Page 40 of Bright Lights and Summer Nights

He kisses me fiercely and possessively. There’s no watchful eyes, and he knows it. His tongue sweeps across the seam of my lips as his hands find either side of my face. My mouth opens without any reservations. A small moan falls from my lips at the heated way he kisses me.

I feel the kiss everywhere and all at once. He must’ve been holding back in front of his family earlier because this kiss is one that’ll be burned in my memory forever.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he mutters against my lips. “I’ve been thinking about it all damn night.”

I smile as he feathers kisses along my jaw. “That’s a good line.”

He brings his face close to mine so we’re eye to eye. “It wasn’t a line.”

His thumb brushes against my temple, his eyes roaming my face. My eyes flutter shut at the tenderness of it. “I don’t care if it was,” I admit. We’ve set the golden rule for whatever we’re doing. It ends after the wedding. So even if he is using his best lines on me, I don’t care because I know this won’t be anything but a fond memory I’ll look back on one day.

And just by the way Preston Rhodes kisses me, I’m confident this week will be full of some of my favorite memories.

He presses his lips to mine once again, and I almost melt into a puddle at how expertly he kisses. It’s slow and passionate. Every slip of his tongue against mine is deliberate, as if he thinks he has all the time in the world.

I’d give him all the time he wanted tonight to never have to give up feeling his lips pressed against mine.

The kiss slows and slows until he’s pulling away with the faintest smile on his lips. He traces my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, the smile getting wider, making my pulse skip with how much I love to see him do it. “Yeah. Your lips definitely needed mine.”

I shake my head, sliding my hands down his chest. Even with a layer of fabric between my skin and his, the slopes and planes of his muscles are incredibly defined. I did a deep dive of him on Google and saw him shirtless on multiple occasions, but I want to see the ripple of them in person.

With a sigh, I look at the door. “I should probably get to bed if I’m expected to play a sport tomorrow and not injure myself.” I don’t want to go to bed. I want to invite him inside and see where the night takes us. Would he kiss me more? Would his mouth end up on other places? Those are all things I’d love to find out about, but the wise decision would be to let the night end with the kiss we just shared.

He keeps his fingertips pressed to my skin. “I won’t let you get hurt tomorrow.”

“You have no way of guaranteeing that. I’m terrible at any sport that involves a ball.”

“You’re safe with me, Emma,” he answers confidently.

“The real question is, are you safe with me? If we’re on some sort of team together, you better watch out. Who knows where I’ll be swinging that racket.”

This gets Preston to let out a small, deep chuckle. “You’re something else. You know that?”

I close the distance to the front door and punch in the code to open it. The door swings open, but I wait to step inside, not quite wanting to say goodbye to him yet.

“Do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?” I tease, turning to face him once again. I’ve always been a lot for people. Loud, energetic, and opinionated are all words to describe me. I don’t mind them. I’m not pretending to be anyone but exactly who I am. But when he calls me “something else,” I do hope he doesn’t mean it negatively.

“If someone has ever said that to you in a bad way, then they do not deserve your time or energy.” His words are straight to the point and there’s no missing the anger mixed in with them.

I shrug, not wanting to dive deep into all the times I’ve been called too much throughout my life. I’ve been too loud, too opinionated, too fun, too much energy…the list could go on and on.

“Good night, Preston.” I change the subject. What other people have said about me doesn’t matter right now. Not with the way he’s looking at me.

I don’t know what I expected from him, but when he closes the distance between us again and places his hands on either side of my head, I realize I’d never tire of the feel of his skin against mine. “Night, rebel.”

My eyelids flutter shut as he leans in closer. I wait for the press of his lips against mine, but instead, he presses them to my forehead. A small sigh escapes my lips from the intimacy and tenderness of it.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” His lips move against my forehead. He presses one final kiss to my skin before backing away.

I fake a cough, bringing my balled-up fist to my mouth. “It feels like I have a cold coming on. Might not be able to make it in the morning.”

He stops on the front doorstep, shaking his head. “You’re not getting out of this. Good night, Emma.”

My bottom lip juts out in a pout, but I don’t argue with him. His furrowed eyebrows and the hard set of his jaw tell me everything I need to know—I won’t be getting out of playing tennis tomorrow.

I stand in the doorway, watching him disappear around the side of the house. Disappointment washes through me at watching him go. I want more from him—much more. I don’t know if that should terrify me or thrill me, but right now, it’s thrilling. Something about being on the same page about wanting each other but knowing it could never go further makes everything seem even more exciting.

It takes me a few minutes to leave the doorway and shut the door. It’s only when I get to my room and pull out my phone to record an update for my followers that I realize the smile still plastered on my lips.

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