Bright Lights and Summer Nights: A Fake Dating Billionaire Sports Romance (Black Tie Billionaires)

“Am I underdressed?” Emma asks from my side. She loops her arm through mine, giving everyone who looks in our direction a small smile.

My jaw flexes, annoyed by anyone who’s looked at her and given the indication that she looks anything but perfect. “Not at all,” I say through gritted teeth.

I feel her gaze against mine. “Good. I know I look hot in this dress, but it’s hard not to think about the fact the dress I’m wearing is off a clearance rack when everyone else’s here…” She pauses for a moment, her eyes moving from me to travel over the different groups of people. “Well, when everyone else’s here doesn’t look like that at all.”

I stop, tugging on Emma’s arm slightly so she’ll turn to face me.

“Why are we stopping?” she asks.

“Because I want to tell you something,” I get out, running a hand against my mouth. “You look beautiful.” I try to keep my words slow and steady, not wanting her to know that my heart pounds with that admission. It isn’t the first time I’ve called a woman beautiful, but something is different about Emma. Something I don’t want to think too deeply about.

She presses her fingers to her upturned lips. “Thank you,” she responds under her breath. It’s quiet for a few beats before she fake tosses her hair over her shoulder. “But I didn’t question that. I just questioned if I was underdressed.”

“And I’m telling you it doesn’t matter—and that you aren’t.”

Her smile gets even wider. It’s the first time I’ve noticed she has one dimple on her right cheek. It’s adorable. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Was it a pep talk, or was it you fishing for compliments?” I tease.

One of her hands flies to her chest as her mouth falls open. “I’d never fish for compliments.”

My head cocks to the side, and I lift an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

Emma pulls her lips between her teeth, doing her best to hide her smug smile but failing at it. “Yes,” she answers confidently, pushing her shoulders back. “I shouldn’t have to fish for compliments. I should just be given them.”

I can’t help but laugh. This woman. Her boldness is both incredibly sexy and absolutely adorable at the same time. “Should we go look for my sister?” I ask. Even though we’re late to the party, I haven’t seen Peyton yet. I know she’s got to be here somewhere. I’m hoping she’s been so busy she doesn’t even notice our late arrival.

Emma nods, her eyes traveling to the stones at our feet. “Wait!” she says, bending down and messing with something from the ground.

She stands up and meets my eyes. She points to our feet. “It’s a penny,” she explains, as if that should tell me enough.

“We can leave it,” I tell her, taking a step toward the largest group of people.

Emma doesn’t move. She looks between the penny and me as if walking away from it is the worst possible thing I could do.

“Preston,” she scolds, pointing to the penny. “The penny is heads up. It’s a lucky penny. You have to pick it up.”

“I can leave it for the next person,” I offer, not believing that a coin will bring me good luck.

“No, it’s a heads-up penny for you. I turned it for you and everything. It’s something my aunt and I used to do.” The way her voice slows a little at the end makes me want to ask why. It’s not the first time she’s mentioned her aunt, but this time, it’s said almost sadly. It isn’t my place to push her to tell me more, but I find myself wanting to. She picks up the penny with a huff, clearly unamused by me not being the one to do it.Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

I walk back to her, reaching out between us and giving her my hand. My palm faces up, waiting for her to hand me the penny I’m sure I’ll end up losing on accident.

She doesn’t hand it to me right away. Instead, she narrows her eyes on me, turning the penny over between her fingers.

“Can I have the penny?” I ask, trying to keep the skepticism from my tone. I’ve never been a superstitious person—although many men throughout my time playing sports have been. But it seems important to her to give me this penny she found, so I play along with it.

“Promise you’ll keep it,” she says, her tone accusing, as if she knows I have no plans on keeping the penny.

I swallow, wondering why it means so much to her. Her skin is warm against mine as she carefully places it against my palm. She slowly wraps her fingers around mine, forcing me to close mine around the coin. We stay locked in that position for a moment, the two of us staring at one another.

“I promise,” I tell her, my voice cracking because of the intensity in which she looks at me.

Emma blinks a few times, a smile popping up on her face. I’m learning she’s almost always smiling, but they’re all different smiles. She has one when she knows she said something witty, one she gives you when you compliment her, and there’s even one she gives with her eyes narrowed while she’s just waiting to call you on your bullshit. I’ve only known her a day, but I’ve already seen so many. And am ready to witness—and learn—even more of them.

Her eyes look to our hands, where her fingers still rest against mine. “Better hold on tight to that penny. It’ll be the only way you get lucky this week.” She gives me another one of her smiles—the satisfied, smug one before she waltzes away, her eyes landing on my sister.

I stare for a moment, the penny tucked neatly against my skin, as I watch her hips sway with every step she takes away from me. She’s continually surprising me, and I can’t help but shake my head, a small smile on my lips because of her comment.

Pulling out my wallet from my back pocket, I slide the penny safely into one of the openings, trying to keep my promise to Emma.

For a moment, I don’t move, instead choosing to watch the interaction between Emma and Peyton. My sister runs up to Emma, almost tackling her with how quickly she runs right at her.

