Chapter 6 Colby
Chapter six
Colby
“ALRIGHT, NASHVILLE!” Dex booms, voice ricocheting off the rafters like he’s been waiting his whole life for this mic. “Are you ready to play The Dating Game, Outlaws style?”
The crowd explodes before he can even finish the sentence.
Dex soaks it in, smile spread wide. “Now, before we begin, I just want to say how honored I am to be your emcee tonight. Because if I were one of the contestants?” He pauses, hand to his chest. “None of these guys would stand a chance. We’d have to shut the game down for safety reasons.”
Cheers, whistles, laughter; all of it crashes together.
Dex grins. “Relax. Relax. I’m self-aware enough to know I’m a liability.” He leans closer to the mic. “Also, legally barred from participating.”
More laughter.
“Here’s how tonight works,” he continues.
“I ask the questions, our lovely finalist, whose name will remain unknown until the end, gets a follow-up question at the end for each player, our contestants reveal just enough to be dangerous, and I do my absolute best not to get tackled by PR before the second round.”
He paces a step. “The gentlemen you’re about to hear are hidden behind a wall. No names. No faces. Just vibes. Which is how dating should be, honestly.”
Someone in the crowd shouts, “Yeah!”
“And gentlemen,” Dex adds, pointing toward the wall, “every word you say will be heard by thousands of people, several cameras, and at least one group chat you will never be allowed to leave.”
The crowd howls.
Dex claps once. “Everybody take a breath. Not you, Player Two. You came out of the womb calm.”
Laughter rolls across the stands, bouncing off the rafters, the crowd loud, loose, and fully caught up in the spectacle.
I sit on a tall stool behind the wall, feet planted, hands on my thighs like I’m waiting for a faceoff instead of a dating game. The mic sits neat against my collar.
The lights wash everything else out. No crowd. No her.
Just Dex on the small monitor in front of us, every move impossible to miss.
Dex’s voice cuts back in. “And now, finalist, go ahead and say hi to the fellas.”
And then I hear her.
“Hi.”
Just one word.
Clear. Steady. Unrushed.
It isn’t breathy. It isn’t playful. It’s professional in a way that suggests she knows exactly who she is and expects the room to catch up.
I don’t move. I don’t smile. I don’t lean in.
But something clicks anyway, sharp and unmistakable, like a switch I didn’t know was waiting to be flipped.
Dex clears his throat theatrically. “Alright! Our finalist is ready, and I am legally required to inform you that these questions have been reviewed by PR, legal, and a woman backstage who physically removed my energy drink.”
The crowd howls.
“For fairness,” Dex continues, “and because mystery is hot, our gentlemen tonight will be known only as Player One, Player Two, and Player Three. No names. No bios. No shirtless flexing.”
A woman somewhere in the stands shouts, “BOOOO! LET ‘EM FLEX!”
“Player One,” Dex adds brightly, “that last rule was for you.”
A laugh crackles through Player One’s mic.
Dex continues. “Let's begin. Gentlemen, just say hello. That’s it. Don’t overthink it. This is not a TED Talk. Player One, you go first.”
“Hey,” he says.
One syllable. Low. Easy. Confident in a way that knows the crowd can’t see him, and doesn’t care.
Dex reacts instantly. “Wow. That ‘hey’ just signed an endorsement deal.”
The arena erupts. Whistles. Cheers. Someone absolutely loses their mind.
"Player Two, say hello."
Player Two clears his throat. “Hello. Thank you for being here tonight.”
Polished. Calm. Strong voice. The kind of guy who expects to be taken seriously and usually is.
Dex nods, impressed. “Okay. Player Two ironed his shirt for this. Respect.”
Laughter ripples again.
Then Dex’s voice shifts toward my side of the wall.
“Player Three.”
I lean my face slightly toward the mic. “Hi.”
Same vibe as Player One.
Different weight.
Dex pauses. Just a fraction of a second.
