Chapter 20: Chapter 20

For the second time tonight, Preston’s lips are against mine.

He kisses me fiercely and possessively. There’s no watchful eyes, and he knows it. His tongue sweeps across the seam of my lips as his hands find either side of my face. My mouth opens without any reservations. A small moan falls from my lips at the heated way he kisses me.

I feel the kiss everywhere and all at once. He must’ve been holding back in front of his family earlier because this kiss is one that’ll be burned in my memory forever.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he mutters against my lips. “I’ve been thinking about it all damn night.”

I smile as he feathers kisses along my jaw. “That’s a good line.”

He brings his face close to mine so we’re eye to eye. “It wasn’t a line.”

His thumb brushes against my temple, his eyes roaming my face. My eyes flutter shut at the tenderness of it. “I don’t care if it was,” I admit. We’ve set the golden rule for whatever we’re doing. It ends after the wedding. So even if he is using his best lines on me, I don’t care because I know this won’t be anything but a fond memory I’ll look back on one day.

And just by the way Preston Rhodes kisses me, I’m confident this week will be full of some of my favorite memories.

He presses his lips to mine once again, and I almost melt into a puddle at how expertly he kisses. It’s slow and passionate. Every slip of his tongue against mine is deliberate, as if he thinks he has all the time in the world.

I’d give him all the time he wanted tonight to never have to give up feeling his lips pressed against mine.

The kiss slows and slows until he’s pulling away with the faintest smile on his lips. He traces my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, the smile getting wider, making my pulse skip with how much I love to see him do it. “Yeah. Your lips definitely needed mine.”

I shake my head, sliding my hands down his chest. Even with a layer of fabric between my skin and his, the slopes and planes of his muscles are incredibly defined. I did a deep dive of him on Google and saw him shirtless on multiple occasions, but I want to see the ripple of them in person.

With a sigh, I look at the door. “I should probably get to bed if I’m expected to play a sport tomorrow and not injure myself.” I don’t want to go to bed. I want to invite him inside and see where the night takes us. Would he kiss me more? Would his mouth end up on other places? Those are all things I’d love to find out about, but the wise decision would be to let the night end with the kiss we just shared.

He keeps his fingertips pressed to my skin. “I won’t let you get hurt tomorrow.”

“You have no way of guaranteeing that. I’m terrible at any sport that involves a ball.”

“You’re safe with me, Emma,” he answers confidently.

“The real question is, are you safe with me? If we’re on some sort of team together, you better watch out. Who knows where I’ll be swinging that racket.”

This gets Preston to let out a small, deep chuckle. “You’re something else. You know that?”

I close the distance to the front door and punch in the code to open it. The door swings open, but I wait to step inside, not quite wanting to say goodbye to him yet.

“Do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?” I tease, turning to face him once again. I’ve always been a lot for people. Loud, energetic, and opinionated are all words to describe me. I don’t mind them. I’m not pretending to be anyone but exactly who I am. But when he calls me “something else,” I do hope he doesn’t mean it negatively.

“If someone has ever said that to you in a bad way, then they do not deserve your time or energy.” His words are straight to the point and there’s no missing the anger mixed in with them.

I shrug, not wanting to dive deep into all the times I’ve been called too much throughout my life. I’ve been too loud, too opinionated, too fun, too much energy…the list could go on and on.

“Good night, Preston.” I change the subject. What other people have said about me doesn’t matter right now. Not with the way he’s looking at me.

I don’t know what I expected from him, but when he closes the distance between us again and places his hands on either side of my head, I realize I’d never tire of the feel of his skin against mine. “Night, rebel.”

My eyelids flutter shut as he leans in closer. I wait for the press of his lips against mine, but instead, he presses them to my forehead. A small sigh escapes my lips from the intimacy and tenderness of it.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” His lips move against my forehead. He presses one final kiss to my skin before backing away.

I fake a cough, bringing my balled-up fist to my mouth. “It feels like I have a cold coming on. Might not be able to make it in the morning.”

He stops on the front doorstep, shaking his head. “You’re not getting out of this. Good night, Emma.”

My bottom lip juts out in a pout, but I don’t argue with him. His furrowed eyebrows and the hard set of his jaw tell me everything I need to know—I won’t be getting out of playing tennis tomorrow.

