Page 47 of Bright Lights and Summer Nights

CHAPTER 23

PRESTON

Emma hasn’t drifted from my mind since the moment I left her in her room last night. I’d wanted to stay, but I figured it’d be weird if I told her that. Plus, I’d already barged in on her. I didn’t really see any option but to let her have her space, and for me to return back to the guesthouse.

But even though I wasn’t with her, she never left my mind.

Not when I had to take yet another cold shower to the memories of the way she moaned my name. Not when I crawled into bed and realized how empty it felt and how quiet the house seemed. Not even when I fell asleep.

I dreamed of her, something that is completely unlike me. Typically, when I dream, it’s football related. It’s hard for me to get my thoughts to turn off, so instead of resting, I’ll come up with new plays, pick apart our opponent’s defense, or even think of ways to keep the guys hyped during the season.

Not last night. Even in my dreams, Emma took up all the space.

“Hey, Preston. You still listening?” Ethan’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I’m sitting in the parking lot of Waterfront Cafe, waiting for breakfast and coffee, but it’ll still be another ten minutes until my order is done, so I finally answered one of the many calls I’d received from him.

I look at my phone, shaking my head to try and wipe my mind of thoughts of Emma. “Yes. I’m here,” I tell my best friend from college who started out as the roommate who annoyed me.

I wanted to focus on football, and he always wanted to talk about all the business ideas he had floating around in his head. Eventually, he wore me down. I liked the guy, and he had amazing ideas.

When he developed an app that I actually thought was a solid idea, I invested in it so he could bring his ideas to fruition. Then, I became a shareholder and sat on the board. Eventually, we were acquired by one of the leading tech companies, but we were still granted seats on the board and shares that lined my pockets well enough.

“What do you think of the idea?” Ethan pushes.

I’ve lost track of the number of ideas he’s pitched to me over the years. Some of them have been great, while others haven’t, but I still listen anyway because he’s a genius, and despite me being in a hurry to see Emma this morning, I want to hear whatever idea he’s come up with next.

“Tell me again.”

“So, you weren’t listening?” Ethan laughs. He’s always one of the first people to give me shit.

“My head’s all over the place with P’s wedding and with Ryan breathing down my neck about signing another contract.”

He’s quiet on the other line for a moment before he sighs. “Have you made a decision yet on what you want to do?”

I shake my head, forgetting he can’t see me. “I don’t think I want to do it, man,” I tell him. The great thing about Ethan is that I can be real with him. Even in college, he didn’t give a damn that I was the star quarterback with rich parents and a million connections. If anything, I think the fact I was a student athlete and that I had a trust fund turned him away from me. He was there on a scholarship and gave me long lectures about getting distracted and not devoting myself to my studies. Who I was didn’t faze him in the slightest.

Maybe that’s why I like Emma so much. She has the same attitude toward who I am—she doesn’t give a shit, and it’s refreshing.

“Then don’t sign for another year,” Ethan offers. “Football doesn’t have to be your entire world. You’ve worked your ass off for years, devoted yourself to the game, but it’s okay if that isn’t what you want to do anymore, Preston. It’s okay to move on.”

I scratch my neck, trying to soak in his words. Deep down, I know my answer. I’ve fallen out of love with football. I’m getting old, and I want to do something else with my life. I want to do more, but it’s hard to ignore all the people I’ll let down when I retire. And that’s the biggest problem with all of this. I know I’ll let people down. I know I’ll disappoint teammates, coaches, fans, people I respect who want to see me play until I physically can’t do it anymore.

But that isn’t what I want. I want to go out on top. When my body isn’t completely falling apart and when I still have enough years left to live my life outside of football.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat, hating the way it feels clogged when thinking about what happens when I don’t sign another deal. “Anyway, tell me your next great idea.”

“Do I really have to play tennis?” Emma asks, standing in the front door with her arms folded across her chest.

I ignore her question, holding on to the paper bag filled with breakfast tacos with a death grip when I look at the outfit she has on.

“You’re not playing tennis if you’re wearing that.” My words come out a little more harsh than I want them to, but holy fuck. I’ll have to spend the entire day keeping all of Jackson’s annoying friends away from her when she looks so incredible.

Emma narrows her eyes at me. She pops her hip and puts her hand on it. “How about a good morning, Emma. How did you sleep, Emma?”

“Good morning, Emma,” I say, my voice tight. “You can’t wear that to play tennis, Emma. Can you go and change, Emma?” Every time I say her name, it comes out a little more struggled because I can’t focus on anything other than her in her tiny tennis skirt.

Emma shrugs, opening the door wide to let me in. I really hadn’t expected her to be ready. It’s barely after nine, but I wanted to make sure I swung by early and brought her food in case I had to pry her from her bed. “Are you telling me you don’t like what I’m wearing? Cute outfits are the only reason to play tennis.”

I follow her through the door and into the kitchen. Her hips sway in a taunting rhythm as she walks to the kitchen counter. Her blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail, the curled strands brushing the back of her neck with every step she takes.

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