Page 19 of Bright Lights and Summer Nights

The cream-colored dress has little blue flower details all over the fabric that complement my eyes. I was hesitant at first to choose this dress because of the way the ruched fabric hugs my body. It’s formfitting, but it reaches all the way to my mid-calf, so even though it clings to the small curves of my body, it still seems fairly modest.

If I had more time, I would’ve carefully curled my hair and put a little more effort into it. Knowing I didn’t have long to get ready, I opted to pull my hair into a slicked-back bun and spend more time on my makeup. Considering Preston’s sister was the person who kept handing me drinks while we mingled at the party, I have no doubt his entire family will know I’m not feeling my best today. But despite the hangover, I want to look my best.

I take one final glance at myself in the mirror, knowing this will have to do. I don’t have time to overanalyze every dress I brought, and since I’m not well-versed in knowing what one is supposed to wear to a garden party, I’m just going to go with something I feel good in.

And I know even with the hangover I’m still dealing with, I look good.

I grab the Chanel purse Winnie and Margo got me for my birthday last year off my nightstand. I stuff all the things I think I’ll need for the day in the purse and swipe a layer of lip gloss over my lips before tossing it into the bag as well.

Standing at my nightstand for a minute, I debate pulling my phone out of my purse and recording something to go up on my profile. This morning’s video has only gone more viral as each hour has passed. I was embarrassed about it for five minutes before I let Winnie’s words change my mind.

It’s okay to be a bit of a mess, and if my experience is resonating with anyone else, then I want to be the one to tell them it’ll all be okay. And if it isn’t okay, then there’s still so much adventure left that’ll lead to everything working out—at least, I hope that’s the case.

I pull my phone out, plastering a smile on my face, even though it feels a little silly to talk to myself through a camera.

“Hello again,” I tell everyone, keeping my voice low, even though Preston’s in a totally different house than me right now. “I’m terrible with words and might embarrass myself even more if I spend too long talking to myself, but I wanted to say thank you to everyone who saw my slightly tipsy video from last night and decided to follow me. This summer is all about self-discovery and self-love, and I’m excited to take you on the journey with me.” I smile, flipping the camera around so you can see my entire body in the mirror. “On today’s episode of Emma has no idea what she’s doing with her life, I’ll be attending a garden party for the first time.”

I take a step closer to the mirror, panning to the outfit I’d thrown together, hoping that I’ll blend in with everyone else with what I picked out. “So please tell me this outfit is acceptable for a garden party.” I do a mock British accent, even though not a single person I met last night was actually British. “Actually, don’t tell me if it isn’t because by the time I post this, I’ll already be there, and your opinion won’t matter. I’ll check back in with all of you later to tell you about my first official garden party experience.”

Taking a deep breath, I flip the camera around so it’s back on my face. I smile, trying not to show the nerves that are taking over. “Wish me luck,” I say confidently, pretending that I’m not suddenly incredibly nervous. I blow the camera a kiss before stopping the video.

I walk out of the room, following the scent down the hallway until I stop in my tracks, finding Preston standing in the kitchen, his back to me as he searches through the refrigerator.

CHAPTER 11

PRESTON

I don’t know what reaction I expected from Emma when I decided to sneak into the main house after getting ready, but it wasn’t the one I’m getting right now. She stares at me, her blonde eyebrows slightly drawn in on her forehead.

“I don’t remember inviting you inside,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. The movement brings my attention to the dress she’s wearing—and how it molds perfectly to her body. The hint of a smile on her painted lips tells me that she isn’t upset about finding me here.

“You took longer than an hour to get ready.” I shut the refrigerator doors, finding nothing useful in there.

“I told you I would,” she responds. “What are you doing here?”

“I figured instead of waiting alone at the guesthouse that I’d come here and make you some food to help with the hangover.” I point to the two coffees I have sitting on the counter. “I also made coffee. I wasn’t sure if you liked hot coffee or iced coffee, so I made both.”

Her eyes narrow on me as if she’s trying to figure out if I have ulterior motives for the coffee. I don’t—I just know when I used to be hungover almost every weekend that a coffee always helped. She doesn’t move, opting instead to just stare at me suspiciously.

“Do you not like coffee?” I question, the thought just now occurring to me that maybe coffee isn’t the answer to her hangover.

“I love coffee,” she answers, still not moving from her spot.

I keep my focus on her face, although the urge to let my eyes wander down her body is strong. The dress she chose for this party might be the death of me. She looks too fucking good. I already know that all of Jackson’s fraternity brothers are going to be dying to steal her attention, and as her fake boyfriend, it’ll be my duty to keep them away.

Letting out a long sigh, I pick both coffees up, careful not to spill the hot coffee that is filled to the brim of the mug. “Hot or cold?”

“Your personality? A little bit of both.”

My lips pull down into a frown. “I meant how you like your coffee.”

She smiles, clearly proud of her joke, as she makes her way to me. The closer she gets, the more the sweet scent of her perfume surrounds me. It smells like orange blossom and jasmine, reminding me of the different scents you’d find in my grandmother’s greenhouse growing up.

“You really made both, not knowing how I took my coffee?” Emma asks, stopping right in front of me as she focuses on the drinks in my hand.

I clear my throat, wondering why she’s looking at me like I went above and beyond just by making coffee. “I’ll drink anything,” I answer, trying to not make this a big deal. “I figured whichever one you didn’t want, I’d drink.” I’ve already had two cups of coffee today, so I definitely don’t need another, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Emma reaches for the iced coffee, her finger brushing against mine in the process. “I’ll take my caffeine any way I can get it,” she jokes. “IV is probably my preferred method, but after that, iced coffee is typically my go-to.”

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