Chapter Fifteen
Dylan
The thought catches me off guard, and I quickly redirect my attention to the driveway of Cam and Nila’s house, which is lined with enough Christmas lights to probably be visible from space.
“That’s not an ugly sweater,” Cheyenne says, pointing at my chest with an accusatory finger. “That’s cheating.”
I glance down at my plain black t-shirt with its white block letters reading, “THIS IS MY UGLY CHRISTMAS SWEATER.”
“It’s conceptual art,” I defend, shoving my hands into my jeans pockets.
Genna snorts beside me, her own sweater featuring what can only be described as Santa riding a dinosaur. “Laziness is what it is.” She links arms with Paul, who at least had the decency to wear an actual sweater, albeit one with a massive turkey on it that’s clearly leftover from Thanksgiving.
“Thanks for the support, sis,” I mumble, but I can’t help smiling.
Something about seeing my sister happy with Paul makes it impossible to be genuinely annoyed.
I’m surprised by how little the protective-brother instinct is kicking in.
Maybe it’s because Paul seems to genuinely care about her, or maybe it’s because I’m distracted by the way Cheyenne’s sweater lights are reflecting in her dark eyes.
“This is an ugly sweater Christmas party, which means, you’re supposed to actually wear an ugly sweater,” Cheyenne continues, tugging at my sleeve. “Not just a shirt that says you are.”
The slight contact of her fingers against my arm sends an unexpected jolt through me.
“Next year I’ll just borrow one of yours,” I shoot back with a grin. “You seem to have cornered the market.”
She rolls her eyes but laughs, and something in my chest flutters at the sound.
We make our way to the front door, which swings open before we even knock. Nila stands there in a sweater that’s nearly as blinding as Cheyenne’s, her smile warm as she welcomes us.
“Finally! The party can officially start,” she says, ushering us inside. “And Dylan, that’s the lamest excuse for an ugly sweater I’ve ever seen.”
“Why is everyone ganging up on me?” I throw my hands up in mock surrender. “I’m expressing my individuality.”
“You’re expressing your laziness,” Cam says, appearing behind his wife with drinks in hand. “But we’ll forgive you because you scored twice against the Mountaineers last week.”
The house is transformed into something straight out of a Christmas movie.
Garland drapes across every available surface, a massive tree dominates one corner of the living room, and holiday music plays softly beneath the hum of conversation.
My teammates and their partners mill around, drinks in hand, some in sweaters that make Cheyenne’s look subtle in comparison.
I accept a beer from Cam and lean against the wall.
My eyes drift around the room, but they keep landing back on Cheyenne.
She’s moved to stand near the Christmas tree with Nila, gesturing animatedly as she tells some story that has Nila doubled over in laughter.
I’m suddenly struck by how easily she fits in here, with my teammates and their partners.
She belongs in this world as much as any of us.
She catches me looking and raises an eyebrow, lifting her cup in a small toast before turning back to her conversation. I quickly avert my gaze, feeling inexplicably caught.
I take a long sip of my drink and try to focus on what Blaze is saying about our upcoming road trip, but my focus keeps wandering.
When Cheyenne moves to refill her eggnog, I track her progress across the room.
When she laughs at something Cam says, my head instinctively turns toward the sound.
It’s like my body has developed some kind of Cheyenne-radar without bothering to inform my brain.
I’m mid-conversation with Kade when I notice Nate, one of our rookies, approaching Cheyenne with two drinks in hand.
Something in my gut twists as I watch him hand her one, leaning in close—way too close—to say something in her ear.
She smiles politely, but I can see the slight stiffness in her posture that wasn’t there moments ago.
Nate touches her arm, flashing what I mentally label his “game-day smile”—the one he uses for interviews and the throngs of women who wait outside the arena after games. I’ve never had a problem with it before. Heck, I’ve used a similar smile myself plenty of times.
But seeing it directed at Cheyenne makes my jaw clench so hard I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack.
“You okay, man?” Kade asks, following my line of sight. “You look like you’re about to commit murder.”
