3

PRESTON

“You could at least pretend to be enjoying the welcome party for my wedding,” my sister, Peyton, jabs before taking a sip of her dirty martini.

I grunt, my fingers tightening around the beer I’ve been nursing for the past hour. “I’m sorry, P. I’m enjoying it. You know me and parties—they aren’t my thing.”

“I remember hearing all about your legendary parties in college,” she quips.

Cheers erupt in the corner of the busy bar as her future husband is coerced into taking another shot. She looks at Jackson lovingly, as if he can do no wrong, even though it takes him about five tries to finish off taking a shot instead of swallowing it down in one gulp.

Personally, I think my baby sister could do better than a man who wears a collared shirt even to the beach, but she’s madly in love. So, my opinion doesn’t matter. He loves her dearly, and she loves him.

I don’t hate the guy; I just don’t love the fact that the next week will be filled with one party after another before their wedding day on Saturday. It isn’t Peyton’s fault—although, she does love a party—it’s more our parents. Their only daughter is getting married, and since I have zero plans to walk down the aisle anytime soon, they’ve spared no expense for the festivities.

Not like they ever would anyway. P and I grew up surrounded by money—the richest of the rich. Weddings are a big deal, no matter how much I loathe them.

“Dreaming of your party days?” Peyton asks, interrupting me from my thoughts.

I take a drink of my lukewarm beer, rolling my eyes. “Those days are over. Almost lost the chance to be drafted because of those party days, remember?”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “You were the best quarterback anyone had seen in years. A few drunk videos of you running through the press weren’t going to ruin that.”

I smile. “It was almost enough for Mom and Dad to disown me, though.”

We both look to our parents on the other side of the room. They’re deep in conversation with a couple that Mom talks shit about constantly.

“I think it was the sleeve of tattoos that almost got you disinherited,” Peyton offers, pointing to my arm.

In the freshly pressed suit, you’d have no idea that tattoos run along both my arms.

“They were pretty pissed about the tattoos,” I note, fighting back a smile. I have good parents. They were great growing up, but I was a rebel despite their best attempts to make me into the perfect, clean-cut son they wanted me to be.

They wanted me to play soccer, so I chose football. They said I should go to school for finance; I went to college for marketing. They expected me to take over the family business; I opted for going into the draft and using my first rookie check to invest in my college roommate’s start-up. The tattoos were just icing on the cake for going against exactly who they wanted me to be and becoming who I desired to be.

Plus, there was no reason for me to try and be the perfect child. The moment P was born when I was eleven, I knew she’d be the favorite. I was okay with that because as soon as my parents brought her home, I knew she was perfect.

“Peyton, dear, come mingle with our guests!” Jackson shouts across the crowded space, holding his arm out for her.

She looks at me with an apologetic smile. “Turns out I’m supposed to go mingle.” She emphasizes the last word playfully. “Try not to look too bored tonight, okay? It’s the off-season. I’ve given strict orders to Ryan to leave you alone until next week, so live a little.” She winks before backing up and heading to her fiancé.

I fight the urge to grab my phone from my pocket and see if I’ve heard anything from Ryan, who’s been my agent since I was a rookie. He’s been hounding me on signing an extension with the Manhattan Mambas, and since I’m at the peak of my career, they’re offering me a stupid amount of money for five more years.

Problem is, I don’t want to sign it. I want the upcoming season to be my last one, and I fear my agent might have a heart attack when I tell him that.

With a loud sigh, I drink the rest of my beer and set it on the bar. I push off the counter, wanting to find water and get some fresh air. People in the crowd try to stop me to talk, but I pretend I don’t hear them as I squeeze through the bodies. I’ll come back and talk to people because I know that’s what P and my parents want, but first, I need ten minutes of calm.

I finally find the back door of the space, and the moment the salty beach air hits my face, I’m able to take a deep breath. I grew up frequenting the Hamptons with my family, and there really is nothing like the air here.

I walk around the building, trying to hide from view if someone were to open the back door. No one should come looking for me, at least if I don’t stay out here too long, but I want to make sure I’m allowed at least a few minutes of peace.

But it only lasts a couple of minutes before a heel comes flying over the large metal gate, almost hitting me in the face.

“What the fuck.” I take a step back, trying to see into the dark to find out where it came from.

“Is someone there?” a voice hesitantly asks from above.

