The Dixon Rule (Campus Diaries, 2)

R Lindley

NOVEMBER

DIANA AND I SPEND THANKSGIVING WITH EACH OTHER’S FAMILIES. MY family has dinner on Thursday, while the Dixons do theirs on Friday, and since our towns are within spitting distance of each other, we’re able to do both. I like having a girlfriend again. Honestly, now that I’m all in, I realize there was never any point in fighting it last year. This is my natural state. I’m a girlfriend guy. That’s just who I am.

On Thursday morning, we drive to Heartsong, where my little sister greets Diana like a long-lost friend, throwing her arms around her. She drags Diana upstairs to show her something, while I wander into the kitchen to help Mom.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask her.

“He’s in the den.”

“Cool. Let me go say hi and then I’ll help you with dinner.”

“Sounds good, honey. Thank you.”

I notice some strain around her eyes before she turns toward the stove. I step forward to touch her arm.

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. Cooking stresses me out, you know that. Go see your dad.”

The den is Dad’s domain, part man cave, part office. Filing cabinets take up an entire wall. Against a second wall is an array of computer monitors sitting on an L-shaped mahogany desk, with framed photographs and hockey memorabilia hanging above the desk. The third wall boasts a gas fireplace with two overstuffed armchairs and a coffee table in front of it.

I find Dad kneeling on the hardwood floor, rummaging through a big cardboard box.

“Hey. What are you doing?” I ask curiously.

“Hey, kid.” He gets up to give me a quick hug. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

I slap him on the back. “Happy Thanksgiving, old man.”

“Who are you calling old? I’m still a spring chicken.”

“Young people don’t use phrases like spring chicken.”

“Ouch.” He clasps his heart as if I hurt him.

I gesture to the two boxes on the ground. “What’s all this?”

“Oh, I have something for you. Remember I told you last month I was finally clearing out those boxes in the attic? I dragged a couple in here because I found some cool stuff I want to give you and Maryanne. No point letting it all sit in a dusty attic.”

He walks to the desk and picks up a folded square of fabric. He unfolds it and holds the red-and-black garment up by the collar. It’s a Chicago jersey, an old-school one from before they switched to their new uniforms. Grinning, he turns it over. The name LINDLEY is stitched onto the back.

“Holy shit,” I exclaim. “Is that your Blackhawks jersey from when you played there?”

“You mean when I played five minutes of one game?” he says dryly.

“Still pretty fucking cool.” I take the jersey from him, running my fingers over the seams on the logo. “This is actually what you were wearing for your first NHL game?”

“Yep. What I was wearing the night my career ended.”

He doesn’t sound too beat up about it, but I flinch at his blunt words.

He notices and shrugs. “I mourned that life a long time ago. Created something even better. Something to leave you and your sister that’s more tangible than hockey money.”

I grin. “I mean, we could have invested the hockey money.”

“Hey, you can invest the real estate money too.”

“Just kidding.” I gesture to the jersey. “Are you really giving me this?”Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Yes, but I’m going to get it framed first.”

“Will you sign it?”

“Absolutely.”

Eyes shining, Dad grabs a metallic silver marker from his desk drawer and scribbles his name on a black section of the jersey.

R Lindley.

He looks so proud that tears sting my eyelids. Because, fuck, I can’t even imagine having your dream stolen from you like that. In an instant. One second and it was done.

“Where’s Diana?” he asks.

“She’s upstairs with Maryanne.”

Dad puts his arm around me and ruffles my head. I don’t have a lot of hair, so he’s basically just rubbing his palm over my buzzed scalp. “I’m happy you’re home. Happy you’re with Diana too. She’s a good one.”

“I think so too.”

“Glad you came to your senses.”

I raise a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your mom and I were getting worried there that you might get back with Lynsey.”

“Wow.” I can’t stop a laugh. “You really didn’t like her, huh?”

“It wasn’t about liking her. It was about liking her for you. She wasn’t good for you. Too serious. Overly ambitious.”

“Mom is serious and ambitious,” I point out.

“Yep, and she suits me to a T. Because I’m a laid-back bum who needs a woman like her to motivate me.” Dad leans against his deck, arms loosely crossed. “But you’re not me. You’re loud and brash and stubborn as hell. You need someone like Diana to put you in your place. Lynsey never did that because…” He shrugs. “Because, well, I suspect she was too self-absorbed to notice what you were up to.”

I won’t lie—it stings to hear that. And his words dispel any notion that they’d liked her. Clearly, they were just skilled at keeping their mouths shut.

“I wish you told me all this when we were dating,” I admit. “Four years, dude. You might’ve saved me some time.”

Dad chuckles. “You wouldn’t have listened. Stubborn, remember?” He pushes away from the desk. “C’mon, let’s go join the others.”

Thanksgiving is a blast. We don’t have any out-of-towners this year, but we’re hosting Mom’s parents, my aunt Ashley, a bunch of cousins from my dad’s side, and more cousins from my mom’s. We watch football, gorge ourselves at dinner, and play after-dinner charades.

It’s the perfect day, except for one moment of tension between my parents. Dad wants to go for a walk after our guests leave, but my sister is so hopped up on sugar that Mom suggests we watch a movie instead. Dad pushes the issue, and eventually Mom caves, grumbling in annoyance as they bundle up and head out, leaving Diana and me alone in the house.

