The Dixon Rule (Campus Diaries, 2)

Open book

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I PARK THE CAR IN THE MEMBERS’ LOT AT THE country club and turn to my two companions. Blake crashed at Diana’s condo last night, so she’s tagging along again. The three of us grabbed breakfast—sans Isaac Grant, poor bastard—before heading to the driving range.

“Have you ever been golfing?” I ask Blake.

“Yes.” She purses her lips. “I hate it.”

That doesn’t bode well. And I know for a fact Diana hasn’t. She’s not even dressed for golf. She’s wearing a crop T-shirt and yoga pants that stop above her calves. A blond braid hangs down her back and a pair of big black sunglasses sit on her cute nose.

Blake is taking advantage of the warm September weather in a thin white tank top and tiny denim shorts. They’re not indecent by any means, at least not enough to invite the ire of the country club puritans, but she’ll definitely be drawing some eyes.

Since I only own a set of men’s clubs, we stop at the rental hut first to grab some clubs for the girls.

“I can get it,” Diana offers.

“Nah, it’s on me. I have a membership.”

After the kid in the hut charges the rental to my account, I shoulder both bags as we walk the flower-lined path toward the driving range. The scent of freshly cut grass hangs in the air. We find a far spot away from most of the other golfers.

Diana stares at me expectantly.

“What?” I say as I slide my driver out of the bag. I remove the cover and smooth my hand over the sleek surface.

“You said you were gonna teach me how to golf,” she reminds me.

“We literally just got here.”

“Yeah, and I thought we’d get right down to business.” She pouts. “I expected you to do something really hot.”

“Yeah,” Blake agrees. “I thought you’d lean in real close and put your arms around me very seductively and then whisper, It’s all in the grip.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “Okay—one, I’m using that line from now on. And two, I’m pretty sure your father would rip my tongue out if I ever said that to you and amputate my hands if I ever touched you. Therefore, I will only instruct you from a discreet distance.”

Blake flicks up an eyebrow. “Coward.”

“Coward,” Diana echoes tauntingly.

“Really, Dixon? You want me to put my hands on another woman and whisper seductively to her?”

“In the spirit of golf, I would accept it.”

I snort. “All right, pull out that driver. Let’s work on your swing.”

Diana reaches into the women’s bag.

“I’ve been told the key to a perfect swing is all in the grip.” I wink at her. “And I know for a fact you’ve got a phenomenal grip.”

Blake sighs. “I know you’re talking about handjobs, and I don’t like it.”

I shrug. “I’m not sorry.”

“He never is,” Diana tells her.

I stand next to Diana and show her how to properly hold the driver. When she mimics the grip I demonstrate, I reach down to adjust her fingers.

“There. Perfect. Now widen your stance. You want your feet shoulder-width apart. Relax your shoulders too.”

I turn to Blake to offer the same advice—in time to see her drive the ball a hundred and forty yards.

My jaw drops. “What the hell, Logan?”

“Oh, I’m not bad at golf,” she says with a smirk. “I just said I hate it.”

“Don’t ever deceive me again.”

Laughing, she places another ball on her tee. Seeing as how she doesn’t need my help, I leave her to it.

I set Diana’s ball for her and then step back. “It’s all about timing and coordination,” I advise. “Keep your eye on the ball. You got this.”

She doesn’t got it.

At least not right away. Diana shanks her first swing, sending tufts of grass flying all over my shoes. But the failure only fuels her. Suddenly she gets that adorable furrow in her brow, the one that tells me she’s about to overcome a challenge or die trying.

She nails her second swing, driving the ball about sixty yards.

“Did you see that?” Diana spins around. “That was beautiful.”

“It was beautiful,” I say, fighting a smile. “Now let’s work on your distance.”

She throws her arms up in a victory pose, and I notice a few guys in their mid to late twenties blatantly checking her out. Yeah, my fake girlfriend’s hot.

If I’m being honest, though…this isn’t feeling very fake anymore. Sure, we’re friends with benefits, but those benefits are starting to extend beyond the sexual variety. We’re constantly texting. Calling each other. Dancing together. Hell, I brought her along for my last afternoon of me-time before the hockey season is officially underway. And not only she is not complaining about spending her morning at the driving range but she’s making a sincere effort to learn.