I realize I’m gripping my cup so tightly it’s starting to bend. “I’m fine,” I mutter, setting it down before I crush it completely. “Just remembered something.”
Without another word to Kade, I find myself moving across the room, weaving between teammates and their partners until I’m standing right beside Cheyenne. Nate’s hand is still on her arm, and he’s leaning in even closer now, his mouth nearly touching her ear.
“Hey, Nate,” I interrupt, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. “Did Coach change the practice schedule for tomorrow? I thought I heard something about an earlier start.”
Nate straightens, blinking at me in confusion. “Uh, not that I know of.”
“Might want to check your messages,” I say, maintaining eye contact just a beat too long. “Wouldn’t want you to be late.”
Cheyenne gives me a curious look, her head tilted slightly to the side. I can see the question forming in her eyes.
“Right. Yeah, I’ll do that.” He glances between us, clearly trying to read the situation. “I should probably make the rounds anyway. See you later, Cheyenne.”
As he walks away, Cheyenne turns to me with raised eyebrows. “What was that about?”
“What was what about?” I say, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile.
“You know exactly what.” She folds her arms across her chest, making the reindeer nose on her sweater bob slightly. “Did Coach really change your practice time?”
“No idea.” I shrug, unable to meet her eyes. “Just making conversation.”
“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Because you normally interrupt people’s conversations to discuss practice schedules.”
I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling like an idiot.
What am I doing? I have no right to interfere with who Cheyenne talks to.
She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not even .
.. anything. She’s just Cheyenne. My sister’s best friend.
The woman I’ve known for years without ever feeling this strange possessive instinct before.
“Just making sure the rookie knows his place,” I finally say.
Cheyenne studies me for a long moment, and I have the uncomfortable feeling she can see right through me. But instead of calling me out, she just smiles slightly.
“Well, thanks for the rescue, I guess. He was getting a little ... close.”
Relief washes over me. “No problem,” I manage, returning her smile. “What are friends for?”
The word “friends” sits oddly in my mouth, like it doesn’t taste right anymore.
We chat for a few more minutes about nothing in particular—the party, the upcoming holidays, her plans to take Jhett to some dog-friendly Christmas market this weekend. It’s easy and comfortable, like our conversations have always been.
Eventually, Genna calls Cheyenne over to settle some debate she’s having with Paul, and I find myself alone by the window, nursing a fresh drink and watching the party unfold around me.
But my eyes keep returning to Cheyenne, drawn like a magnet to the way she laughs with Cam and Nila, the way she gestures when she’s making a point, the way the Christmas lights reflect in her dark hair.
She looks beautiful tonight. Not just in the objective way I’ve always recognized—of course Cheyenne is attractive, I’m not blind—but in a way that makes my chest ache slightly.
I notice things I’ve never paid attention to before: the curve of her smile, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s listening intently, the graceful movement of her hands when she talks.
“You’re being weird tonight.”
I nearly jump at Genna’s voice. She’s materialized beside me, following my gaze across the room to where Cheyenne is now helping Nila rearrange some ornaments on the tree.
“I’m not being weird,” I protest, too quickly. “I’m just ... people-watching.”
Genna raises an eyebrow and bumps my shoulder with hers. “Right. And I’m just standing here to admire the wallpaper.” She follows my gaze back to Cheyenne, who’s now laughing at something Blaze is saying. “You haven’t taken your eyes off her all night.”
“That’s not true,” I protest, but even I can hear how unconvincing I sound. “I’ve been talking to plenty of people.”
“Yeah, and watching Chey the entire time.” Genna takes a sip of her drink, studying me over the rim of her cup. “You practically sprinted across the room when Nate started talking to her.”
My face flames. “I did not sprint.”
“Fine. Power-walked with murderous intent.”
“I was just—”
“Being protective?” Genna finishes for me. “That’s what you always say. But you don’t hover like that when guys talk to me.”
“You’re dating Paul,” I point out, gesturing toward where he’s chatting with Kade by the food table. “And besides, you can handle yourself.”
