### Chapter 2: The Summer of Shane As I trail behind the furious platinum-blonde into her apartment, a chuckle escapes my lips. The moment we step into the main room, I find myself blinking in disbelief. This little nest of chaos is nowhere near what I anticipated. Mismatched furniture sprawls across the space, and a burgundy area rug battles vigorously with the pale-blue floral sofa that looks like it belongs in a forgotten corner of a grandmother’s house. You know the kind; the one nobody fights over but everyone feels guilty about tossing. “This place screams cat lady,” I remark, half amused. “Meow,” a disgruntled voice pips from the kitchen. I turn, and my mouth drops open as a gray tabby slinks out from behind the narrow island, eyeing me with the kind of disdain usually reserved for murderers. Diana's expression reflects the cat’s ire. “That’s Lucy. She has a knack for sneaking out when our downstairs neighbor is busy with her therapy clients.” “Hey there, kitty,” I say, bending down slightly, attempting to make peace. “Don’t bother,” Diana deadpans, even as Lucy saunters over and begins rubbing against my leg, her purring reverberating across the room like a soothing siren’s song. “She has great taste in people!” I tease, all while scanning my strange new surroundings. An antique cabinet filled with delicate glassware sits awkwardly next to a sleek, modern bookcase. And what’s this? “Oh my God, you have a fish? Who even gets a pet fish? Seriously, have some self-respect, Dixon!” Diana's emerald-green eyes shoot daggers at me. “Leave my fish out of this. He’s not perfect, but he’s mine.” I stifle a laugh at the sight of her, still wearing nothing but a towel. Honestly, she looks incredible. Diana is stunning, with wide-set eyes and that platinum-blond hair cascading down her back, accentuated by a mouth that could easily launch a thousand arguments. She’s petite, barely reaching five feet, but she has a personality that looms larger than life. Yet, a huge chunk of that personality seems to revolve around teasing me mercilessly. “I’m going to change,” she announces, “but we need to talk, so don’t even think about leaving.” “Oh, I can help you get dressed,” I offer, feigning innocence. “Ew. Never.” I can’t help but laugh. Our relationship is a classic love-hate saga: she despises me while I delight in her irritation. As Diana struts away, I can’t help but admire the way the towel rides up her toned thighs, catching a fleeting glimpse of her fair skin, sun-kissed from hours spent by the pool. Damn, I’m lucky to have a place with a pool now. This apartment is sick. I brush off the jabs from my friends and teammates about my “rich daddy” buying me a condo. True, my family has money, but I’m no spoiled brat. I didn’t ask Dad to set me up here; it’s an investment for him. Once I graduate from Briar University and head off to Chicago for the NHL, he’ll rent it out like he does with his other properties in Vermont and Massachusetts. In the meantime, I relish my own space after years of sharing a house with Ryder and Beckett, split between Eastwood and Briar's campuses following the merger of the men’s hockey teams. Hastings is the small town wrapped around the Briar campus, and I’m finally free from that chaos. Diana reappears wearing small cutoff shorts and a loose t-shirt, sans bra, and my eyes instinctively drop to the visible outline of her toned form. “Stop looking at my boobs,” she snaps. I admit it; I was caught red-handed. With a smirk, I shift my gaze to the eclectic decor of the loft. “Terrible interior design aside, this place is really nice. Is it bigger than mine? How much’s your rent?” “I don’t rent. And I’m not telling you about my mortgage. Nosy much?” My eyebrows jump. “You own it? That’s badass!” There’s a pause, as if she’s debating whether to share more. “My aunt left it to me in her will. She only lived here a year before she died.” I glance around, feeling a heavy silence hang in the air. “Oh my God, she didn’t die in this room?” “No, she had a heart attack in her office in Boston.” “Damn, that sucks. I’m sorry,” I say, genuinely feeling the weight of the burden she’s carried. “Now, let’s get down to business,” she states, crossing her arms. “Just because