The only other woman I’ve taken golfing is Lynsey. Yes, my ex used to do me the honor of coming with me once, maybe twice a year if I was lucky. And one of those times was for my birthday because I begged her to play eighteen holes with me.

I remember that birthday vividly. Lynsey sat in the golf cart most of the time checking her phone, totally missing when I nailed a hole-in-one on the course. She’d mustered up some enthusiasm at my proud roar, but I could tell she didn’t give a shit.

Now, I stand here envisioning myself hitting a hole-in-one with Diana on the green beside me. Christ. Dixon would probably perform an entire cheer routine to celebrate my achievement. The certainty of that elicits a rush of pleasure.

Oh man. My chest is tight with emotion now. I’m such a fuckin’ sap.

As I switch to a nine iron so I can work on my shorter game, I grin at the sight of Diana hyping Blake up. “You got this, Blakey. I think you can add an extra five yards to your next drive.”

“God, you’re such a cheerleader,” Blake says dryly.

“I can’t help it.” Diana bounces on her heels. “I just want people to do well.” When she wanders back to me, genuine excitement dances in her green eyes. “This is so much fun. Thanks for bringing us.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say thickly.

Whatever she sees on my face has a smile tugging on her lips. “Is that so?”

“It is so. And I’m glad you’re actually having fun.”

“I’m having a blast. I think next time we should play a whole game.”

I swallow the sudden obstruction in my throat. “Yeah, we should. It’s, uh, really cool having you here.”

It’s hard to articulate how I feel right now. It’s almost a bit ridiculous, feeling this level of joy and tenderness over something as silly as a woman showing enthusiasm for one of my hobbies.

Diana frowns, and I know she’s reading my mind. “Did Lynsey hate golf or something? What, did her family die in a tragic golfing accident and she can never play the game again?”

“No, her family is alive and well.” I shrug. “She came golfing on my birthday if I asked her to, but that’s about it. She didn’t show much interest in the things I was into.”

“And I bet you attended all her dance competitions and sat in the front row holding a huge sign that said dance baby dance.”

“I mean, no, there were no signs involved.” I snicker. “But yes, of course I went to her performances.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…” Her tone is careful. “This relationship sounds like it was very one-sided.”

I glance over at Blake, who’s checking her phone several feet away. Then I lower my voice. “What does that mean?”

“It means it sounds like you did all the heavy lifting. Or rather, all the heavy bending.”

“That’s not true.”

Diana goes quiet for a moment. When she speaks, it’s with a chord of hurt. “Remember on the way to your parents’ house, how you told me to tone myself down? When we were talking in the car?”

Her indictment evokes a spark of guilt. Shit. I don’t even remember saying that. But I apologize nonetheless.

“I’m sorry. That was a crappy thing to say.”

“Yes, it was. And Percy did the same thing sometimes, telling me I needed to change something about myself.” Diana cringes at the sound of his name, as if it’s painful leaving her mouth. “But that’s not my point. What I’m trying to say is—from what I’ve seen and heard, you’re the one toning yourself down.”

“What do you mean?” I ask warily.

“Pardon the super-cheesy expression, but it’s like Lynsey dims some of your light.”

A frown twists my lips.

“It seems like you were trying really hard to impress her or something.”

“Okay, that sounds pathetic.”

“It’s not. It’s only natural to want to make the person you’re with happy. You do want to impress them. But it sounds like you made all the compromises. It had to be your birthday for her to do an activity you enjoyed. What did she do to support you? Did she come to your hockey games?”

I shift in discomfort. “She was busy with rehearsals.”

Diana doesn’t comment on that, but her expression says, I rest my case.

She falls silent again, then lets out a breath. “I just get the sense that this relationship might not have been as magical as you remember. Because from an outsider’s perspective, it doesn’t seem like the healthiest.” She shrugs. “And I suspect I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

My frown deepens. “What do you mean?”

“Just some things your dad said. He told me that you laugh a lot when you’re around me. That you act differently. He didn’t specifically mention Lynsey, but it was implied that maybe you weren’t yourself when you were with her.”

