Page 3 of The Dixon Rule

But I know that’s just a beautiful dream. He’s not going anywhere, not after his parents probably spent a fortune renovating the place for him. There’ve been nonstop construction noises coming out of his condo this past month. Poor Niall from downstairs was having daily power drill–induced nervous breakdowns. That man is violently allergic to noise.

I wonder what changes Shane made to the apartment. I bet he turned it into a stereotypical man cave to suit his fuckboy tastes.

And trust me, I’m well aware of those tastes. They include (as of now, but I’m still counting) two and a half of my cheerleading teammates—half because he only made out with the third one. Still, the guy’s plowing through them like a farmer after harvest season. Gigi told me he got his heart broken last year and this is his first time being single in forever. She says he’s making up for lost time. But that sounds like a whole bunch of excuses, and I don’t think you need to make excuses for fuckboys. They’re just born with that gene.

“You don’t have to put on this tough-girl act in front of the guys,” Shane tells me. “Everyone knows about your crush.”

I snort. “I think the only one who has a crush on you is you.”

Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the guy spent his free time off the ice ogling himself in the mirror. Hockey players are notoriously obsessed with two things: hockey and themselves. And Shane Lindley is no exception.

I’m not sucked in by how handsome he is, though he’s unarguably gorgeous. Tall and handsome. Wide, sensual mouth and black hair in a buzz cut. A jacked athlete’s body and dimples that dig little grooves into his cheeks whenever he tries to lure you in with a brash smile. This afternoon, that ripped body is clad in basketball shorts and a red T-shirt that complements his darker skin tone.

When I notice Beckett’s gray eyes give my towel-wrapped body another scan, I aim a frown his way. “You can stare as long as you want, but I promise, the towel isn’t slipping down again.”

“Well, if it does, I’d prefer not to miss it.” His teeth practically gleam from the fluorescent lights when he gives that fuck-me smile.

“Is that your apartment?” Will asks, gesturing to the door behind me.

“Unfortunately.”

“Damn. When Gigi said you two were going to be neighbors, I didn’t realize you were neighbors,” he remarks, his gaze shifting from my door to the one down the hall.

“Please don’t rub it in,” I grumble. To Shane, I say, “If you’re expecting a welcome parade, you’re shit out of luck. My new goal is to find a way to live my life without ever bumping into you.”

“Good luck with that.” Shane’s dark-brown eyes flicker with humor. “Because my new goal is for us to become best friends and spend every waking hour together. Oh, hey, actually. I’m throwing a party this weekend. We should cohost. Keep both our doors open and—”

“No.” I stab my index finger in the air. “Nope. That is not happening. In fact, you two”—I shoot a glare at Will and Beckett—“go wait for him in his apartment. Lindley and I need to discuss the rules of engagement.”

CHAPTER TWO

SHANE

The summer of Shane

I’M LAUGHING TO MYSELF AS I FOLLOW THE ANGRY BLOND INTO HER apartment. The moment we emerge from the entryway into the main room, I have to blink a couple of times because it’s not at all what I expected. The living area contains mismatched furniture and a burgundy area rug that clashes with the pale-blue floral-pattered sofa. The kind of sofa you might find in your dead grandma’s house when you’re going there to clean out her stuff. Like, nobody in the family is going to be fighting over that couch unless it’s to argue about who has to drive it to Goodwill.

“This place has a real cat-lady vibe,” I remark.

“Meow,” something whines from the kitchen.

“Holy shit. You actually have a cat.” My jaw drops as a gray tabby appears from behind the narrow island and eyes me like I murdered her kittens.

Diana’s expression mirrors the cat’s. “That’s Lucy. She likes to sneak out when our downstairs neighbor is seeing one of her therapy clients.”

“S’up?” I tell the cat, nodding in greeting.

“Don’t bother. She’s a demon from the pits of hell,” Diana says at the exact moment Lucy wanders over and rubs up against my leg.

The cat gives a happy purr, snaking her furry body between my shins.

Diana glowers at us. “Why am I not surprised you two get along? Go away, Lucy. Lindley and I need to talk.”

Lucy just sits at my feet, still purring.

“She has great taste in people,” I say, while continuing to examine my bizarre surroundings.

There’s an antique cabinet full of glassware that’s completely out of place next to the super-modern bookcase beside it. And is that…

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