Page 13 of Bright Lights and Summer Nights

“Yes. I’d never risk it,” I assure her.

She pauses for a minute, looking me up and down as if she’s trying to decide if I’m sober or not. I let out an annoyed sigh, trying to point for her to get in. “Emma, I’d never get behind a wheel if I felt like I wasn’t in the right mind to drive. I’m not stupid. I promise.”

“Okay,” she finally relents, falling into the front seat rather ungracefully.

Leaning down, I grab the seat belt and pull it out, making sure my fingers don’t brush against her chest as I pull it across her body.

“I can do it,” she whispers, trying to take it from me.

“No,” I snap. “I want to make sure it’s done properly. Just let me do it.”

“Just let me do it,” she mocks, trying her best to lower her voice to match mine. She’s terrible at it, but I keep that opinion to myself. She’s kind of cute trying.

I snap the seat belt into the buckle, pulling on the part that rests against her chest to make sure it’s tight.

“It’s choking me,” she argues, her lips turning up into a smirk.

My jaw tightens. “You’ll be fine. It needs to be tight to work.” We’re too close in this position. I should move, but I’m frozen.

“I’m going to have to figure you out, Preston,” she mumbles, reaching out and tapping the tip of my nose like I’m a child.

“And why’s that?” I ask, my voice tight.

“Because you’re grouchy and moody but also sweet and protective.” Her eyes travel to where my hand rests on the seat belt, my knuckles just barely brushing over her skin.

I quickly pull my hand away. I hadn’t even realized I’d been touching her and that our faces were so close, but I know I need space from her. Before she can call me out on something else, I shut the door and round the car. I’d left the top down on the convertible because of the beautiful summer weather.

Should I ask her if she’d rather put the top up?

She’s quiet as I turn the car on. Her head falls backward against the headrest, and her eyes flutter shut. She keeps them shut even as I pull out of the parking lot.

“Where are you staying?” I ask, realizing I have no idea where I’m taking her.

Her eyes pop open as she comes to the same realization. “I’m staying at a friend’s. Keep going straight, and I’ll tell you when to turn.”

I risk a glance over at her. I’m not sure I want to trust her navigating when she’s had a few too many drinks. “Could you tell me an address?” I push, wanting to make sure I take her to the right place.

“Nope. I don’t do addresses. You’ll turn by that cute little ice cream stand. I know how to get us there.”

My fingers tap against the steering wheel. “Could you at least tell me who your friend is? I might know the house depending on that.”

She laughs. “I doubt you know my friends. Well…” Her words pause, and I have to look over at her to try and find out why she stopped. “Maybe you would know them. My best friend is Winnie Bishop—married to Archer Moore.”

My eyes widen. “You know Archer?”

She folds her arms across her chest as she shifts her body in the seat so she faces me. “You know Archer?” she asks, throwing my question back at me accusingly.

“Archer and I played football together what seems like a lifetime ago.”

“If I told him your name, would he recognize it?” she prods. Her lips press into a thin line. I wonder if she’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth or not.

“Archer would definitely recognize my name.” Archer and I talk enough. I’d almost forgotten that he’d recently bought a place out here, but I know exactly where it is. As much as people like to pretend the Hamptons is large and private, everyone knows everything about everyone here. It’s just how it is. Mostly because we all come from Manhattan.

“I’m going to ask him, then,” she quips, turning her body to face the windshield once again as I start driving and turn at the ice cream stand.

Peyton told me all about it—turns out Archer bought a place a couple blocks away from the house Peyton and Jackson are renovating right now.

The rest of the car ride is quiet as we head to Moore’s place. It’s pretty coincidental that the woman I roped into being my fake girlfriend for my sister’s wedding is friends with Moore’s wife. Emma and I are really going to have to make sure our stories are straight for the week. This will include more people than I imagined when I first came up with the lie.

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