Page 23 of Bright Lights and Summer Nights

He stares at me with a blank expression, not giving me any indication of what he’s thinking. “I took one look at you and wondered why you’d scaled a fence in a pair of heels.”

“I really should be given more credit for doing that in a pair of stilettos,” I offer, my mind going back to how difficult that was. “You’re an athlete, but really, I am, too, for that,” I tease. I grew up doing cheerleading, but my small high school wasn’t that great. Not much came out of it after I graduated because I wasn’t good enough. Now, the only physical activity I get is my daily hot girl walks and the occasional spin class with Margo and Winnie.

I thought for sure that comment would get Preston to smile, but he stares right at me with not the smallest hint of one on his face.

“My next thought may have been you were far too stunning, and I was far too intrigued by you, to prevent you from breaking into my sister’s welcome party.”

My heart rate picks up. “Aw, Preston, did you just call me stunning?”

Finally, I get a reaction from him. His eyebrows draw in before he rolls his eyes. “You’re breathtaking, and you know it. Don’t try to pretend you don’t.”

I fold my arms across my chest, trying to hide my developing satisfied smile. “I know, but I still wanted to hear you say it.”

Preston shakes his head. I think he might be flirting—and I love it.

“So,” he begins, straightening his spine. “Back to our story. How are we going to tell them we met?”

“We could lie and say Archer introduced us,” I offer.

Preston runs his fingers along his chin, deep in thought. It brings my attention to the veins on the top of his hands. Damn, I always thought I was a thigh girl—which he seems to have beautiful ones—but maybe I’m a hand and arm girl too because, holy shit, the way the muscles of his arms ripple and the definition of the veins all the way down to his fingers are hot as hell.

“Are Archer and Winnie not coming to the wedding? Or Beck and his wife?”

I panic for a moment, wondering if I’m going to have to lie to my friends about Preston and me. I hadn’t thought about them being at the wedding, but their Manhattan social circle is close-knit. There’s a good chance either—or both—of my best friends could show up and see right through our charade.

“Well,” Preston prods, “are they?”

“Winnie and Archer have been so busy with the company merger recently. I need to double-check with her, but I’m pretty sure they’re traveling this weekend.”

He nods. “And Beck?”

“Margo is very pregnant. He barely lets her leave the house. I doubt they’ll be coming out here.”

“Probably should still avoid saying they introduced us just in case one of them shows up.”

I sigh, hoping neither one of them show up. I’m a terrible liar and far too honest to be able to look them in the eye and say I just happened to start dating Preston Rhodes. I could try and pull it off, but I’d rather wait and see them another time this summer when pretending to be Preston’s girlfriend for a week is just a distant memory no one else has to know about.

“Can’t we just say we met somewhere in New York? I live there, you live there, we just stumbled across one another.”

Preston stares at me. I don’t know if he’s thinking about my idea or if he hates it. Finally, he clears his throat before his eyes meet mine again.

“I don’t go out much anymore, but we can keep it vague.”

“There were tons of videos of you out at parties on the internet,” I point out, thinking of the vast array of photos of him leaving different places with a model or an actress holding his hand. There were tons. Even more photos of him in the back seat of SUVs and cars with his eyes appearing red and not seeming sober in the slightest.

Preston swallows slowly. “I used to go out a lot until it almost cost me my career. I’m almost thirty-seven—it seems odd to still be out partying. Staying in is much better for both my physical and mental health.”

My eyes trace over the defined muscles of his arms again. It’s obvious how much work he puts into his body…almost too obvious.

“We met at a nice dinner spot…Alexander’s, maybe? It’s popular but not one of the main places people spend time. Not the nightclub vibe, quiet, and could even be romantic.”

One of the corners of his lips picks up. “I love Alexander’s.”

I smile, twisting my hands together in front of me because the intense way he looks at me right now makes me nervous. “Alexander’s is great,” I get out, wondering if the sun is too hot on my skin—even though technically we’re in the shade—or if it’s because of the look in his beautiful blue eyes.

“So, we met at Alexander’s. You saw me and immediately knew you needed my number.”

“I don’t even have your number now,” he responds.

---