you’re in Meadow Hill doesn’t mean you can run wild here.” “I think that’s exactly what it means,” I retort, crossing my arms in mock solidarity. “I live here now.” “No, you live there,” she says, pointing accusingly toward the wall behind her, indicating my apartment. “This is my space, and don’t even think about suggesting parties here.” “I simply made a suggestion,” I counter. Ignoring me, she continues her tirade. “I’m not co-hosting any parties with you. This is my sanctuary. I don’t know what Gigi told you about me—” “She said you’re a pain in the ass.” Diana gasps, almost theatrically. “She did not.” I grin mischievously. “Actually, she did.” Her eyes narrow, and I know she’ll be texting Gigi for confirmation. My best friend’s wife was clear in her warnings about Diana, advising me to steer clear unless I wanted daily lectures. But something about her dislike only encourages me. Confrontation doesn’t scare me; in fact, her disdain seems to challenge me even more. It’s a childish instinct, like a kid sticking their tongue out at their favorite annoying sibling. “Are you listening to me?” she snaps, exasperation seeping into her tone. I raise my head; oh right, the lecture continues. “Sure. No parties in your apartment.” “And no parties in the pool.” “What? Now you speak for the entire building?” I raise a brow, challenging her. “No! The building speaks for itself. Did you even read your homeowner’s packet?” “Babe, I just walked in here.” “Don’t call me babe,” she shoots back. “I didn’t even get to my front door before you dragged me in,” I remind her. “Read the HOA package. It’s serious. The association meets twice a month on Sunday morning.” “Yeah, I’m not going to that.” “I didn’t expect you to,” she concedes. “Now—” she claps her hands like a cheer captain leading practice, “let’s review the rules. Easy on the parties, wipe down the gym equipment after use, and for the love of all that is good, no sex in the pool.” “What about blowjobs in the pool?” “Listen, I don’t care who you want to suck off, Lindley; just don’t do it in the pool.” I flash a smirk. “Actually, I was thinking about being on the receiving end.” “Oh. Did you?” Her smile becomes slightly sinister. “Just remember one key thing: we are not friends.” “Lovers, then?” I tease, winking playfully. “We are neither friends nor lovers. We are floor mates. Respectful residents of the Red Birch building in Meadow Hill. We don’t annoy each other—” “You’re kind of annoying me right now.” “—we don’t cause trouble, and preferably, we don’t speak.” “Isn’t this considered speaking?” “No. This is the prelude to our nonexistent future conversations. In conclusion: not friends. No shenanigans. Oh, and stop screwing my teammates.” Ah, now it makes sense. She’s still riled up because of a few flings I had with her cheerleader friends last semester. I vaguely recall Audrey getting overexcited after a brief hookup, falling off a pyramid at practice and injuring herself. Not my fault if she couldn’t focus. On the ice, I only think hockey, banishing distractions. “Alright,” I say, rolling my eyes, “is there any more of this ‘Dixon rules’ nonsense, or can I be excused? My furniture isn’t going to assemble itself.” “That’s it. But, really, there’s one critical Dixon rule: No Shanes allowed.” “Allowed where?” “Anywhere and everywhere. But especially not in my vicinity.” Her smile is devoid of warmth. “We’re done here.” She points toward the entryway, dismissing me. “Wow, so that’s how it’s going to be?” “Yes, I literally just told you it was going to be like that. Happy housewarming, Lindley.” I dutifully exit her apartment and return to mine, where Will and Beckett are engaged in a momentous struggle to assemble my new sectional couch. Will, armed with a knife, is slashing open plastic around the cushions, while Beckett crouches over the hardwood floor, fighting to connect the main section to the chaise. “Sorry about that,” I say, shaking my head. “Dixon just needed to set me straight. It’s her twisted way of showing love.” Will snorts in amusement while Beckett looks up, smirking. “Sorry, mate, but that’s one bird you won’t win over with those dimples.” He’s probably right. “Dude, she really doesn’t like you,” Will