“You came!” Peyton yells, wrapping her arms around Emma’s neck.

I can’t hear Emma’s response from my spot, but whatever she says makes Peyton laugh and look right at me.

“I’m not shocked,” Peyton responds, still looking at me. Whatever Emma responded with must’ve had something to do with me because now they both look my way with knowing smiles.

With a sigh, I tuck my wallet back into my pocket and close the distance to them. “Do I want to know what you’re saying about me?” I drawl, pinning them both with an accusing glare.

They glance at one another conspiratorially before breaking out in giggles. “Probably not,” Emma answers honestly, her eyes flicking to my hand for a moment before looking back at me.

I fight the urge to tell her I’d kept the penny; I’d just put it somewhere safe instead of deciding to hold onto it any longer and risk losing it.

“Preston, I know I told you this last night—at least I think I did; everything is a little fuzzy because of the drinks—but I love Emma, and you must keep her. Deal?” Her pitch goes up an octave at the end, as if she’s leaving me no room for discussion.

Both Emma and I are quiet for a moment, both of us knowing the show we’re putting on for Peyton.

Emma loops her arm through Peyton’s, pulling her close. “Who says I want to be kept?” She looks over at me and winks, as if she believes her comment will be a relief to me. It isn’t. For some reason, I actually hate the answer.

“Plus,” Emma begins, pulling Peyton toward a bar that’s set up not too far from us, “who says I want to keep Preston? I’m undecided if I can put up with his constant grumpiness,” she teases, her tone not serious at all.

Peyton laughs, gladly following Emma to the bar but looking over her shoulder to give me an apologetic smile. “I promise he’s not that bad. He’s a total softie—almost a teddy bear, really—underneath that reformed bad-boy attitude and football star muscles. He’s just terrible at letting anyone in.”

Emma’s only response is to laugh, and I don’t know if that laugh is a good thing or a bad thing.

Before I can ask, they stop at the bar that is draped in a sheer white fabric. The material blows in the wind with the soft breeze, and it makes me stop and really take a look at the event happening around us.

Flowers have been brought in and placed everywhere. Paired with the flowing, sheer, white fabric they have on every table and draped along arches, it really is a beautiful sight. It all looks perfect for Peyton. I hope today—and all the festivities for the week—are everything she’s dreamed of when it comes to her wedding.

“Everything looks great,” I tell my sister, wrapping my arm around her as she waits for a drink. I pull her into my side, resisting the urge to mess up her hair the way I always used to when she was a child.

Peyton nods her head, looking around at the busy event. There are definitely more people here than there were at the event last night, but there’s far more space for people to spread out.

I look around at all of the faces, only vaguely recognizing some of them. “How many of these are Mom and Dad’s friends?” I ask, watching Emma take a tentative drink of the champagne Peyton handed to her.

Peyton follows suit in looking around at the party. A small sigh escapes her lips as she focuses on the group of people surrounding our mom. “A lot of them,” she confesses with a groan. “I couldn’t say no as they kept adding more and more people to the list. Plus, I felt bad. They’re paying for the wedding. Shouldn’t I let them invite whomever they want?”

I’m quiet for a moment, not wanting to give my opinion on it. She’s got to be getting a ton of different ones with everything going on; she doesn’t need mine as well.

“I’m sure it means more wedding gifts,” Emma pipes up.

This makes Peyton laugh. She waves her champagne in Emma’s direction. “That is very true. I had to keep adding useless things to our registry because everything was purchased, and Mom kept telling me to add more. I now have enough dishes to host twenty people if needed.”

“Are you a good cook?” Emma asks, staring at Peyton with a small crease along her forehead.

Peyton gasps, shaking her head. “Not at all. Jackson doesn’t even allow me in the kitchen. I almost burnt the entire townhouse down once when I was trying to make garlic bread.”

The garlic bread incident happened years ago, and it’s still funny to hear about. It’s true that Peyton was never really good at cooking, but she also wasn’t ever interested either. She was too busy to stay in one place. She’d help in the kitchen for five minutes before she was ready to move on to something else in the house.

“Plus, I don’t think it’s my fault,” Peyton continues. “Preston got all the good cooking genes and left none for me.” She nudges me with her shoulder and a smile before looking over at Emma. “Be honest. Was it his cooking skills that sold you?”

Emma looks at me for a moment, an unreadable look on her face. “He’s truly full of surprises,” she finally answers, avoiding the question by not really answering it at all.

Peyton’s eyes light up when she notices Jackson walking our way. He’s really gone for it today with his outfit. He’s wearing a polo and a sweater vest—completing the outfit with a visor with the word GROOM etched across the front.

“I’ve got to go see my groom,” Peyton says excitedly, pushing away from the bar and practically skipping. She twirls to face us, a knowing smile on her lips. “You two enjoy some time to yourselves, okay? We’ll catch up more later!”

As soon as Peyton joins Jackson and is out of earshot, Emma looks at me with wide eyes.

“You’re a hot quarterback in the NFL and can cook? Is that even fair?” she asks accusingly, as if it’s the worst thing in the world that I’m all of those.