I waste no time grabbing her hand. “Upstairs! Now! Quickie!”

Diana can’t stop laughing as we hurry upstairs. I know we have at least thirty minutes, but I bypass my bedroom just in case and pull her into the hall bath.

“Oooh, shower sex?” Her green eyes dance devilishly as I turn on the water.

I crank the temperature to hot and pull off my sweater, tossing it on the tiled floor. “I figure the spray will drown out any noises you make.”

“Me? You’re the noisiest man I’ve ever been with. You and your man moans.”

“You love it when I moan in your ear,” I say arrogantly, undoing my pants.

A moment later, my boxers hit the bath mat and I step into the shower. With the curtain still wide-open, I duck my head under the spray and let it course down my naked body.

“You coming?”

Diana makes quick work of her clothes and joins me. I see her ass bounce a bit as she steps in, and I don’t hold back the urge to grab a fistful of it. As she pushes her ass into my naked torso, my cock begins to rise against those firm cheeks. I could slide into her right now and fuck her brains out. That’s what my instincts are begging me to do. But I resist, because if I do that, the whole encounter will be over in two minutes. I want to make this last.

I start kissing her neck, and as I predicted, the spray masks her resulting moan.

“We should use this shower trick at home for Niall,” I tell her while my lips continue to travel along her throat.

“He’ll still hear us,” she mumbles. “He has the ears of a cheetah.”

I stop kissing. “Do cheetahs have really good hearing?”

“I don’t know. I assume it’s better than human hearing. Will you quit thinking about Niall and make yourself useful?”

I laugh against her hair, bringing my arms around so I can cup her breasts. Her skin is supple beneath my fingers. I turn her toward me because I don’t want to merely feel her tits. I want to see them. I want to see the desire burning in her eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” Diana whispers.

Christ, I could stare at her all night, but if she wants me to take her, I’m happy to oblige. I reach between her legs, assessing how wet she is. Fucking drenched. I know she’s going to take my cock without issue.

But the shower space is limiting, so I pick her up and lift her out of the tub. She curls her legs around me as I walk us to the counter, where I set her down gently.

The water in the shower is still running, but I don’t care. The bathroom grows steamy around us. I can barely see our bodies in the fogged mirror.

I pull her to the very edge of the vanity while gripping my cock in one hand.

“Beg,” I rasp.

A soft noise of desperation leaves her mouth. “Give it to me. Please.”

Smiling, I push forward, giving her half my length. She groans, her hands stretching to the sides for something to grasp. She knocks over the toothbrush holder and soap bottle. They tumble into the sink basin.

“I wish I had more time to tease you,” I say regretfully, my fingers caressing her hips. “But I don’t, so I guess I’ll just have to make you come.”

Diana chokes midlaugh when I thrust deep. Over and over, until she’s moaning with abandon. Every time I drive into her, her breasts jump up and jiggle, and I’m inspired with each pump to make them move again. So I move harder, faster.

I put one hand on the bathroom mirror to get a better grip, but it slides off because of the moisture. My handprint allows me to see our reflection, and now I’m not only looking at her but watching myself pump inside her. Fuck, we look so good.

“Harder,” she whimpers.

Her breaths grow unsteady, mingling with the steam filling the small space. I listen to her increasingly throatier moans, slamming into her harder every time she begs.

I don’t take my eyes off her, loving the way she gasps with each deep thrust.

“Give me that orgasm, baby. I want it.”

I know what she needs, though. I bring one thumb to her clit, rubbing gently, and the other to her nipple, pinching not as gently, and Diana goes off. I’m too far gone myself, the incoming release tightening my balls and surging through me. Rope after rope of it shoots into her as she pulsates on my cock. Her legs tighten around me, pulling me in deeper.

It takes a moment to catch my breath. “Why are we so good together?” I croak.

“Dicksand,” she mumbles.

“Pussysand,” I correct.

But it doesn’t matter which one of us is right. Our sex life is incomparable. It’s otherworldly.

For the first time in a long time, I’m completely at peace with every single aspect of my life. Family. Girlfriend. Sex. Career path. I feel like I’m killing it in every department.

Including hockey, as we win yet another game on Saturday afternoon. The team doesn’t get the whole weekend off for Thanksgiving. Our schedule chugs along as normal. So I’m on the ice the day after Diana and I see her family in Oak Ridges, unleashing slapshots on the UConn goalie and getting slammed into the boards by a goon defenseman on the opposing team.

In the locker room after our W, I’m a bit slow getting dressed due to a jarring hit to the shoulder I took in the second period.

“You good?” Ryder says, noticing me gingerly pulling on my hoodie.

“All good. Just gonna ice it when I’m home. And then get Diana to kiss it and make it better.”

He snorts.

I grab my phone from my stall and find an alarming number of missed calls from my mother.

Worry instantly jolts into me. One call, maybe two, wouldn’t be a major cause for concern. But she’s called four times—when she knows I’m playing a game this afternoon and likely wouldn’t be able to call back.

“Hey, I’ll meet you out there,” I tell Ryder and Beckett. “Gotta call my mom.”

I click Mom’s name to return the call, and she picks up on the first ring.

“Hey,” I say apprehensively. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a slight pause.

“No, it’s not.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Shane…” Mom’s voice trembles. She pauses again, clearing her throat. “You need to come home.”

Fear runs up my spine. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Your father’s in the hospital.”