Page 69 of The Dixon Rule

“Come here, Boyfriend,” she teases.

Closing the fridge, I put on my boyfriend face and walk toward her. I can’t help but notice that her dress has ridden up so high her thighs are pretty much bare. If she parts her legs even half an inch, I’ll be able to see her panties.

If she’s wearing any.

The thought summons a sizzle of heat that makes my dick twitch.

Diana grabs me by the belt loops and tugs me into the cradle of those tanned thighs. Then she laces her hands around my neck to pull my face close to hers.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly. There’s genuine concern in her voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Your mask is starting to slip.”

“I know,” I admit.

I plant my hands on her knees and gaze down at her.

It suddenly registers how fucking hot she is. When I let her in earlier, I recognized she looked good, but now I’m really taking in the sight of her, and it’s quite a sight. Her green eyes seem brighter. That red lipstick is killer. Her cleavage is top-notch. She’s a weapon.

“Why are you staring at me?” Her cheeks are flushed, either from the whiskey or the dancing. She doesn’t seem wasted, though.

“Have you always been this hot?” I muse.

Her mouth falls open. Then a laugh slides out. “Well, yes. I have.”

“You look good, Dixon.”

“I know.”

I lock my gaze to hers. My mouth feels a bit dry.

She lifts a brow. “Are you waiting for me to return the compliment?”

“No. I know I look good. I always do.”

Diana laughs again. Something about the soft, melodious sound has my body tightening. Before I can stop myself, I drag my thumb along her cheek. Damn, her skin is so smooth.

I glance over my shoulder. Lynsey and Tyreek are laughing at something on his phone.

If Lynsey’s gaze were on me right now, I don’t know if I would be licking my lips and murmuring, “I have a confession to make, Dixon.”

I think she’s also affected by this strange thread of tension moving between us. When we kissed during the dare game, she pretended it didn’t get her hot, but her responses said otherwise. Her hitched breath. Her pulse racing when I touched her wrist. Pupils dilated.

I’m seeing all those same signs now.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I sort of want to kiss you.”

“Are you drunk?” She sounds amused.

“Maybe just a little. Are you?”

“Maybe just a little.” She visibly shivers when I cup her cheek, then inhales when I use my other hand to lightly caress her bare thigh. Her skin is burning to the touch.

“Do you want me to?” The question comes out hoarse from the sudden desire clamped around my throat.

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