Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dylan
“Dude, checking your watch won’t make Cheyenne appear faster,” Blaze says, nudging my shoulder with his. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
“I’m fine.” The words come out tighter than I intended, betraying exactly how not-fine I am.
“Sure you are.” Addy gives me a knowing smile. “That’s why you’ve been standing in the same spot for twenty minutes, staring at the door like you’re expecting the ghost of Christmas past.”
I tear my eyes away from the entrance, forcing myself to focus on the conversation with Blaze and his wife. “Sorry. I’m being rude.”
“You’re being obvious,” Blaze corrects, taking a sip of his beer. “But it’s kind of nice, actually. Never seen you this worked up over a woman before.”
“I’m not worked up,” I protest, but even I don’t believe it.
Addy raises an eyebrow. “You’ve checked your watch at least ten times since we started talking. And you haven’t even noticed that Kade’s been trying to get your attention from across the roof for the last few minutes.”
I glance over to where Kade is indeed waving at me, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. I give him a half-hearted wave before my eyes inevitably drift to the entrance again.
“She’s coming, right? Genna said she’s definitely coming?” I hate the uncertainty in my voice, the naked vulnerability of the question. This isn’t me. I don’t get nervous about women. I don’t stand around parties looking like a lost puppy, waiting for someone to show up.
Except, apparently, I do now.
“Yes, she’s coming,” Addy assures me. “Genna texted me twenty minutes ago. They were just running late.”
My hand automatically goes to my pocket.
I embrace the small silver dog charm nestled there.
I’ve carried it with me since Christmas, waiting for the right moment to return it to Cheyenne.
To explain. To apologize for being such an idiot.
The charm feels warm from being in my pocket all night, a tiny talisman of all the things I should have said but didn’t.
“You still have time to fix this,” Blaze says, his voice gentler than usual. “One stupid comment doesn’t erase everything else. Just be honest with her.”
“Right.” I nod, running my free hand through my already disheveled hair. “Honest. I can do that.”
But can I? When have I ever been truly honest with a woman?
With myself? My entire dating life has been a carefully choreographed dance of charm and calculated distance.
I’m good at the game—the pursuit, the conquest, the graceful exit before things get too real.
But this isn’t a game, and Cheyenne isn’t a conquest.
She’s ... everything.
The realization hits me again, just as overwhelming as it was in the gym when I finally admitted it to myself.
I’m falling in love with her. Not just attracted.
Not just interested. Not just curious. In love.
The kind that makes my chest hurt when I think about her with someone else.
The kind that has me standing on this freezing rooftop, checking my watch every thirty seconds instead of working the room like I usually would at these parties.
“Oh, there’s Genna!” Addy points toward the entrance, and my head snaps up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.
Sure enough, my sister is stepping onto the rooftop, her bright red coat visible even from across the crowded space.
Paul is beside her, his arm linked through hers, looking at her like she hung the moon.
It’s still weird seeing my teammate with my sister, but they’re so obviously happy together that I can’t even pretend to be the overprotective brother.
But where’s Cheyenne? My eyes scan frantically around Genna, looking for the familiar dark hair, the warm smile, the comfortable jeans and sweater that Chey usually wears to events.
And then I see her.
She steps onto the rooftop behind Genna, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
This is not the Cheyenne I expected. This is not comfortable jeans and a cute sweater. This is...
My. Goodness.
She’s wearing a dress that looks like it was painted on her body—black with pink sequins that catch the light with every movement, creating a trail of fire as she walks.
It’s short, showing off legs I didn’t even know she had.
Her dark hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, styled in a way I’ve never seen before.
She looks confident. Powerful. Breathtaking.
“Close your mouth before you catch flies,” Addy murmurs, amusement clear in her voice.
I snap my jaw shut, not even realizing it had been hanging open. I can’t take my eyes off Cheyenne as she follows Genna into the party, greeting people with a smile that seems more confident than I’ve ever seen on her.
And she’s alone. No plus-one. No Garrett hovering at her side. The relief that floods through me is embarrassing in its intensity, but I don’t care. She didn’t go back to him. At least, not tonight.
I watch as she navigates through the crowd, stopping to hug a few people she knows, laughing at something someone says.
Her movements seem different—more assured, less concerned with taking up space.
She’s always been beautiful to me, but tonight there’s something more.
Something that makes it impossible to look away.
And then, as if feeling my stare, she turns and our eyes meet across the crowded rooftop.
Time seems to slow. The party noise fades to a dull murmur. For a second—just a second—I see something flicker in her gaze. Something that looks like the same longing I feel twisting in my chest.
But then her expression shifts, becoming carefully neutral. She gives me a small, polite nod—the kind you’d give to an acquaintance or a friend of a friend—before turning away to continue her conversation.
Just friends.
The words echo in my head, mocking me. Is that really what she thinks? That I meant it? That I don’t feel anything more for her than casual friendship?
“Go talk to her,” Blaze says, giving me a gentle push. “Standing here staring at her like a creeper isn’t going to fix anything.”
“I need a drink first,” I mutter, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth is.
“Liquid courage?” Addy teases. “Never thought I’d see the day when Dylan Williamston needed help talking to a woman.”
“She’s not just any woman,” I say without thinking.
Addy’s expression softens. “I know. That’s why you should go talk to her. Now, before you overthink it even more.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But the fear of rejection—of Cheyenne looking me in the eye and telling me she doesn’t feel the same way—is paralyzing in a way I’ve never experienced before.
“Give me five minutes,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “I just need to ... prepare.”
“Five minutes,” Blaze agrees. “Then I’m dragging you over there myself.”
