Bright Lights and Summer Nights: A Fake Dating Billionaire Sports Romance (Black Tie Billionaires)

“Come on, let’s get you home,” I tell Emma, carefully laying my hand on the small of her back.

Emma glares at me, adorably sticking her tongue out to show her displeasure. “Oh, but honey, I just got started telling everyone about our first date.”

“We can save the rest of the story for another time,” I assure her. Emma had just started telling my family about the first date we never had. Her story was getting a little too elaborate to seem believable, so I had to cut in. If she agrees to be my girlfriend for this week—which I hope she does—we’re going to have to go over a few things first. The first thing being how we met and some details about how we first started dating.

I might also have to tell her who I am and what I do for a living. She doesn’t seem to have a clue, but I feel bad leaving her in the dark, although it is refreshing for her to treat me like a normal human.

“Do you really have to go?” Peyton asks, her words slurring slightly. She adjusts her body in Jackson’s lap as she watches us both with sad eyes.

“Do we really have to go?” Emma whines, leaning into me and batting her eyelashes in my direction.

“Yes,” I clip, wrapping my arm around her waist to keep her next to me.

“Is it because it’s past your bedtime?” Emma teases, sharing a conspiratorial look with Peyton and Gram. “Are you about to get even grumpier?”

Gram laughs, throwing her head back and clapping her hands together. “Oh, Preston, I love her already!”

Even my mom presses a hand to her mouth as she tries to hide her smile.

Emma looks at me. Her cheeks are flushed from the drinks she’s had, and her lipstick has worn off, leaving a red ring on the outside of her lips. She’s absolutely breathtaking, but I keep that to myself. I’ve probably weirded her out enough by asking her to pretend to be my girlfriend. The last thing she needs from me is to throw unwanted compliments her way.

“Preston.” Emma draws out my name slowly. “Let’s just stay for two more minutes.”

I shake my head, guiding her forward. Leaning in, I place my lips to her ear, making sure none of my family can hear what I’m about to say. “We need to get a story straight before you tell them anything else.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything. All she does is nod, allowing me to guide her toward the exit.

“See you tomorrow!” Peyton calls, jumping off Jackson’s lap and throwing her arms around Emma’s neck. Emma steps backward once, attempting to stay steady on her feet as Peyton puts most of her body weight against her.

I keep a good grip on Emma, making sure the two of them don’t tumble to the ground.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Peyton asks, focusing on Emma instead of me.

Emma turns around to look at me. “I think so,” she answers, watching me carefully.

I don’t say anything, hoping that’s true. Partly because I feel like it was a great idea to bring a fake girlfriend to the wedding festivities so everyone else will leave me alone but also because I think it’ll be fun to spend more time with her.

“Good night, everyone,” I call, hoping to actually make it out the door before someone else can stop us.

I’d rather go out the back door so we aren’t seen by anyone else at the club not attending the private party, but I’d foolishly parked in the front. As we walk down the hallway to the sound of voices drifting from one of the swanky club restaurants, I try not to think about how many people might still be there.

It’s almost two in the morning—surely it can’t be that busy. People here don’t recognize me the way they do back in Manhattan. Still, my publicist will have my ass if I’m seen escorting a tipsy woman to my car.

Keeping my head down, I quickly lead us through the halls of Pembroke Hills Country Club. A couple of times, Emma asks me to slow down, but I don’t listen to her until we’re at my car with no one around.

“This is your car?” she asks, looking at the convertible in front of us.

“It’s my rental for this week, so yes.”

Emma runs her hand along the cream-colored paint. “Is it fast?” she asks. Her blue eyes meet mine, and I have to look away, scared of getting lost in them if I allow myself to stare.

“You could say that,” I answer. The car is incredibly fast, but I haven’t had the chance to really put it to use—yet.

I reach for the door handle, opening the passenger door for her. Before she slides in, she turns around. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

“Yes. I’d never risk it,” I assure her.

She pauses for a minute, looking me up and down as if she’s trying to decide if I’m sober or not. I let out an annoyed sigh, trying to point for her to get in. “Emma, I’d never get behind a wheel if I felt like I wasn’t in the right mind to drive. I’m not stupid. I promise.”

“Okay,” she finally relents, falling into the front seat rather ungracefully.

Leaning down, I grab the seat belt and pull it out, making sure my fingers don’t brush against her chest as I pull it across her body.

“I can do it,” she whispers, trying to take it from me.

“No,” I snap. “I want to make sure it’s done properly. Just let me do it.”

“Just let me do it,” she mocks, trying her best to lower her voice to match mine. She’s terrible at it, but I keep that opinion to myself. She’s kind of cute trying.

I snap the seat belt into the buckle, pulling on the part that rests against her chest to make sure it’s tight.

“It’s choking me,” she argues, her lips turning up into a smirk.

My jaw tightens. “You’ll be fine. It needs to be tight to work.” We’re too close in this position. I should move, but I’m frozen.

“I’m going to have to figure you out, Preston,” she mumbles, reaching out and tapping the tip of my nose like I’m a child.

“And why’s that?” I ask, my voice tight.

“Because you’re grouchy and moody but also sweet and protective.” Her eyes travel to where my hand rests on the seat belt, my knuckles just barely brushing over her skin.

I quickly pull my hand away. I hadn’t even realized I’d been touching her and that our faces were so close, but I know I need space from her. Before she can call me out on something else, I shut the door and round the car. I’d left the top down on the convertible because of the beautiful summer weather.

Should I ask her if she’d rather put the top up?

She’s quiet as I turn the car on. Her head falls backward against the headrest, and her eyes flutter shut. She keeps them shut even as I pull out of the parking lot.

