Page 22 of Bright Lights and Summer Nights

Preston pulls up to a valet stand.

I didn’t know there were valets at houses, but apparently, here in the Hamptons, anything goes.

Before getting out of the car, he looks over at me. “I know Beck. I was there at the wedding reception—although I didn’t stay long.” He looks at his hands on the steering wheel, his thumbs tapping against it nervously. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

I’m quiet for a moment, wondering how I missed him at their reception. It was a busy day as Winnie and I worked hard to make sure Margo had the reception of her dreams. It still shocks me that I didn’t see him there, but then again, there were so many people in attendance it wasn’t possible to notice every single person.

“You say parties aren’t your thing,” I begin, looking at the massive house in front of us. “But they definitely seem to be your sister’s.”

This gets him to laugh. He nods, following my line of sight. “That’s very true. Peyton has always loved a party. She’s been preparing for her wedding day since she was about three years old. I was a teenager, and she was begging me to attend her teddy bear weddings.”

“I really do love your sister,” I state, getting excited to see her again. She was so much fun last night—and incredibly cool. I know she has to be so busy, but I do hope to catch some time with her.

The valet steps up to the car, letting out a low whistle. “This is a beauty,” he notes, eagerly taking the keys from Preston’s hand.

“Be careful with her,” Preston responds, getting out of the car. “It’s a rental.”

The guy nods, rushing over to open the door for me. Preston beats him to it, aiming a dirty look in his direction for even attempting to be the one to open my door instead of him.

I give the valet driver an apologetic smile. Hopefully, he doesn’t take Preston’s grumpiness personally. I’m about to tell him that Preston’s face is almost always turned down in a scowl when the valet attendant gasps.

“Are you Preston Rhodes?” he asks in amazement. I look to Preston, finding that he’s pulled his sunglasses off.

Preston presses his hand to the small of my back, gently guiding me away from the attendant and putting himself between us.

“I am,” Preston answers cooly, showing no emotion in his face as he looks at the guy. “But we’ve got to get going.”

He begins to push me along a stone path that leads to the side of the house. I try to stop, but his hand is firm as he continues to guide me where he wants me.

I look over my shoulder, finding the valet attendant still staring at us with his mouth hanging open. “You aren’t even going to offer an autograph or a photo?”

A low growl comes from Preston’s throat as he grabs my hand and pulls me into a tucked-away terrace on the side of the house.

I yelp, focusing on not stumbling in my heels. “Preston,” I scold, looking up to meet his eyes.

He lets go of my hand the moment he knows I’m steady. His hands find his pockets immediately as he stares at me with his cobalt-blue eyes. “If I offered him a photo or signature, it would turn into more people asking me for one, and then I would become the focus instead of it being on my sister and Jackson. I refuse to take anything away from her this week.”

His voice is rough and gravelly, sending weird tingles down my body. I like it, his determination to not let his fame take away from Peyton’s big week. “Maybe you’re sweeter than you think,” I tease, trying to break the tension. I’m just realizing how secluded we are on this little terrace. There’s a small table and chairs on the stone, with ivy hanging all around us.

“We must have varying definitions of sweet. Not wanting to steal attention from my sister’s big day shouldn’t be considered sweet. It should be considered normal.”

I nod, suddenly needing to get away from him. Even in the bright sunlight without the buzz of alcohol, my attraction toward him is still very much there. There’s a reason I followed him into the party last night without knowing anything about him, but wanting to give in to the budding tension between us might make pretending to be his girlfriend more complicated than it’s worth.

Looking at the sharp cut of his jaw and the way his tattoos stick out against the pale blue hue of his shirt make me think complicated wouldn’t be so bad. It’s just one week of pretending before I’ll never see him again. I’m about to ask him if he feels it, too, but he speaks up first.

“Before we get to the party, we need to talk about our story,” Preston interrupts me from my thoughts.

“Our story?”

He rubs a hand along his mouth in frustration. “Yes. Our story. How we started dating, how we met, all of it.”

My mouth snaps shut because I hadn’t thought too hard about what we would tell people. I vaguely remember beginning a story last night when talking to Peyton, but I do remember Preston cutting me off before I could divulge too much about how he and I supposedly met.

I nod my head. “Right. What exactly did I say last night?” Some things are fuzzy, although I do remember his Gram talking about her sex life with Preston’s late grandfather for what felt like an eternity, so I didn’t forget all of the conversations I had last night, even if some I kind of wish I did.

“You said…and I quote, ‘Preston took one look at me and was a goner.’”

I shrug, my lips twitching with a budding smile. “I mean…is that even a lie?”

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