Page 33 of Bright Lights and Summer Nights

And it’s all because of the woman dancing in front of me. She lifts her arm, letting her fingers dangle in the air and waits for Peyton to take them. She does, and Emma begins to spin Peyton around like she’s a ballerina.

“I might get dizzy,” Peyton gets out between fits of laughter.

Emma straightens one of her arms in front of her and takes a step back, accidentally knocking down one of the vases of flowers still standing. Peyton copies the same movement until both their arms are completely outstretched.

Peyton pulls Emma in, twirling her all the way until Peyton’s arms are wrapped around Emma’s middle. They rock back and forth together before Emma spins out of the embrace. The music playing from my phone comes to a stop at the perfect time.

All of their chests heave from the dancing—or maybe it’s the laughter.

“What a show!” Jackson claps, staring at my sister with so much love and adoration that it makes me feel a little guilty about hating on some of his outfit choices.

Gram pulls Emma into a huge hug, wrapping her thin arms around Emma and holding tight. They stand right in front of me, allowing me to hear what’s said.

“Thank you for that, sweet girl,” Gram says, her hand circling Emma’s back. “Thank you for allowing me to feel young again.”

I swallow, looking down at my lap because of the overwhelming sense of gratitude I feel toward Emma at the moment. I sigh, unable to figure out if it’s gratitude or something more that courses through me.

“You are young,” Emma counters to Gram, allowing my grandmother to embrace her for as long as she desires.

Gram finally pulls away, cupping Emma’s cheeks in both her hands. “Nothing’s made me feel that young—and free—in a long time, and it’s all because of you, my dear.”

I look up in time to see my mom nodding in agreement. Dad holds his hand out, helping Mom down from the table.

With a sigh, completely at a loss with the feelings that are taking over me, I stand up. I take a step forward, standing at the edge of the table. Holding my hand out, I gesture for Gram to take it.

“Let me help you down,” I demand, unable to meet Emma’s eyes at the moment.

I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I know the reason my heart pounds in my chest and my throat feels clogged is because of her. The woman pretending to be my fake girlfriend. The one I’m supposed to never see again after this week. The one smiling at me with flushed cheeks from the dancing. The one who might cause far more trouble for me this week than I was ever expecting.

Gram safely steps to the ground at the same time Jackson helps Peyton get down, leaving Emma standing up there alone.

I extend my hand out for her. I tell myself it’s because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do and not because I want to feel the press of her skin against mine. I ignore the way my heart lurches inside my chest out of pure excitement when she places her hand in mine.

I don’t think I breathe the few seconds it takes to get her off the table.

“Now, you be the romantic one,” Gram demands a few feet away from me. She picks up the drink she’d handed to Jackson in the middle of dancing and takes a long drink from it. “Kiss her!”

“Yes!” Peyton excitedly agrees. “C’mon, Preston.”

Emma looks up at me with wide eyes. It’s the same look she gave me last night when I introduced her as my girlfriend. She tries to laugh it off. “Oh, Preston isn’t really one for PDA,” she explains, trying to give them all a knowing look.

This makes Gram let out a snort. “Nonsense. Give her a kiss, Preston.”

I swallow, not knowing what to do. Gram is persistent. Mix in Peyton also demanding the kiss, and I don’t see a way out of this.

Emma and I look at one another. No one knows we’ve never kissed. We’ve never even come close to kissing…we only met last night. I was too busy roping her into being my fake girlfriend to enjoy the night with her and end it with a kiss.

“Who says I don’t like PDA?” I ask, slowly placing my hand on the small of her back.

She stiffens underneath my touch but doesn’t move.

My lips part.

Her lips part.

“We don’t have to,” Emma whispers, her hands finding my chest.

I don’t respond. It’s at the tip of my tongue to tell her I want to, that the thought of kissing her has been at the back of my mind since I first saw her last night.

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