I object to that. “Lynsey and I had great times together.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t. But I do wonder if you were ever truly yourself with her. Did you fully open up? Show her every part of you?”

“Oh my God, Diana,” Blake interrupts. “Come see this.”

“Sorry. I’ll be right back.” Diana squeezes my arm and walks over to peer at the phone Blake is holding out to her.

Her words leave me with a bad taste in my mouth and a jumble of thoughts in my brain.

Was I ever truly open with Lynsey?

The thing is…yes. I was open. I was vulnerable with her, sharing intimate parts of my psyche. I confessed to certain kinks—she didn’t want to indulge me. I invited her to everything—she didn’t want to come. And then, when she did come, she made it clear she wasn’t having a great time.

Fuck. It bothers me that my dad thinks I acted differently around Lynsey. Like I was some chump who let a girl walk all over him.

But I never viewed our relationship like that. Yes, it had its issues, and maybe in hindsight, I did make the bulk of the compromises, but—

“Shane, come look at this.”

I push the troubling thoughts aside and join the girls. Blake shows me a picture from Gigi and Ryder’s wedding of a dark-haired man trying to do the splits on the dance floor.

“This is my dad’s old teammate from Briar. Mike Hollis.” Blake can’t stop giggling. “This is right before he tore his pants and then his wife started yelling at him and made him go home.”

I laugh. Oh yeah. I remember that dude. He and his wife were tearing up the dance floor all night. Blake scrolls through the rest of the pictures in the sequence, which show a petite woman with brown skin and dark hair reprimanding the man with the ripped trousers.

“These are hilarious,” I say, before realizing something. “You know what, I haven’t actually seen any pictures from the wedding, other the ones I took.”

“Oh, I have a whole folder on my phone,” Diana tells me.

“You do? Where’s your phone?”

“It’s on top of our golf bag.”

“Nice. I’ll grab it.” I’m about to go when Blake suddenly gasps.

“Oh my fucking God.”

“What is it?” Diana asks.

“Isaac just messaged me.”

Now Diana gasps. “Isaac Grant?”

I raise an eyebrow in amusement. “Mr. Superstar Wide Receiver? Check you out, Logan. Attracting the big guns.”

“How did he get your number?” Diana looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

With deep resignation, Blake reads out loud. “‘Hey, it’s Isaac. Don’t ask how I got your number. It took me forever and I had to go through some pretty dark channels.’”

I snort.

“Then he sent a follow-up. This one says, ‘Let’s not beat around the bush. I want to see you again.’”

“Wow.” I’m legit impressed. “Good for him.”

Blake glares at me. “No, not good for him. This is basically stalking!”

“Nah. He’s just shooting his shot. You should say yes.”

“I can’t believe I’m seconding this,” Diana pipes up, “since he’s such a massive manwhore, but I agree. I think he has a secret soft side.”

“Yeah? If you two love him so much, you date him.” Blake rolls her eyes. “Cocky football players aren’t my type.” She pauses. “Although I guess I’d prefer that to a cocky hockey player.”

“What’s wrong with hockey players?” I demand.

“My mom and I are football fans.”

I stare at her, slack-jawed. “This is blasphemy. Your father’s John Logan.”

“Uh-huh, he is. I cheered at all his games growing up, and I guarantee I know more about hockey than most of your teammates. But if I have to choose a game to attend, I’d way rather be sitting behind the Patriots’ bench than center ice at TD Garden.”

“You are disowned.” I shake my head at her.

Diana and Blake proceed to ignore me as the former tries to convince the latter not to respond with “Pass.”

I no longer care about the conversation now that I know Blake is a traitor, so I go to find Diana’s phone. I want to send myself those wedding photos.

“Is it in your albums?” I call over my shoulder.

“Yeah. In a folder called G’s Wedding.”

“Cool.”

I grab the phone and unlock it; I already know the passcode because I’ve used her phone before. That’s another difference between her and Lynsey. My ex would never give me the password to her phone. I don’t think she was cheating or anything, though. That’s just Lynsey’s personality. She’s a private person. Reserved. Diana, meanwhile, is an open book.

I head back to the girls, scrolling through Diana’s photo albums.

And that’s when I realize she’s not an open book at all.