The Dixon Rule (Campus Diaries, 2)

A weekend thing that weird people do

OCTOBER

IT DIDN’T EVEN OCCUR TO ME THAT I MIGHT HAVE TO MISS THE DANCE competition.Text © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

That’s right.

NUABC is scheduled in the middle of my hockey season.

Luckily—and I’m talking damn lucky here because Dixon would’ve straight-up murdered me—I think I can make it. The competition is in Boston and wraps up late afternoon, and the team happens to be facing Boston College that evening, so the timing lines up. Only problem is, I won’t be able to ride the team bus, and I’ll also have to go play a highly physical game of hockey immediately after an entire afternoon of ballroom dancing. I don’t know if Coach Jensen is going to be cool with that.

But we’re about to find out.

I rap my fingers against his open office door. “Hey, Coach. I need to talk to you about something.”

His eyes darken with suspicion.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because anytime one of you dumbasses comes to talk to me about something, it’s something that fucking annoys me.” He waves me in. “What’s this about?”

I stand in front of his desk, awkwardly sliding my hands in my pockets. “Um.”

“Spit it out, Lindley.”

“So there’s this dance competition,” I start.

“Fuck’s sake.” He puts down his pen. “See? What did I tell you?”

“Okay, I know that sounds…”

“Stupid?” he supplies.

I choose to ignore his close-minded criticism toward my dance ambitions. “My girlfriend and I have been rehearsing all summer for this, but it only occurred to me yesterday, when we were finalizing some details, that I never asked when it was.”

He stares at me. “You never asked when it was,” he echoes.

“I knew it was October, but I never asked for the actual date.” I hang my head in shame.

Coach Jensen sighs.

“I don’t know why, but for some reason I just assumed it would be on a weeknight.”

“Why would a dance competition be held on a weeknight? Seems like a weekend thing that weird people do.”

“Hey, I’m doing it and I’m not weird.”

He stares at me again.

“Anyway.” I gulp. “It’s this Saturday. And like I said, we’ve been training hard for this. We sent our audition tape at the end of August. We’re ready to go.”

“Lindley. You’re a hockey player. I don’t care what kind of dancing you want to do in your spare time. But you play for the Briar University men’s ice hockey team”—he enunciates slowly, as if he’s trying to teach the ABCs to a toddler—“and therefore, you will be at the game.”

“Oh, no,” I reassure him. “I think I can be at the game.”

“You think?”

“No, I know I can be at the game.” God, I fucking hope I can be at the game. “I just won’t be on the bus. Our first event is at noon, and then the American Smooth Duo is at four, so I doubt I’ll make it back to campus by six to board the bus. But!” I flash him a beaming smile. “I’ll already be in Boston, so all I have to do is—”

“Dance your way to the rink?” he finishes politely.

I glare at him. “You know, you could be more supportive. It’s bad enough that everyone else makes fun of me. But guys on this team view you as a father figure. You should be supporting their dancing careers, not spitting on them.”

“As much as I love the sarcasm—” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You don’t fuck around with my hockey schedule. And what happens if you get injured while you’re off doing the mambo?”

“We’re not dancing the mambo. We’re doing the tango, the waltz, and—you know what? Forget it. Doesn’t matter. But I promise you, we’ve nailed down our routines. We’re good. No risk of injury.”

He cocks a brow. “Why are you doing this?”

That’s a very good question.

Originally, I agreed to partner up with Diana to make Lynsey jealous, but I can’t remember the last time I thought about my ex. I’ve been absorbed with hockey and Diana and school. These days, when Diana and I schedule a dance rehearsal, the only thing I’m thinking about is how much fun we’re going to have.

“I’m doing this because I enjoy it.” I chew on my lower lip. “And because I know how much she loves it.”

Coach leans back in his chair, studying me with those shrewd eyes. “Look,” he finally says. “I might come off as a hard-ass sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

He ignores that. “But there’s nothing I respect more than a man who values his woman.”

“Aww. Coach. You’re adorable.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He jabs his finger in the air. “Anyway, that’s what I’ve learned after two decades of marriage. Value your woman. Respect her. Show interest in her interests. And hopefully she does the same for you.”

“She does.”

He nods, pursing his lips for a moment. “We need to be at the rink at six thirty. Warm-up skate is at seven. Can you be there?”

“Absolutely. The winners are being announced at five thirty. And I checked the directions from the hotel to the arena. I can make it to the rink by six thirty with time to spare.”

“Time to spare, huh?”

“Yes.” I get a wary feeling. “What is it?”

He tips his head, pensive. “Just remembering a conversation I had the other day with my little granddaughter. Morgan. She asked me if I take my guys on field trips.”

“No,” I say with dread.

“And I said, why would I take them on field trips? They’re grown men, and they’re hockey players. They don’t need to go to the fucking zoo. Well, I didn’t say fuck. But I was thinking it,” he grumbles. His expression takes on a gleam that I really, really don’t like. “But talking to you, Lindley, has opened my eyes. Made me reconsider my entire stance on field trips.”

“No,” I repeat, the dread twisting into horror.

In a rare occurrence, much like a total solar eclipse, Coach Jensen smiles at me.