m not feeling hopeful. The dream balloon is completely deflated. Doesn’t seem like NUABC is in the cards this year, and I’m bummed.

We spend the rest of dinner chatting about the wedding, for which Gigi has very little involvement. Her aunt is running the show and we’re all just along for the ride. We have a fitting scheduled for next week, and I’m looking forward to seeing my dress. Mya complained via text the other day how we weren’t allowed to pick our own dress styles, but I had to remind her that Summer Di Laurentis is a highly-in-demand fashion designer. No way she’s going to steer us wrong. Plus, the bridal party is wearing sage. I rock a mean sage.

“Oh, I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” Gigi says when I mention that Mya and I have a video call scheduled tomorrow to discuss all things bachelorette. “Would you guys be super offended if we don’t have one?”

“Are you serious?”

“Fuck, I guess that means yes.”

“No, it means no!” Relief washes over me. “You have no idea what a logistical nightmare this has been. Everyone on your hockey team is scattered all over the country, you have five thousand aunts and cousins, everyone has jobs or are away on summer trips. No joke—Mya and I have been struggling here, and you know the two of us can normally plan the hell out of a girls’ trip. We can still make something happen, but—”

“Oh my God, let’s skip it, then,” Gigi cuts in, equally relieved. “There are way too many things going on this summer. We leave for Arizona tomorrow and I’m not even packed. That’s why we have to bail on the party tonight.”

“What party?”

“The party at your apartment complex? Beckett’s goodbye thing.”

“What! Is he moving? Why didn’t I know about this?”

She grins. “He’s not moving. He’s going on vacation.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s extra.”

“Beyond extra.”

I purse my lips for a moment. “Eh. I’d still suck his dick.”

She bursts out laughing.

“Ugh. Stupid Shane, though. Why is he throwing a party? I just wanted one quiet night to catch up on Fling or Forever.”

---