I stand in the doorway, watching him disappear around the side of the house. Disappointment washes through me at watching him go. I want more from him—much more. I don’t know if that should terrify me or thrill me, but right now, it’s thrilling. Something about being on the same page about wanting each other but knowing it could never go further makes everything seem even more exciting.

It takes me a few minutes to leave the doorway and shut the door. It’s only when I get to my room and pull out my phone to record an update for my followers that I realize the smile still plastered on my lips.

I press record immediately, wanting to capture the moment as best I can.

“So, I’m back from the party,” I begin, focusing on my face on the screen. My cheeks are flushed, and there are only slight remnants of the lip liner I applied hours ago. I think through all the different things I could say about the day I had, but some details I want to keep close to my chest for now. “And it turns out garden parties are a blast. I need to find a way to attend them more often.”

For the next couple of minutes, I recount the day, leaving out the juiciest details. To keep Preston’s name private, I nicknamed him “Sports Guy” and left out the names of his family. Capturing my journey this summer isn’t to try and bring any more attention to the Rhodes family. It’s a way for me to connect with thousands of people around the world who may be in the same position as I am.

After recounting my afternoon and night, I stare at the version of myself looking back at the phone screen. I’m quiet, even though my phone is still recording. I sigh, realizing that for the first time in a long time, I hadn’t spent the day worrying about where I was in life. I didn’t look at every person I spoke to and wonder why they’d figured their life out and I hadn’t.

I enjoyed myself. And it’s a freeing realization.

I blink a few times, pulling the phone closer to me so my face takes up the entire screen. “I think this summer is going to work, you guys. It’s only been a day, and I might be dramatic because I’m always dramatic, but I already feel better.” I smile, then point to the camera. “And I’m still blown away by the number of you wanting to follow along on this journey of self-discovery. I love you. I’ll report back tomorrow on how playing tennis goes. I’ll call it a win if no one gets injured!”

I blow the camera a kiss and end the video. As I edit the clips into a more condensed video to post, I wonder what Preston is doing right now. Is he thinking about me? Do I want him to be thinking about me?

Placing my phone on the nightstand, I begin my nightly routine. I don’t feel very tired. In fact, I feel wide-awake, my body becoming hot the more I think about the day with Preston.

It was perfect. And the way he kissed me? It’s all I can think about as I step into the shower.

So many people wanted his attention today. He was pulled in one direction, then the next, but he continually made sure I was okay. He checked on me, kept his hand on my lower back even as he had conversations with others, and was constantly introducing me to the people he spoke with and made sure I felt included.

All of the articles I read on him before the party dubbed him as a bit of a partier. He’d spent the off-seasons in his twenties going from one party to the next. He was often seen with different pop stars, actresses, and even different socialites. There were rumors he even dated a princess, but there were only ever grainy photos that didn’t prove anything.

It seemed as he got further on in his career and turned thirty, he cleaned up his act. Or at least stayed out of the public eye. A company he invested in became a Fortune 500 company, and between his profits from that and the countless brand deals he took and the record-breaking contract he signed four years ago, he was named a billionaire by Forbes before he ever turned thirty-five.

My mind races with all the little details I’ve learned about him. You can look at him and know that he’s athletic, but I’d never think that he played in the NFL. Just like when I first saw him, he still screams “finance guy” and not “sports guy,” but the fact he seems to be doing so much with his life is even more intriguing to me.

I want to ask him more questions about his life and his plans, which is new for me because typically no one holds my interest long enough to want to know more.

I wash the soap off my body and turn the water off. Even though I’ve washed the remnants of his touch from my skin, the memory of his fingertips digging into it remains. If I close my eyes, I’m brought back to feeling his lips on mine.

As I dry myself off and get ready for bed, I can’t wipe him from my memory. I feel hot all over, like a rubber band coiled tight. My gaze slips to my suitcase. Maybe there’s a way I can get him from my mind. I do need a good night of sleep if I have to play tennis tomorrow. Maybe I could get rid of some of the tension in my body if I gave myself an orgasm.

I chew on my lip for a moment before deciding a helping hand from one of my toys is exactly what I need. Opening up my suitcase, I take out the black velvet bag I’d stuffed my vibrators in. “Fred or Jerry today?”