Page 66 of The Dixon Rule

Shane twists his head slightly to peer down at me. He looks like he wants to murder me, but when he turns his face back to them, he’s grinning sheepishly. “Yeah, I basically made a complete ass of myself.”

“No, you were so cute.” I lean forward to pick up my whiskey, this time forcing myself to take a confident sip.

Mind over matter. Just pretend it’s not burning my throat and churning like lava in my stomach. I’ve drunk about a quarter of the glass now, and I’m already feeling a buzz.

I hold it out to Shane. “Want some?”

“Nah, I’ll stick to my beer.”

Asshole.

“I want to hear the rest of this story,” Lynsey says.

Tyreek chuckles. “Bro, me too. Did you legit bust out some crazy dance routine to win over a girl?”

“He sure did,” I answer for Shane. “We were at this Latin club in Boston. I can’t remember what it was called, but it was right after the Frozen Four win, and we all went there to celebrate. By that point, Shane had been trying to get with me for months.”

“It wasn’t that long. I only asked you out once.”

“Sure, once a week since September. He was smitten,” I say, grinning at Lynsey and Tyreek. “I kept turning him down, and he was getting more and more desperate.”

“Not desperate. Determined,” Shane cuts in. He’s mock-glaring at me, but only I know there’s nothing mock about it.

“He would send me these text messages—they were so cheesy. It was, like, top ten reasons why you should date me.”

Tyreek snorts mid-sip of his beer. “What were the reasons?”

“I can’t remember all of them.” I pretend to search my memory. “Some were so ridiculous. Like…I can last twenty whole minutes in bed.”

That gets Tyreek doubling over in laughter. Lynsey barely cracks a smile.

I notice she’s not super funny. Not that it’s a bad thing. Not everyone has a stellar sense of humor like yours truly. But serious people make me uncomfortable sometimes. It reminds me too much of my mother, who doesn’t know the meaning of the word joke.

“There were romantic reasons too,” Shane objects before I can drop another ego-crushing tidbit. “I said I was kind and compassionate, remember?”

“True. You did. I’ll give you that one.”

“I said I knew how to treat a woman right, that I was very chivalrous.”

“Also true.” I shrug. “But the number one reason was what a great dancer he was, and I called his bluff that night. Told him to wow me. So Shane here goes up to the DJ and asks him to play this ridiculous track, a really awful Vizza Billity rap-pop remix. And he gets in the middle of the dance floor and starts doing his, like, ‘moves.’” I use air quotes. Tyreek and Lynsey are both laughing now. “It was really cute.”

“Everyone was cheering along,” Shane adds, creating an entire hype squad for the story.

“And then he shimmied over to me, held out his hand, and said, May I have this dance?”

Tyreek chuckles again. “I don’t know if that’s cringe or smooth.”

“Definitely smooth.” Shane picks up my hand and laces our fingers together. But when the other couple isn’t looking, he digs his thumb into the center of my palm. It’s a warning. “And look what I got out of it. I guess making an ass out of yourself in front of all of Boston is worth it.”

Okay, that was kind of romantic. I notice Lynsey’s expression shift from amused to…I’m not quite sure. She’s very proficient at masking her emotions.

“So, what, you just dance now?” she says to Shane. I think it’s supposed to be a joke, but I hear the edge to her voice.

“Guess so,” he answers with a shrug. Then he shocks the hell out of me by adding, “Diana and I are doing that dance competition. NUABC.”

Her eyes flash. “You’re not serious.”

I recover quickly from my own surprise. “Yup, I managed to wear him down,” I confirm, snuggling closer to Shane. “Why? Are you competing too?”

---