I immediately realize what he’s implying. “Don’t you dare.”
“Dare what?” His feigned innocence doesn’t fool me for a second.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking, and if you try it, I swear I’ll drag you in with me.”
He moves another step closer. I back up and point a finger at him in warning. “I’m serious, Dylan. I’m wearing a white top.”
“And wouldn’t that just be tragic?” He smirks.
“Foryou! When I murder you afterward.”
Cam chuckles. “I’d pay good money to see you try to take him down, Cheyenne.”
“She nearly succeeded once,” Dylan admits, rubbing his jaw. “She was in the ninth grade. I put a frog in her sleeping bag during a Williamston family camping trip.”
“You deserved that black eye,” I say, feeling myself relax. This is easy. This is comfortable. This banter with Dylan always feels like coming home.
“Worth it to hear you scream like that,” he counters.
“Maybe save the drowning and the murder for after we’ve all finished our drinks?” Nila interrupts with a laugh
“Fine.” Dylan sighs dramatically. “Temporary truce. But watch your back, Blackwell.”
“Always do around you, Williamston.”
I’m still grinning when I glance over at Garrett. But my smile immediately fades when I notice his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. I hadn’t realized how close Dylan and I had gotten to each other during our playful exchange. We’re a mere foot apart.
I take a deliberate step back in Garrett’s direction, and the tension in the air feels palpable.
“So,” Cam says, “who’s excited for Thanksgiving? I hear Mrs. Williamston makes an amazing pecan pie.”
“The best.” I nod. “Though last year I nearly missed out on it becausesomeone”—I glance pointedly at Dylan—”hid my slice.”
“Payback for the protein powder incident.” Dylan shrugs.
“What protein powder incident?” Nila asks.
As Dylan launches into the story, complete with a dramatic reenactment of his face when he tasted his shake, I find myself laughing freely again. Cam joins in, and even Nila giggles at Dylan’s expense. It feels good—normal, even—to be sharing these stories, to be part of this warm circle of friendship.
I almost forget about Garrett until his voice cuts through our laughter like ice. “You two have such a weird relationship.”
The words hang in the air, sharp and accusatory. Dylan’s smile falters as he turns to look at Garrett.
“What do you mean?” I ask, though I already know.
“This.” Garrett gestures between Dylan and me. “The inside jokes. The constant back and forth.”
Dylan’s expression hardens. “We’ve been friends for over a decade, man.”
“It seems like more than friendship sometimes,” Garrett cuts in. “The way youflirtwith my girlfriend.”
The word hangs in the air between us.Flirt?Dylan and I don’t flirt. We banter. We tease. We’ve always been like this.
“Whoa, man.” Dylan holds up his hands. “That’s not what this is.”
But is that what it looks like to outsiders? Are we flirting?The thought is so foreign, it’s almost laughable. Dylan is ... Dylan. My best friend’s brother. The guy who put a frog in my sleeping bag when I was fourteen. The one who knows exactly how to make me laugh and exactly how to drive me crazy. We’re not flirting. We’re just ... us.
“No? Then what wouldyoucall it?” Garrett bites back.