“And Cheyenne can’t?”
I hesitate, trying to find the right words. “It’s different with her. She just got out of that relationship with jerkface.”
“Garrett,” Genna corrects.
“Whatever.” I take another swig of my drink. “I just don’t want her to get hurt again.”
My sister gives me a look that’s uncomfortably knowing. “Is that all it is?”
Something in her tone makes me pause. “What are you getting at?”
“You’re catching feelings,” she says simply, like she’s commenting on the weather. “And honestly, it’s about time.”
I nearly choke. “What? No. That’s—that’s crazy.”
“Is it?” She turns to face me fully now, lowering her voice. “Dylan, I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at her. Not any of those Instagram models or the girls you bring to team events. No one.”
“She’s like family,” I argue weakly.
“Mmm-hmm. That’s why you’re glaring daggers at every guy who talks to her.”
I open my mouth to deny it again, but at that exact moment, Cheyenne throws her head back in laughter and my words die in my throat.
“See?” Genna says softly. “That right there. That look.”
“What look?” I force myself to tear my gaze away from Cheyenne.
“Like someone just punched you in the gut and you’re thanking them for it.”
I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling exposed. “You’re reading too much into this.”
“And you’re in denial.” She takes another sip of her drink. “But that’s okay. Some of us are slower to catch on.”
Across the room, Cheyenne excuses herself from her conversation with Blaze and heads toward the hallway that leads to the bathroom. I follow her movement automatically, only catching myself when I feel Genna’s eyes on me.
“I’m not—” I start, but she holds up a hand.
“Save it. I’ve known you your entire life, and you’ve never been a good liar.” She puts her hand on my arm, her expression softening. “Look, I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I just think ... maybe you should explore why you feel so protective of her.”
“Because she deserves better than she’s had,” I say immediately.
“And?”
“And she’s important to me.”
“And?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “And nothing. That’s it.”
Genna studies me for a moment longer, then shrugs. “Okay. If you say so.” She glances over at Paul, who’s now looking in our direction. “I’m going to go rescue my boyfriend from Kade’s stats talk. Just ... think about what I said, okay?”
Before I can respond, she’s gone, weaving through the crowd toward Paul. I’m left alone by the window again, my thoughts a jumbled mess.
Am I catching feelings for Cheyenne?
The idea seems absurd. She’s been part of my life forever.
She’s... Cheyenne. But then I remember how my gut twisted when I saw Nate touching her arm.
How my day suddenly brightened when she agreed to have hot chocolate with me after the game.
How I can’t seem to stop seeking her out in a crowded room.
My eyes drift back to the hallway just as Cheyenne emerges. She pauses, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she scans the room. When her gaze meets mine, she smiles—a small, private smile that feels like it’s just for me—and my heart does a weird stuttering thing in my chest.
Oh.
Oh snap.
Genna’s right. I am catching feelings. The realization should terrify me. I don’t do feelings. I don’t do relationships. I flirt, have casual flings, and post photos with models on Instagram. I have a reputation to maintain.
But watching Cheyenne make her way back through the party, stopping to chat with everyone, bringing that smile with her wherever she goes...
For some reason, I don’t even feel terrified.
I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking and someone finally woke me up.
I take another sip of my drink, considering my options. I could ignore whatever this is. Pretend it’s not happening. That would be the safe choice.
Cheyenne’s not some random girl I met at a bar—she’s a permanent fixture in my life. If I screw this up, I ruin more than just a potential relationship.
But as I watch her from across the room, I know ignoring these feelings isn’t going to be as simple as I’d like.
“You need a refill?”
I turn to find Nila beside me, holding a pitcher of whatever holiday punch they’ve concocted. I hold out my cup, grateful for the distraction.
“Thanks,” I say as she tops me off. “Great party.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” She follows my gaze to Cheyenne. “She’s something special, isn’t she?”
I don’t even bother pretending I don’t know who she means.
“Yeah,” I agree quietly. “She is.”