“Where are you staying?” I ask, realizing I have no idea where I’m taking her.

Her eyes pop open as she comes to the same realization. “I’m staying at a friend’s. Keep going straight, and I’ll tell you when to turn.”

I risk a glance over at her. I’m not sure I want to trust her navigating when she’s had a few too many drinks. “Could you tell me an address?” I push, wanting to make sure I take her to the right place.

“Nope. I don’t do addresses. You’ll turn by that cute little ice cream stand. I know how to get us there.”

My fingers tap against the steering wheel. “Could you at least tell me who your friend is? I might know the house depending on that.”

She laughs. “I doubt you know my friends. Well…” Her words pause, and I have to look over at her to try and find out why she stopped. “Maybe you would know them. My best friend is Winnie Bishop—married to Archer Moore.”

My eyes widen. “You know Archer?”

She folds her arms across her chest as she shifts her body in the seat so she faces me. “You know Archer?” she asks, throwing my question back at me accusingly.

“Archer and I played football together what seems like a lifetime ago.”

“If I told him your name, would he recognize it?” she prods. Her lips press into a thin line. I wonder if she’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth or not.

“Archer would definitely recognize my name.” Archer and I talk enough. I’d almost forgotten that he’d recently bought a place out here, but I know exactly where it is. As much as people like to pretend the Hamptons is large and private, everyone knows everything about everyone here. It’s just how it is. Mostly because we all come from Manhattan.

“I’m going to ask him, then,” she quips, turning her body to face the windshield once again as I start driving and turn at the ice cream stand.

Peyton told me all about it—turns out Archer bought a place a couple blocks away from the house Peyton and Jackson are renovating right now.

The rest of the car ride is quiet as we head to Moore’s place. It’s pretty coincidental that the woman I roped into being my fake girlfriend for my sister’s wedding is friends with Moore’s wife. Emma and I are really going to have to make sure our stories are straight for the week. This will include more people than I imagined when I first came up with the lie.

“This one,” Emma instructs, seconds after I’ve already turned into the long driveway.

The moment I put the car in park, she’s trying to get the door open, even though it’s locked.

“Let me walk you in,” I demand, already getting out of the car.

Emma continues to struggle with the door handle, not understanding that her efforts are futile unless she unlocks it.

Making it to the passenger side, I reach over and pull the lock up. Her lips part in annoyance, as if she’s mad at herself for not thinking of that in the first place.

“I don’t need you to walk me in,” she protests as I swing the car door open.

“Don’t remember saying you needed me to,” I clip, reaching out for her hand. She ignores it, sliding out of the car—almost falling on her face in the process and steadying herself on her feet at the last minute. With a loud groan, she rips one heel off and then the other before walking to the front door.

“You can leave now, Preston,” she calls over her shoulder. I make sure to stare at the back of her head, trying my hardest not to look at the way her hips sway with every step she takes.

“Once you’re safe inside, I will.”

“Pretty sure I’m safe. We’re in the Hamptons.” She looks around, spreading her arms out wide as she does a spin. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

My teeth clench as I get annoyed that she doesn’t take her safety seriously. Nowhere is safe. She’s in an unfamiliar place; it’d be smart for her to be more aware of that. “Don’t say that,” I bark, realizing my tone might be harsher than it needs to be.

Emma stops at the bottom of the stairs of the two-story Hamptons house. It’s larger than some of the other places I’ve been to here, but it still holds a lot of charm. There’s a small sidewalk to the left that leads right to a white picket fence. Behind it, you can see the smallest glimpse of a pool and a guesthouse tucked into the backyard.

This is a really nice place, and I haven’t even seen the inside yet.

“Look, I’m all safe and sound now. No one’s jumping from the bushes to murder me. You can go back to wherever you’re staying knowing I’m totally fine.” Emma’s entire face lights up as she looks at me with the biggest smile, as if she finds her words hilarious even though I’m not laughing at all.

“Make sure you lock the door once you’re inside,” I demand, watching her type a code into the keypad of the door.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“Thank you, grumpy Captain Obvious,” she mumbles under her breath, a small giggle escaping from her lips after.

The door swings open. It’s my time to go, but for some reason, I want to find another excuse to just spend a few more minutes with her. I don’t, instead deciding to back away and head back to my car.

“It was wonderful to meet you tonight, Emma,” I tell her, tucking my hands in my pockets.

She stands in the doorway, her body perfectly illuminated by the lights she’d left on in the house. “It was unexpected meeting you tonight, Preston,” she responds, leaning her shoulder against the door frame.

“A good unexpected or bad unexpected?” I press, hoping she doesn’t already regret how the night transpired.

She shrugs. “I guess we’ll see how this week goes. I could have major regrets.”

“Or it could be the best week of your life,” I counter, hoping she doesn’t leave this with regrets.

“Best week of my life? That’d be hard to accomplish.”

“I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me, then,” I respond, my lips turning up in the smallest of smiles.

“You should do that more,” Emma offers, changing the subject.

“Do what?”

“Smile. Not be so stiff.”

“You just met me. How do you know I don’t smile a ton?”

She laughs, her head falling backward with the motion. “Oh, I knew it after ten minutes of talking with you. Good night, Preston.”

Before she can close the door, I speak up, needing to hear her say that she isn’t going to run this week. “So I’ll see you later, then?”

Emma lets out a long sigh. “Yes. I can’t say no to an adventure—especially when it’s a week full of rich people things. Count me in—but you won’t see me before noon because part of my self-discovery is sleeping in.”

I nod, trying not to let her see the way my shoulders fall with a relieved sigh. “Understood. See you later, rebel.”