Page 41 of Bright Lights and Summer Nights

I press record immediately, wanting to capture the moment as best I can.

“So, I’m back from the party,” I begin, focusing on my face on the screen. My cheeks are flushed, and there are only slight remnants of the lip liner I applied hours ago. I think through all the different things I could say about the day I had, but some details I want to keep close to my chest for now. “And it turns out garden parties are a blast. I need to find a way to attend them more often.”

For the next couple of minutes, I recount the day, leaving out the juiciest details. To keep Preston’s name private, I nicknamed him “Sports Guy” and left out the names of his family. Capturing my journey this summer isn’t to try and bring any more attention to the Rhodes family. It’s a way for me to connect with thousands of people around the world who may be in the same position as I am.

After recounting my afternoon and night, I stare at the version of myself looking back at the phone screen. I’m quiet, even though my phone is still recording. I sigh, realizing that for the first time in a long time, I hadn’t spent the day worrying about where I was in life. I didn’t look at every person I spoke to and wonder why they’d figured their life out and I hadn’t.

I enjoyed myself. And it’s a freeing realization.

I blink a few times, pulling the phone closer to me so my face takes up the entire screen. “I think this summer is going to work, you guys. It’s only been a day, and I might be dramatic because I’m always dramatic, but I already feel better.” I smile, then point to the camera. “And I’m still blown away by the number of you wanting to follow along on this journey of self-discovery. I love you. I’ll report back tomorrow on how playing tennis goes. I’ll call it a win if no one gets injured!”

I blow the camera a kiss and end the video. As I edit the clips into a more condensed video to post, I wonder what Preston is doing right now. Is he thinking about me? Do I want him to be thinking about me?

Placing my phone on the nightstand, I begin my nightly routine. I don’t feel very tired. In fact, I feel wide-awake, my body becoming hot the more I think about the day with Preston.

It was perfect. And the way he kissed me? It’s all I can think about as I step into the shower.

So many people wanted his attention today. He was pulled in one direction, then the next, but he continually made sure I was okay. He checked on me, kept his hand on my lower back even as he had conversations with others, and was constantly introducing me to the people he spoke with and made sure I felt included.

All of the articles I read on him before the party dubbed him as a bit of a partier. He’d spent the off-seasons in his twenties going from one party to the next. He was often seen with different pop stars, actresses, and even different socialites. There were rumors he even dated a princess, but there were only ever grainy photos that didn’t prove anything.

It seemed as he got further on in his career and turned thirty, he cleaned up his act. Or at least stayed out of the public eye. A company he invested in became a Fortune 500 company, and between his profits from that and the countless brand deals he took and the record-breaking contract he signed four years ago, he was named a billionaire by Forbes before he ever turned thirty-five.

My mind races with all the little details I’ve learned about him. You can look at him and know that he’s athletic, but I’d never think that he played in the NFL. Just like when I first saw him, he still screams “finance guy” and not “sports guy,” but the fact he seems to be doing so much with his life is even more intriguing to me.

I want to ask him more questions about his life and his plans, which is new for me because typically no one holds my interest long enough to want to know more.

I wash the soap off my body and turn the water off. Even though I’ve washed the remnants of his touch from my skin, the memory of his fingertips digging into it remains. If I close my eyes, I’m brought back to feeling his lips on mine.

As I dry myself off and get ready for bed, I can’t wipe him from my memory. I feel hot all over, like a rubber band coiled tight. My gaze slips to my suitcase. Maybe there’s a way I can get him from my mind. I do need a good night of sleep if I have to play tennis tomorrow. Maybe I could get rid of some of the tension in my body if I gave myself an orgasm.

I chew on my lip for a moment before deciding a helping hand from one of my toys is exactly what I need. Opening up my suitcase, I take out the black velvet bag I’d stuffed my vibrators in. “Fred or Jerry today?”

CHAPTER 21

PRESTON

I told myself I was going to leave her purse on the doorstep and leave. I already spent all day and evening with her; I don’t need to take any more of her time. I really did have pure intentions until I saw the door to the house slightly ajar.

“Emma,” I hiss under my breath, ready to lecture her on leaving the house not only unlocked but with the door hanging open. Bringing my knuckles to the door, I knock and wait for her to answer.

My mind swirls with the different lectures I could give her. I know she mentioned thinking it was safe here, but I’d rather her not take her chances. Her carefree attitude about the world is one of my favorite things about her, but not like this. Not when her safety is in question.

A low growl comes from deep in my chest when she doesn’t come to the door. I run a hand over my mouth, trying to think through what I should do. I don’t know the code to lock the door from the outside, and I probably should make sure everything is okay in there since she didn’t answer.

Deciding to check on her, I push the door open and step in. It’s eerily quiet. My heartbeat picks up as I begin to walk the house, trying to figure out where she is. There’s no sound coming from the kitchen or the living room, so with her purse in hand, I begin to walk down the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

All the doors down the hallway are open except for one. Since I haven’t found her in any other rooms, I’m left guessing the room with the closed door must be hers.

I stand in front of the door, wondering what I should do. If she’s sleeping, I don’t want to bother her. Although it wasn’t too long ago that I’d dropped her off on the doorstep and felt the intoxicating press of her lips against mine. I don’t think she’d be asleep yet, but I can’t be positive. It’s possible she could be in the shower, but I don’t hear the sound of running water at all.

Before I can think about my next move, a small moan comes from the other side of the door. Worry courses through my veins as I push the door open to make sure she’s okay.

Everything happens in slow motion.

Emma screams. She throws her arms into the air and pulls the covers over her face.

A loud thud rings through the room as I freeze in the doorway. I blink, trying to figure out what I just walked in on.

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