I nod and make my way toward the bar, weaving through clusters of people who call out greetings that I can barely acknowledge. My mind is racing, rehearsing what I’ll say to Cheyenne when I finally get her alone.
I’m sorry about Christmas. I didn’t mean what I said. You’re not just a friend to me. You’re so much more.
The words sound hollow even in my head. How do you tell someone you’re falling in love with them when you’ve spent years convincing the world—and yourself—that you’re incapable of getting attached?
The bar is less crowded than I expected, with only a couple of people waiting for drinks. I step up and catch the eye of the bartender—a pretty blonde who does a double-take when she sees me, her professional smile widening into something more personal.
“Well, look who it is,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “Dylan Williamston himself. What can I get for you tonight?”
Her tone makes it clear she’s offering more than just drinks, but I barely register it. “Whiskey, neat,” I reply automatically.
“Coming right up.” She turns to grab a bottle from the shelf, giving me an extra sway of her hips as she does. “I was at your last home game, you know. That assist in the third period was incredible.”
“Thanks,” I say, my eyes already drifting back to the crowd, searching for Cheyenne.
“I’ve been a fan for years,” the bartender continues as she pours my drink. “Even have your jersey.”
“That’s ... great.” I fish out my wallet, extracting cash for the drink and a generous tip.
The bartender sets my whiskey down, but instead of moving on to the next customer, she lingers, one manicured finger tracing the rim of my glass.
“I get off at one,” she says, her voice dropping to what I assume is meant to be a seductive tone.
“If you’re looking for somewhere to continue the celebration after midnight. ”
A month ago, I might’ve taken her up on it. Or at least flirted back. But now, all I can think about is finding Cheyenne in that incredible dress and fixing the mess I’ve made.
“That’s very flattering, but—”
“Quite the fan club you’ve got,” a familiar voice says from beside me, and my heart nearly stops.
I turn to find Cheyenne standing there, even more stunning up close.
The sequins on her dress catch the light, creating little flecks of brightness that dance across her skin.
Her eyes are lined with something that makes the gold flecks in them more pronounced, and her lips are painted a shade of pink that matches the sequins to perfection.
“Chey,” I breathe, almost forgetting the bartender’s existence. “You’re here.”
“Observant as always,” she quips, but there’s no real bite to it. She turns to the bartender with a polite smile. “Can I get a gin and tonic, please?”
The bartender’s eyes flicker between us, clearly calculating the dynamics at play. “Sure thing,” she says, her friendly tone slightly cooler than it was with me. She moves away to make the drink, giving us a moment of relative privacy at the crowded bar.
“You look ...” I trail off, searching for a word that won’t sound like a line. Amazing? Beautiful? Incredible? They all feel inadequate. “Different,” I finally manage, immediately wanting to kick myself. “I mean, good different. Great different.”
Smooth, Williamston. Real smooth.
“Thanks.” She runs a hand down the front of her dress in a gesture that seems half self-conscious, half proud. “Genna convinced me to try something new.”
“It’s working for you,” I say, unable to keep my eyes from tracing the curve of her waist, the line of her shoulders. “Seriously, Chey, you look ... wow.”
A faint blush rises to her cheeks, but her expression remains guarded. “Careful, or your admirer might get jealous.” She nods toward the bartender, who’s making her drink with considerably less enthusiasm than she did mine.
“She’s not—I wasn’t—” I fumble, frustrated with myself for getting distracted. “I was just ordering a drink.”
“Mmhmm.” Cheyenne’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. You’re a free agent, remember? Just friends and all that.”
The words hit like a body check, knocking the air out of me. There it is—the comment from Christmas, thrown back at me like a challenge.
“About that,” I start, lowering my voice. “What I said at breakfast, I didn’t—”
“Here’s your gin and tonic,” the bartender interrupts, sliding Cheyenne’s drink across the bar with practiced efficiency. “That’ll be twelve dollars.”
I automatically reach for my wallet again, but Cheyenne beats me to it, placing a twenty on the bar. “I’ve got it,” she says, not looking at me. “Keep the change.”
Before I can respond, Chey turns away, drink in hand, slipping back into the crowd with a grace that makes the sequins on her dress shimmer like falling stars.
I watch her go, frozen in place, my untouched whiskey forgotten on the bar behind me. The dog charm in my pocket suddenly feels heavier, a weighty reminder of all I could lose if I don’t find the courage to say what needs to be said.
“You’re in trouble, man.” The bartender’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I turn to find her watching me with a knowing expression.
“What?”
She nods in the direction Cheyenne disappeared. “That look on your face. I’ve seen it before. You’ve got it bad.”
I don’t bother denying it. “Yeah, I do.”
“Well, for what it’s worth,” she says, wiping down the bar, “she kept looking at you too. When she thought you wouldn’t notice.”
The words send a flicker of hope through my chest. “Really?”
The bartender shrugs. “Women know these things. Now, are you going to drink that whiskey, or should I pour it back in the bottle?”
I pick up the glass, downing the amber liquid in one swift motion. The burn as it goes down is clarifying, sharpening my resolve.
“Thanks,” I say, setting the empty glass on the bar.
I scan the crowd, but Cheyenne has completely disappeared among the sea of partygoers. The rooftop is filling up now as midnight approaches, people claiming spots along the railing for the best view of the fireworks that will light up the city skyline when the clock strikes twelve.
Somewhere in this crowd is the woman I’m falling for. And I have less than an hour to find her, to make her understand that what I feel for her is real. That I didn’t mean what I said. That “just friends” is the furthest thing from what I want us to be.
I push away from the bar, determination replacing the uncertainty that’s plagued me for days.
Tonight, I find Cheyenne. Tonight, I tell her everything.
Tonight, I stop running from the best thing that’s ever happened to me.