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

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.

“The outfit is great, but how am I supposed to focus on teaching you tennis when I know what you’re hiding underneath that skirt?” I set the food on the counter and lean a hip against it. She stares at me from a few feet away, her lips pursed as if she doesn’t like my response.

“It’s not my responsibility to make sure you—or anyone else—can focus because of what I’m wearing. You have to wear a tennis skirt to play tennis—it’s like a golden rule. Plus, I already got the green light from my best friends that the outfit looks good. Your opinion doesn’t matter.” She winks at me, and it’s the cutest thing ever.

“You have a point there. But I don’t want to hear any grumpy comments from you when I undoubtedly want to snarl like a goddamn caveman at any man that looks at you for too long.”

She laughs, reaching for the bag of food on the counter. “Oh, I’m definitely going to comment on you being grumpy. What’d you bring me?”

I was worried things would be weird between us this morning. After all, I caught her getting herself off last night and refused to leave until I could watch her come. But I should’ve known it wouldn’t be like that with Emma. She’s acting like last night never happened. “I brought you breakfast and coffee.”

She smiles before greedily opening the bag like she’s been starved. “Preston Rhodes, are you bribing me to play tennis?”

I slide into one of the barstools at the counter, resting my chin against my knuckles. “No, the orgasm last night was the bribe.”

A choking sound comes from her throat. She tries to play it off, but it doesn’t work. She’s sent into a fit of coughing. I watch with an eyebrow raised as she fills an empty glass from the counter with water and gulps it down.

“You good?” I ask, a taunting tone to my voice.

“Yeah,” she sputters. “I just wasn’t expecting you to bring up last night. I didn’t know if you were the type who wanted to play it off like it didn’t happen.”

My head cocks to the side as I watch her closely. “Why would I ever want to forget the way you moaned my name? Or the way you greedily begged for more even as I had the vibrator buried inside your perfect pussy?”

Emma looks to the counter, busying herself with unwrapping one of the breakfast tacos. “Preston, you can’t say the word ‘pussy’ this early in the morning.”

“I can talk about your pussy as much as I want.”

Emma shakes her head, her eyes meeting mine. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her bashful. Her cheeks flush as her lips pull up at the corners with a faint smile. “You keep surprising me.”

“You seem like the type of woman who loves surprises.”

Her smile goes wide. “I guess I am.”

The two of us don’t look away from one another. We’re locked in a moment. One that seems to hold a lot of weight, but I have no idea why. I just know that my heart rate has sped up just because of the way she looks at me.

I’m the first one to break, having to look away because I’m feeling things I’ve never felt when I shouldn’t be. We barely know each other, yet what I’m feeling for her is stronger than it should be. This thing between us is only for the rest of the week. She’s made it clear she wants nothing to come from our week together, and even if I wanted to—which I’m not sure I do—I’m not in the right season of life to begin a relationship.

But fuck, if I ever was, I think it’d be with someone like Emma. Someone who looks at me like I’m not Preston Rhodes, but just Preston. Someone who will call me on my shit and bring me out of my shell. She’s perfect, and I want to enjoy every moment I can with her while I have the time.

I clear my throat and straighten my spine. “Eat. You need to fuel your body.”

“Ugh. Tennis.” Despite her clear displeasure with the agenda for the morning, she does follow directions and takes a bite of the best breakfast taco in town.

Her eyelids flutter closed as she lets out a low moan. She doesn’t even finish chewing before she talks. “Oh my god. This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

I smirk. “That’ll change tonight.”

Emma’s eyes pop open, her blue eyes focusing on me instantly. Her cheek juts out like a chipmunk as I’ve apparently stunned her so much with my comment that she can’t even chew her food.

All I do is stare back at her with the cocky grin on my lips. I thought I’d be a gentleman this morning and not bring up last night, but the moment I saw her in that damn tennis skirt, I realized I didn’t want to play fair anymore. I was a gentleman by leaving her alone last night, but today is a whole new day.

And I’m not feeling like a good guy. I’m feeling like the kind of man who is starved and depraved and can only get satiated by the woman staring back at me with cheeks flushed and wide eyes.

She finally begins to chew again before she swallows her food with an audible gulp. Frantically, she reaches across the counter and snatches the iced coffee from in front of me. She brings the straw to her lips and sucks almost half of the drink down easily.

“Easy there, rebel,” I tease, tapping my fingers against the counter.

She sighs, placing the coffee back down loudly. “I’m going to need caffeine if this is how you’re going to be this morning.”Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

“How am I being?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I don’t know…incredibly forward.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

She takes another bite of the taco, probably trying to buy herself more time to answer my question. That’s fine—I’ll sit here and wait until she finally does. I have all the time in the world. Not really, but I do have time to wait, at least for a little bit.

Reaching across the counter, I grab the paper bag and pull it toward me. Immediately, she throws her hand out, her palm hitting the top of the bag with a loud smacking sound.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks suspiciously.

“Getting a taco? I’m hungry.”

She shakes her head, trying to pull the bag out of my grip. “Get your own tacos.”

I laugh. “I did. Right here in this bag.”

“No. These are mine.”

“I got six tacos.”

She doesn’t miss a beat with her response. “What if I want all six of them?”

I place my hands in the air in surrender. “Then by all means, they’re all yours.”

She gives me a satisfied smile before shoving the rest of her first taco into her mouth. I don’t know why, but I find myself completely endeared by the way she just acted like she was going to bite my head off for even thinking about eating one of the tacos.

“You can have one taco—but that’s it,” Emma says as she begins to unwrap another one.

“One? How generous of you.”

She shrugs, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “I know.”

Instead of taking a taco out of the bag and eating it because I am hungry, I can’t do anything but stare at her. Regret washes over me even when I realize I shouldn’t be thinking about what will happen after this weekend, but I can’t help it.

I know I’ll never forget the woman standing in front of me eating a breakfast taco in three enormous bites. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met before, and I already regret not having the chance to make her mine past the week I’ve been given with her.