“I wanted this too,” I admitted. “I don’t want to go home and feel like we wasted any of our time together.”
She rested her forehead against my chest for a second. “It already feels too fast.”
“It’s not over yet,” I reminded her. “We still have a couple of days here, and maybe we can come visit you in Boston before spring training.”
Her fingers brushed the back of my neck. “Really?”
“Yeah. We’re getting good at hiding out in hotels,” I half-joked, wishing we could stay in our villa and not have to go back to all the secrets.
“I guess we are.” She offered a tight smile.
The song wound down. She pressed a quick kiss to my mouth, then turned toward Dylan. He stepped in, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close. Her arms looped around his neck. For a second, they didn’t move, just stood there, breathing the same air.
My breath caught as I watched them, in a way that had nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with not wanting to lose any part of what we had.
The tempo picked back up. Faye reached for both of us and pulled us into the next song.
Time felt strange after that. More music. More sweat. Her mouth brushing mine between songs.
A woman in a sparkly tank dropped a plastic gold crown with the year on it into Faye’s hands. She popped it onto her head at a crooked angle and grinned. “Festive enough for you?”
“You were already festive,” Dylan replied. “Now you’re even more perfect, Princess.”
The singer finished the song and lifted the mic. “We’re about ten minutes out,” he said to everyone.
The crowd answered with whistles and shouts, people shifting closer to the stage or angling toward the bar to top off before midnight.
We moved with them to get champagne, then walked to the side of the dance floor to wait for the countdown.
A few songs later, the singer started the countdown, his voice booming over the speakers.
“Ten, nine, eight …”
Dylan stepped in behind Faye and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back into his chest. I took her free hand in mine, champagne in the other.
“Seven, six, five …”
“I’m really happy right now,” she told us over the noise.
“Good,” I answered.
“Two, one!”
The place exploded. “Happy New Year!” Fireworks shot up somewhere farther down the waterfront, bright flashes streaking over the tops of the buildings. People yelled, clapped, and blew noisemakers. A couple right next to us started making out.
I leaned in and kissed Faye. She rose onto her toes and met me halfway, fingers clutching my shirt, champagne sloshing a little onto my wrist. Her mouth opened against mine, and the rest of the crowd blurred into noise.
When I eased back, Dylan turned her toward him and kissed her too, deeper, one hand in her hair, the other firm at her hip. She grabbed the front of his shirt in both fists and pulled him closer.
Someone near us whooped. Another voice yelled something about “hell yes,” but no one yelled her last name. No one lifted a phone.
When they broke apart, Dylan and I shared a bro hug.
“Happy New Year,” I said.
“Happy New Year,” he replied.
For once, it really was just our moment.