Before I can answer, another heel comes flying at me.

“Yes!” I yell, rubbing my chest where a particularly pointy heel just hit me. “Someone is definitely here.”

“Shit,” the voice on the other side of the fence says under their breath. “Could you maybe just…go away for a minute?” they ask, their voice louder this time.

My lips twitch. Her voice is sweet but sultry, going up a little bit in pitch at the end as if she’s nervous.

“Why? So you can stop assaulting me with heels?”

The woman nervously laughs. “No. So I can climb this fence without someone watching me undoubtedly land on my ass.”

“You want me to walk away from you breaking into a private party?” I ask, taking a step closer to the direction of her voice.

There’s nothing but silence for a few minutes until she finally speaks again. “Basically. You can go back inside and pretend I was never here—and I’m spared the embarrassment of you watching me land on my ass. When I walk in, we’ll both pretend I belong at this party. Sound good?”

“Or,” I begin, stopping at the gate and looking up. It’s so dark I still can’t see her, but she’s piqued my interest. There’s no way I’m going inside until my eyes land on the little trespasser. “You can climb the fence, and I can help you down so there’s no injuries involved.”

“You promise you won’t rat me out?” she asks cautiously. She’s so close, close enough that if the trees weren’t so thick and if the moon were full, I might actually be able to get a glimpse of the face behind the voice.

“It depends,” I answer, tucking my hands into the pockets of my pants. “Do you promise not to cause any trouble at the event?”

“Are you security?” she asks, her voice tight with unease.

I laugh, the sound vibrating my chest. “Not quite.”

It’s silent for long enough I begin to wonder if she decided to leave. For some reason, my stomach sinks slightly at the idea of never seeing the face that goes with the voice. I clear my throat. “You comin’ down now?”

She groans, and relief floods my body with the knowledge she didn’t go. “I guess I have no choice. Those shoes cost me an entire paycheck.”

My eyes flick to the shoes for a moment before my attention returns to the top of the fence.

A few grunts and curses come from the other side before finally, a tan thigh and a bare foot appear at the top.

She’s blonde, her hair barely hitting the tops of her collarbone, but because of the dark, I can’t fully see her face.

I squint, trying to make out her features. “On the count of three, jump down and I’ll catch you.”

Her hair blows in the wind as she nods her head. “Okay,” she says tentatively.

“One…” I begin, lifting my hands in the air to help her down. “Two…”

“Wait!” she yells, shifting her weight slightly at the top. “How do I know you won’t let me face-plant?”

“Guess you’re just going to have to trust me,” I counter, wiggling my fingers, even though I’m unaware if she can see them or not.

She laughs sarcastically, the sound echoing off the trees. “Trust a total stranger who is witnessing me commit a felony? You really have reached rock bottom, Emma…”

Emma.

I play with the name in my head, surprisingly wanting to immediately know everything about her.

“Well, Emma,” I begin, lowering my voice slightly. “You have two choices. You can trust me to catch you and attend the party you’ve worked so hard to break into, or you can jump back down and return home wondering what would’ve happened if you just trusted a handsome stranger in the dark.”

“Very bold of you to call yourself handsome.”

This makes me laugh. A loud one that comes from deep inside my chest. Now isn’t the time to tell her that just last year, I was announced as the sexiest man alive. My publicist forced me to do a photoshoot and a media tour for the entire thing. It isn’t my favorite accolade I’ve been awarded, but I’m confident enough to know most view me as handsome.

“Why don’t you jump down and you can tell me yourself?” I fire back, desperate for her to take the bait and jump.

I wait for her to respond, but instead of answering, she does the last thing I was expecting. She launches herself from the top of the fence without any sort of warning.

She yelps, her body catapulting into mine.

“Fuck,” I mutter, my hands grabbing her hips as my feet plant into the grass to try and stop the both of us from falling to the ground.

The stranger—Emma—grips my arms like she’s holding on for dear life. Her arms wrap around my neck as her shaking body molds to mine.

“What happened to counting down?” I ask, my voice tight.

She laughs under her breath. “Counting down makes it worse. I had to go for it.”

Before I can respond, she pulls away. I let her feet hit the ground, confident she’s safe now. I want to give her some sort of witty remark, but I’m too thrown off by the sheer beauty of the woman standing in front of me to speak.