“…Well,” he says slowly, “that one sounded like he makes eye contact with waitstaff.”
The crowd laughs, but it’s different now. Not louder. Slower. Curious.
I stay still.
Dex claps his hands. “Alright, let’s play. Question one. Easy start. What’s your ideal first date? Player One?”
Player One doesn’t hesitate. “Somewhere loud enough we don’t have to pretend we’re quiet people. Great food. No phones.” He adds, voice dipping just a little, “I make excellent reservations.”
The reaction is immediate. Cheers explode. Someone yells something deeply inappropriate.
Dex whistles. “Player One came to flirt and left scorch marks.”
Player Two follows, measured. “An activity first. Something interactive. Then dinner. Structure helps people relax.”
Dex nods. “Player Two has an itinerary and a backup plan.”
Her voice cuts in, polite but genuinely engaged. “That sounds… very considerate.”
Dex grins immediately. “Player Two might’ve just scored himself a brownie point.”
Her voice follows, warm but measured. “I appreciate someone who thinks things through.”
Dex laughs. “Wow. Compliment secured. Player Two just unlocked Level One Feelings. Everybody hydrate.”
More laughter.
Dex gestures toward the wall. “Alright, Player Three. Your turn.”
“Dinner somewhere we can hear each other,” I say. “No rush.”
Dex opens his mouth.
Closes it.
“…Okay,” he says. “Player Three just lowered my resting heart rate.”
The crowd laughs, but the energy shifts. Less shouting. More listening.
Her voice comes through again. “That sounds… intentional.”
Dex immediately cuts in, delighted. “That does sound intentional. Sir, are you aware this is a dating game and not a mission statement?”
A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd, not loud, but appreciative, like they caught the same thing she did.
I glance at the wall, ridiculous as that is, like I might see something through it.
Dex keeps things moving. “Let's move on. Question two! What do people always get wrong about you?”
Player One chuckles. “That I’m always serious. I’m not. I just save my energy for people worth talking to.”
Someone in the crowd yells, “Marry me!”
Dex points. “Security, escort that person to the bar.”
Player Two answers next. “People assume I’m intense. I’m not intense. I’m thorough.”
Dex snorts. “Player Two brought bullet points.”
Then me.
“That when I’m quiet, it's because I don’t care,” I say. “It’s usually the opposite.”
Dex starts to joke.
Stops.
“…Huh,” he says.
He clears his throat quickly. “Okay. That answer just took a left turn into sincerity. Everybody stay calm.”
The arena drops a notch in volume.
Her voice comes back, softer now. “Thank you for clarifying that.”
I sit a little straighter.
It surprises me, that spark of interest. Curiosity, really. Who is this woman who listens instead of filling the space? Who sounds like she means what she says?
I remind myself this is a game. A stage. A night built on charity and spectacle.
Still, I find myself wanting to hear more.
Dex clears his throat. “Alright! Final round before our finalist gets her follow-ups.”
The energy hums, tight and electric.
“What would make this date a success for you?”
Player One grins. “If we’re still laughing by the end, I lean in and see if she lets me steal a kiss.”
A long, drawn-out “oooooh” rolls through the arena, playful and approving.
Dex laughs into the mic. “Ooh la la, already talking about kissing. Nashville, pace yourselves.” He grins. “Player Two, you’re up.”
Player Two answers with easy confidence. “If she’s still smiling when it’s over and wants to do it again.”
Dex nods approvingly. “There it is. Player Two kept it cool, but he came to win.”
A round of approving applause follows.
"Player Three, what makes it a successful date to you?"
I take a breath.
“If she feels like her time wasn’t wasted,” I say. “That’s it.”
Silence.
Then Dex exhales. “Sir. This is a dating game, not a values seminar.”
The laughter that follows is warmer. Different.
Her voice cuts in. “May I use my follow-up?”
Dex straightens. “You may. You have one follow-up question for each player.”
“Player Three,” she says. “What does that actually look like for you?”