clarifies, adding weight to the point. “I had dinner with her and Gigi last week, and when your name came up, Diana rolled her eyes so hard I was worried she might pop them out of her head.” “Aw, thanks. That really boosts my self-esteem,” I reply dryly. “Uh-huh, and I’m sure your massive ego took a serious blow,” Beckett rolls his eyes as we hoist the couch into a new position. “Let’s mount the TV there,” I suggest, pointing to the brick wall. “Can we drill into that?” “Yeah, should be fine,” Beckett responds, striding over to inspect the wall, brushing some errant strands of hair from his face. “Larsen, grab the drill?” “Look at you,” I tease. “Mr. Handyman.” He winks at me. “Surprised? I’m pretty good with my hands.” Fair point. With the couch settled, we head to the bedroom to piece together my new queen-sized bed, thinking that I might have squeezed a king in here. Will lays out the hardware while Beckett and I sort through the sleek, dark-cherry wooden pieces. “Can’t believe neither of you is coming to visit,” Beckett laments, his voice slightly glum. “I get why Ryder can’t, but seriously? You both can’t get away?” I shrug, fending off the tug of guilt. “I can’t just ditch my family for Australia. That’s prime family time for me.” That’s the truth. When hockey season rolls around, I’m laser-focused on the game and keeping up with my studies. “I feel that,” Beckett acknowledges. “Family matters.” I know he's close with his parents and relatives back in Australia. “Have a landscaping gig or something, right?” I ask Will. “Pool company.” My jaw nearly drops. “So you’re a pool boy?” As Will nods, Beckett lets out an exaggerated sigh. I smirk over at him. “What’s your issue?” “Just… don’t get your hopes up. You find out your mate’s a pool boy, and suddenly you create an entire narrative, only to have it burst like a balloon.” “Those were a lot of strange metaphors just to say you don’t screw the clients,” Will quips, rolling his eyes. “I don’t screw the clients.” Will reiterates the earlier point. “Why not?” I ask, my mind wandering to amusing scenarios involving neglected housewives in tiny bikinis wandering over to offer lemonade. “I’d get fired, for one.” “Fair enough. But what’s life without a bit of risk?” “Says the rich boy.” “Isn’t your dad a congressman? I bet you’re richer than me. Naked pool boys aren’t really your style, are they?” “Not really. I want to be my own man, not beholden to my dad,” he says with a sincerity that makes me at least respect his stance. Meanwhile, I’ll happily accept my family’s support while I indulge in my summer of freedom. Plans for my time off swirl in my mind. Focus on strength and conditioning for the upcoming season. Morning gym sessions. Swimming for cardio. And at least a few rounds of golf at a nearby club. Let the Summer of Shane begin. After wrapping up the bed assembly, Will and Beckett invite me to join them for dinner in town, but I decline. I want to tackle the unpacking and get some organization going. In payment for their labor, I promise them beer and a party on Saturday night—something Beckett reminds me of as we head toward the front hall. “Don’t forget about my goodbye party,” he drags out. “Right, the party you’re throwing for yourself.” “And?” “Honestly, that’s kind of dumb. But I’m looking forward to christening the pool. Any excuse for a party is good enough.” He chuckles, eyeing me with a hint of mischief. “What did your new neighbor say about the party?” “Dixon? Oh, she’s just ecstatic. Can’t wait for it.” “Be careful, man,” Will warns. “Diana can be vicious, and she doesn’t play nice.” “Is that meant to scare me?” I grin. “The dirtier the shenanigans, the better.” Once my buddies leave, I find myself drawn to the kitchen island, where papers left by my mother lie waiting. She'd swung by yesterday to put finishing touches on my move. Settling onto a tall, black-leather stool, I sift through the stack, hoping for something exciting, but it’s the usual mundane stuff. I skim until something out of the ordinary catches my eye: an illustrated map of the Meadow Hill property. I lean forward to study it. Why is every building named after trees? I live in Red Birch. There’s Silver Pine next door, and White Ash, Weeping