Page 6 of Bright Lights and Summer Nights

I smile. “Don’t take it too personally. Like I said, it’s a proven fact. Men who know they’re unimaginably handsome are walking red flags.”

He ignores me, instead choosing to hold both my heels in one hand and branding the other one out between us.

My eyes narrow as I watch him carefully. I look from his outstretched hand to the one holding my shoes.

“I’ll take those. Thank you.” I reach to grab them, but he lifts them into the air and out of my reach. Without my heels on, he’s got quite a bit of height on me. I have to crane my neck to look up at him.

“Handsome and trying to steal my shoes?” I fire, jumping to try and snatch the shoes anyway.

“I don’t want your shoes, Emma.”

My spine stiffens at the way he says my name. It has never sounded so good as it does coming from his lips. “Then hand them over,” I demand, needing to get out of this man’s presence before I do something stupid like ask him if we should just break the tension by sleeping together.

He holds out his hand again. “Let me help steady you,” he offers, holding out the shoes.

I watch him for a moment, wondering if it’s a trap. Deciding he might actually want to help and not be a total asshole, I place my hand in his. It takes everything in me to stay composed and keep my face straight as I shift my weight to one leg to slip the heel on. His skin against mine is electrifying. My entire body heats with just the smallest touch of our skin.

His grip is firm, even as I shift again to slide on the other shoe. After both are on and I’m steady on my feet, he keeps his fingers wrapped strongly around mine for a moment too long.

He stares at me, and the longer it stays silent between us, the thicker the tension gets. It finally gets so thick that I have to speak up in an attempt to break it.

“You know my name. It’s only fair I know yours.” My voice comes out weird, far deeper and breathier than I’d like.

“Preston,” he answers immediately, as if he was just waiting for me to ask.

“Preston,” I repeat. His name’s sexy. He’s sexy. He’s so attractive I’m wondering if part of my self-discovery this summer should be discovering him a bit more.

“Come get a drink with me inside, Emma?” he asks.

God.

I have a generic name. It isn’t anything special or groundbreaking—but coming from his lips, it sounds like the greatest name someone could ever be given.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, waiting to follow him inside. I like how confident he is, how he turns around and begins walking to the door like he already knows I’ll follow him.

Preston looks over his shoulder. “No catch. One drink. If I’m too boring for you—or too much of an asshole—you’re free to explore the party you snuck into alone.”

“One drink?” I repeat, wondering why it feels mildly disappointing imagining myself exploring the party without him.

“One drink. No strings attached. It’s an open bar, and I heard the hosts of the party spared no expense when it comes to this celebration.”

I pick up my pace, awkwardly running until I catch up to him. “You should’ve led with ‘an open bar.’”

“There’s no way in hell you’re getting me to take a shot that’s called a Blow Job,” Preston argues, a deep line appearing across his forehead. We’ve been talking for over an hour, and after a few drinks, one thing I’ve learned about him is that you have to really work to get a reaction out of this man.

I lean over the bar, trying to flag down the bartender to absolutely order two Blow Job shots. When I still can’t catch the attention of the bartender, I look back at my grumpy company. “The shot is delicious, I promise.”

“Not happening,” he responds, his voice void of any humor.

I bite my bottom lip, even though I know I’m probably ruining the red lipstick I’d worked so hard on applying. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who doesn’t enjoy blow jobs.”

Preston rubs his hand over his face, desperately trying to hide the slight blush on his chiseled cheeks. “Do you just say whatever comes to your mind, no matter what?”

Before I can answer, the bartender walks by, and I finally get the chance to order. “Two Blow Job shots,” I request, holding up two fingers and winking at Preston, who still has the ghost of a smile on his lips.

The bartender looks between Preston and me as if he isn’t sure if I’m serious or not. Preston finally lets out a long sigh before giving one curt nod of his head.

I frown, wishing the bartender would’ve listened without Preston having to give the green light, but I don’t let it bother me for long.

---