Page 37 of The Dixon Rule

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHANE

I win

MOST PEOPLE ARE AWAY FOR THE SUMMER, SO TONIGHT’S GATHERING isn’t a banger. It’s just Will, Beck, a few other guys from the team. A few cheerleaders. Some local girls Beckett met in Hastings, and some guys we played pool with at Malone’s. All in all, twenty, twenty-five people. Certainly can’t be enough to piss off the homeowners’ association, but I do feel a bit like a hall monitor as I wander around cautioning everyone to keep it down and making sure nothing gets too out of hand.

Like this pool game of chicken that somehow just became topless.

“Hey, tops on,” I reprimand the redhead whose bikini top is suddenly at her waist. “This is a family establishment.”

Winking, she covers up a pair of very nice tits and reties the strings of her bikini. “Sorry, daddy.”

Damned if my dick doesn’t perk up at that.

I don’t think I have a daddy kink, but I do enjoy being the boss in the bedroom. Not in an aggressively dominant way; I’d never ask a woman to crawl on the floor toward me or some shit. But calling the shots does get me off.

“I can’t believe Kenji bailed on the competition,” Fatima is saying when I join the small group. She’s standing with Will, Beck, and Dixon, who I’m shocked decided to grace us with her presence.

“Kenji ditched you?” I ask Diana, raising a brow. “He finally saw the light? Good for him.”

She gives me the finger. “Had nothing to do with me and how wonderful I am. He got a new job.” She dismisses me from her gaze, those green eyes shifting hopefully to Will. “Any chance you want to be my ballroom dance partner?”

He almost spits out his beer laughing. “No. Never.”

“Please? I’ll split half the prize money if we win.”

“Wait, were you not going to split it with my man Kenji?” I demand.

That earns me a scowl. “Of course I was. I’m just trying to make it sound like I’m sweetening the deal.”

“Yeah, not happening,” Will tells her. “There is nothing I enjoy less than dancing.”

At his steadfast refusal, she turns her attention to Beckett, batting her eyelashes.

“Nope. I’m going to Australia.” He shudders. “Thank God for that because I can’t say no to hot women. I would’ve done it if I were here.”

“Cancel the trip,” she begs.

“No.”

Diana pouts and takes a sip of the nauseatingly pink liquid in her glass. When she saw we only had beer in the cooler and a few bottles of whiskey for shots, she ran back upstairs and returned with a bottle of the pink stuff. That’s literally what the brand is called—the Pink Stuff. According to the girls, it’s the hot new wine cooler on the block, but I haven’t tried it and don’t intend to. I don’t feel like hurling tonight.

While she drinks, I eye her expectantly.

“What?” she says over the rim of her glass.

“You’re not going to ask me to be your partner?”

Rather than answer, Diana starts to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You thought I would actually ask you.” She’s still giggling as she takes another sip. “That’s cute.”

Man, my ego is usually rock-solid, but Diana’s damn good at poking holes in it.

Which reminds me of the stunt she pulled yesterday.

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