So easy, and so dangerous.
Because I know how this story ends. I’ve seen the Instagram posts, the tabloid photos, and the seemingly endless string of gorgeous women who briefly orbit Dylan Williamston before disappearing. I know his reputation.
And I’ve just had my heart broken by a man who, for all his faults, at least took relationships seriously. How much worsewould it be to fall for someone who doesn’t even believe in them?
No. Whatever this strange new awareness is between us, I need to keep it firmly in the friendship zone. Dylan and I are friends. Good friends.
And that’s all we can ever be.
As we step back onto the street, the cold air smacks me in the face, clearing my head. The holiday lights still twinkle overhead, but they seem dimmer now, less magical.
“That was fun,” Dylan says from beside me. “Well, except for the part where I nearly gave that saleswoman a heart attack with my fake proposal plans.”
I laugh, grateful for the return to our normal, teasing dynamic. “I thought she was going to pass out when you said you wanted something ‘big enough to see from space.’”
“I was just getting into character.” He grins.
“It was an Oscar-worthy performance.”
He chuckles, and we slip back into the easy rhythm we’ve always had. This is good. This is safe. This is what we should be—friends who can laugh together, who can cheer each other up after bad breakups, who can wander downtown looking at Christmas lights without it meaning anything more.
No matter what my treacherous heart might want.
Chapter Fifteen
Dylan
I tug at the collar of my t-shirt, wondering if I’ve made a tactical error with my choice of “ugly sweater.” The expression on Cheyenne’s face as she steps out of the car confirms it. Her own sweater is a Christmas explosion—tinsel, blinking lights, and what appears to be a 3D reindeer nose protruding from her chest. It’s garish and ridiculous yet somehow still looks adorable on her.
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.