Willow, Sugar Maple… the main building is Sycamore, equipped with a front desk security guard. That’s a win. I glance again at the heap of paperwork, but fatigue tugs at my focus. Diana was right—who needs an HOA meeting every two weeks? And on a Sunday? You won’t catch me at some suffocating gathering where soccer moms and their restless partners debate pool rules and mower start times. Not my scene. The noise ordinances leave me perplexed. No noise after nine p.m. on weekdays, barring Fridays, which permit debauchery until eleven. On weekends, we can be raucous until midnight—except for Sundays, which cap at ten. So basically, Friday's a loophole and Sunday is a soft lock on chaos. Got it. Having muddled through only half the stack, I give up, knowing full well my brain isn’t suited for such mundane matters today. I head to my new bedroom, recalling my packing strategy back at the townhouse—a mix of hurry and efficiency. Many of my clothes crammed into garbage bags more than neatly folded boxes. I dig through a bag for my linens, unearthing a fresh set of sheets and pillowcases, followed by a duvet and cover. Once the bed is made, I plop down at its edge, fishing my phone from my pocket to dial my mom. “Hello!” she answers, her fervor immediately evident. “Are you all done?” “Yup! Just wrapped up. Couch, TV, and bed are all set.” “Wonderful! How about the place? Do you like it? Happy with the paint colors in the kitchen? And what about the backsplash? The white tile screams elegance.” “It all looks amazing. Seriously, I couldn’t have decorated better myself,” I assure her, not a hint of sarcasm in my voice. Mom’s choices—the colors, the art, even the minor details like dish racks—brought this place to life. “Of course! Anything for you. Have you—Maryanne! No! Give me that baking soda!” A brief shuffle fills the background as the chaos of my little sister unfolds, with my mother scolding her. “Sorry! Your sister is driving me up a wall trying to build a modified bottle rocket.” “Wait, what?” “They learned how to make mini bottle rockets at camp last week. She found a way to amp it up. I’m regretting sending her to space camp.” “Thought she was going to geology camp?” “Nope, that’s in August.” Only my sister could manage to attend two science camps during the summer. While she might be neck-deep in nerdy pursuits, she’s also the coolest ten-year-old I know. My family is solid, and we’re close-knit. “Anyway, what else did I want to ask you?” she continues, mulling it over. “Oh right! Have you met any neighbors in Red Birch yet?” “Just one. She was outside her apartment completely naked when I got here.” “What?! You’re kidding!” “Not at all! She was chasing her cat and dropped her towel. Best welcome I’ve ever had.” “Shane, don’t be inappropriate.” I can’t help it; I laugh. “My bad. But don’t worry; she hates me, so it’s all good.” “That’s not how neighbors work! Why doesn’t she like you?” “Don’t sweat it. She’s an acquaintance from Briar—a friend of a friend. I’m sure the others are normal.” After we chat a while longer, we schedule my visit home at week’s end for a few days. Once we hang up, my thoughts wander back to the social scene in town. With summer ramping up, I wonder who else might be in town. Old friends from high school might pop up. Oh, is this what I’m doing now? Wishing for familiar faces? “Oh god,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. It seems ridiculous. Before I can spiral any further, my phone buzzes—an incoming text interrupts my train of thought. **CRYSTAL:** Are you all moved in? I had bumped into her earlier in town, snagging coffee before heading to my new place. She’s cute—dark, shiny hair, a dazzling smile, and a great body. We exchanged numbers while waiting in line, much to Beckett and Will’s amusement. Needing to redirect my mind quickly, I type a response without hesitation. The last thing I want to do tonight is sulk over an ex. **ME:** Wanna hang tonight? **CRYSTAL:** Yeah, I could chill. No cheer camp tomorrow. Ah, the cherry on top—another cheerleader from Briar, one of Diana’s teammates. Looking at this delightful mess, I can’t help but smile. Maybe the Dixon rules are meant to be broken. **ME:** I’ll text you the address.