“Listening,” I say. “Showing up when I say I will. Not pretending to be someone else. And of course, enjoying the time together.”
Dex shakes his head. “Player Three refuses to lie on television.”
The crowd laughs, affectionate now.
“Player One, you mentioned kissing on a first date,” she says, tone curious, not coy. “Is that your move, or do you read the moment?”
Player One chuckles. “I read the moment. If it’s there, I don’t overthink it.”
Dex grins. “Player One trusts vibes and excellent timing. That's basically a puck-on-a-string kind of confidence.”
The crowd reacts with appreciative noise.
"Thank you, Player One. Player Two,” she says. “What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve done in the last year?”
There’s a pause.
Player Two exhales. “Booked a last-minute flight to Vegas with my teammates. No plan. Just went.”
Dex blinks. “Okay. Player Two has layers. Didn't see that coming. And yeah, that was a hell of a weekend.”
Laughter rolls through the arena.
Dex lifts a hand, suddenly solemn, like he’s about to announce a starting lineup. “Alright. Decision time.”
The crowd starts chanting immediately, a messy blend of voices and guesses and pure adrenaline. They chant names, numbers, and pure nonsense, but the noise still swells until it fills the space behind my ribs.
Dex leans toward her. “Now, take your time. Or don’t. Some people think too much. Some people don’t think at all.” He squints theatrically. “Don't listen to the crowd. They are famously wrong about everything.”
Laughter waves through the arena.
Dex continues, warming to it. “You’ve heard three very eligible voices. One very confident. One surprisingly layered. One who may or may not be running for office.”
The crowd laughs again.
Dex lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Are you sure? This is your final answer. No lifelines. No calling a friend. No sudden urge to rethink your entire personality.”
The noise dies down, just enough.
Her voice comes through, steady. Certain. “I’m sure.”
A moment of silence overtakes this part of the arena.
“I choose Player Three.”
The audience explodes and music blares from the speakers.
Dex beams. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!”
He gestures toward her. “Before we do anything else, let’s finally put a name to our incredible finalist. Go ahead.”
"Sloane Carter."
The crowd applauds.
Dex nods once. “Sloane, let’s first meet the players you didn’t pick.”
He gestures toward the side of the wall. “Player One!”
Mason steps out first, grinning.
“Defenseman, number twenty-four, make some noise for Mason Barber!” Dex announces.
The crowd cheers loudly as Mason crosses the stage, pulls her into a confident hug, and takes his place beside her like he belongs there.
“Player Two!” Dex announces next. “Winger, number eighteen, give it up for Gregory, 'G-Man' Mills!”
Gregory emerges to strong applause, calm and composed. Another hug, polite but warm, and he joins Mason on her other side.
Dex lifts a hand dramatically. “And now… drum roll, please.”
The crowd pounds the stands.
“Your final contestant… Player Three. Captain. Center. Our ruthless leader, Colby Hayes.”
The roar is instant and deafening.
The lights hit, bright and hot, and the noise rises again.
There’s a single red rose waiting on a small table near us, placed there for the winner of the date. I pick it up before I step out from behind the wall. I don’t hesitate. I cross the few steps between us and offer it to her first.
She takes it. Fingers steady. No surprise, no performance... just a quiet acceptance that somehow lands heavier than applause.
Then I pull her into a brief hug. Controlled. Public. The kind that says I understand the stage we’re on.
The crowd reacts, pleased. Satisfied. They got what they came for.
When I step back, she’s exactly the same. Calm eyes. Chin lifted. Rose held lightly at her side.
She looks at me.
Her fingers tighten briefly around the stem of the rose, grounding herself, before she lifts her eyes again.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t glance away. Doesn’t offer a smile to soften it. She meets my gaze like she knows exactly how much weight this moment carries, and expects me to be able to carry it with her.
That’s what does it. Not desire exactly, but something steadier and far more dangerous. A pull. The need to know what’s underneath that calm.
And I already know I’m not going to walk away from it.