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

The moment I step up onto the podium, I hear the distinct sound of clicking cameras. Someone clears their throat in the background as they all wait for me to make the announcement that’s weighed on my chest all summer.

I’ve been back in Manhattan for a week now. The first day back at practice, I was able to tell the entire team that this is my last year. It was important for me that they heard it from me and not anyone else.

Somehow, in the week since I’ve told them, we’ve been able to keep the news under wraps. I thought I was excited that it hadn’t leaked to the media. My publicist and PR firm have been working overtime navigating all the media attention of not only my relationship with Emma but the record-breaking deal I’d supposedly signed.

As I stand at the podium, countless pairs of eyes watching me closely, I wonder if I would have preferred a leak about my retirement to have happened. I know what I’m about to say will shock a lot of people, and now that I’m faced with doing it, I’m actually terrified.

I swallow as my knuckles turn white with how hard I grab the corners of the podium. “Good afternoon, everyone,” I begin. I clear my throat, my words coming out a little raspier than I’d intended.

More cameras click. It’s the only sound in the room besides my own voice. I wish someone would go against the typical code of these interviews and just begin asking me questions instead of waiting for me to talk.

I look to the side of the media room, finding my team of people all watching me closely. Emma even stands with them, but I can’t see her well behind Ryan. I don’t know if she’d admit this, but I think she’s trying to stay out of view from any cameras.

Even though we haven’t confirmed our relationship, she’s been under intense scrutiny now that we’ve been seen together more. I don’t blame her for wanting to stay away. I’d hide from it if I was able to.

“I’ve never been a man of many words. In fact, many of my teammates—both current and former—could attest to the fact that I’m a firm believer in less words being more.”

I pause, letting the room full of reporters and media personnel laugh at my joke before continuing. “Because of that, I won’t waste your time up here and get straight to the point.”

I take a deep breath before continuing. I don’t have any regrets about my decision. I know it’s for the best, but I’m still nervous about finally telling the world. Other people’s opinions of me have never mattered, but for some reason, I know I’m going to be sensitive to what others think of this announcement. “This next season will be my last with the Mambas. It’ll be my last season altogether.”

There’s a collective gasp. People look at one another as if they’re trying to figure out if they heard me correctly. The clicks get faster, and the cameramen straighten their spines as if they’re trying to get the best angle of me possible with this announcement.

The words are already out in the universe, and before they can start throwing questions my way, I continue to speak. “For over two decades, I’ve devoted myself to football. When I make a commitment to something, I stick to it. I like to think through my many seasons on the team that my teammates, coaches, and even the fans feel like I’ve fully committed myself to both the team and sport we all love.”

I pause for a moment, my emotions beginning to run high. Suddenly, I feel hot and am all too aware of the attention focused on me and only me. I sigh, looking down at the podium for a moment, my eyes finding my carefully thought-out, publicist-approved speech that sits on top of it.

When I look back up and meet the eyes of the reporters who have interviewed me numerous times, I decide to veer off course just a little. “To be honest, I’m getting tired. I’m getting old.” I pause again to allow for all of them to laugh. I shrug as I plaster on a smile for them. “We all know you’re thinking it. Could I play past this season? Sure. But I think it’d be a disservice to not only myself but everyone who believes in me on and off the field. I’m ready to make other commitments in my life.” My eyes flick to the side where Emma is. “I just can’t devote myself to the sport like I used to. I’ve got this one final season where I’ll give it my all, and then it’s time for me to let someone else find the beauty in committing themself to a team and league that’s given me so much. I’m at peace with my decision, and I hope in time everyone else will understand it as well. I’ll take a couple of questions and then I’ll leave the podium for my teammates.”

I’m worried the sound of my pounding heart can be heard through the microphone in front of me. It beats so fast from nerves that I feel like I just got done with a workout. Everyone starts yelling questions at me at once, all of their voices blending together.

I swallow, trying to make out any question through the chaos so I can actually answer it.

Finally, one of them raises their hand, waiting for me to pick them. I nod. “Yes?” I speak into the microphone as the other voices die down, realizing they’ll have to wait.

“Preston, I know you guys are the favorites for the Super Bowl coming into the season. Your team is very young and still has so much star power. Are you afraid to leave that all behind at the end of the season?”

“I believe in the guys around me this year. I believe if we have the right mindset, the Super Bowl is ours. As for your question, I can’t play football forever. I want to go out feeling good about my performance. This team is great, and it will continue to be great even after I leave.”

Cameras click, and more hands go up to aim questions in my direction. I point to a woman in the back of the room. I don’t recognize her, but she seems respectful and waits instead of yelling things out to me.

“Preston, how did your teammates feel about the news? Did they take it well?”

I run my hand over my mouth, thinking of how intense it was in the room when I told everyone I was retiring. It was solemn. A part of me felt like I was letting them down, even though I know none of them would ever actually say that. It’s part of the job, having guys leave, get traded, or even retire. But I still know it hit some of them harder than others.

“There were a lot of emotions, but the guys have been nothing but supportive of my decision.”

She smiles as a thank-you before sitting back in her seat.

My eyes scan over the room, but before I can pick someone next, a man stands up in the front row, his handheld recorder aimed in my direction. “Preston, you’ve been seen a lot lately with an influencer named Emma Turner. Is your decision to retire because of her?”

I stare at him for a minute, my blood pumping. The room seems to go quiet with the question, and I hate that he even asked it. I swallow, my grip tightening on the podium in anger. Leaning closer, I make sure to line my mouth up perfectly with the microphone so no one can misconstrue my words. “My mind’s been made up for a long time. My life outside of football is not up for discussion.” I grab the piece of paper from the podium and tuck it back into the pocket of my suit. “I’m done with questions for the day. Have a good rest of your day, everyone.”

The room breaks out into a chaos of questions, but I ignore all of it. I don’t pay attention to anyone. All I want to do is find Emma. Ryan tries to stop me, but I walk right by him, finding Emma hidden behind a stack of boxes.

“Well, that was something,” she notes.

I pull her body into mine, needing to feel the connection. That last question rubbed me the wrong way, and I just need to know it didn’t go to her head. I’m trying not to let it get to mine. We both know my mind was made up way before I ever met her, but I hate that the question is now out there. Countless people got it on video, and now I’m fairly confident the media will get a hold of it and spin Emma as the reason I’m retiring.Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

“It’s over with,” I say against her ear, keeping her close. They’ve closed the door to the media room, allowing us some privacy from the press.

“How do you feel?” she asks me.

I pull away, cupping her cheeks in my hands. “I’m more worried about how you feel.”

She frowns a little. “I’m not the one who just announced my retirement. I don’t even have a job to retire from.”

The sarcastic tone of the second part of her sentence sends a twinge to my heart. I don’t like how negatively she talks about not having a job because she does have one now. Social media has become her job, with a manager and everything, but she still won’t admit to herself that maybe she has found her passion.

“I’m sorry about that last reporter,” I begin, wanting to address the elephant in the room before it can get worse. “He has no idea what he’s talking about, and anyone with even the smallest amount of logic will know my decision wasn’t made because of you.”

“It’s fine, Rhodes. Promise.”

I’ve memorized her smiles for some time now. I know the one she’s giving me right now is fake, and it isn’t fine, but I don’t know what else to say. I can’t change the opinions of others or how they perceive my retirement.

I make the mental note to have my publicist do some damage control after that last question, but there’s not much I can actually do to change people’s minds. All I can do is make sure the public opinion on Emma’s and my relationship doesn’t get between us.

As I lead a quiet Emma through the stadium on the way to my car, I can’t help but feel a pit of dread in my stomach over what’s to come.