Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
ISABELLE
Apparently, I always have a way of finding myself in frenzied and chaotic situations.
Exhibit A: my life right now.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this is going to be a train wreck, and the only thing saving me is a time machine.
“Jackson!” At least ten of our former classmates immediately exclaim Jackson’s name as they saunter over to him.
Suddenly, Jackson Carter’s the resident celebrity here, and everyone’s excited to see and talk to him.
“Hey, everyone.” Jackson adjusts his navy suit and flaunts a charming smile to his fans, completely oblivious to the impromptu charade I’ve just thrown him in. “It’s good to see you again. What did I miss?”
Oh, nothing much. Just a typical Friday night, where your former high school rival ropes you into playing her fake boyfriend. I’m sure it happens all the time, right?
Oliver turns to me. “You’re dating him?” His voice is loud enough that a few people turn to stare at us.
A muscle twitches in his neck, and surprise shoots through me at his reaction before I remember that he never liked Jackson back in high school.
There’s a storm brewing, and it’s my fault. Trying to ignore my now-clammy palms, I shut my eyes. Maybe if I squeeze them tight enough, I can magically transport myself back to my bedroom.
Nope, I’m still here. Well, it was worth a try.
“You’re dating Jackson Carter?” Oliver asks again, an edge to his voice.
This time, more people turn to look at us. Including Jackson and his fans.
The look on Jackson’s face is unreadable, to say the least. Even though he offered to be my fake boyfriend, I never agreed to our deal, and so to suddenly hurl him into my little last-minute charade probably won’t sit well with him.
He’s going to call me out on my bluff, and everyone will think I’m crazy.
I’m going to be the laughingstock of tonight.
Loud crunching noises surround us. “Does anyone else want popcorn?” It’s Simon, a guy who used to be in my math class, speaking.
“Uh …” I stammer. My dress and heels feel too constricting, too tight. I’m frozen, my feet glued to the floor as I feel the heavy weight of every person’s gaze on me.
“That’s right,” Jackson suddenly says. “We’re dating.”
Not only is he speaking, but he’s also walking toward me, his gaze fixed on me.
Holy cow.
“Damn, he’s taken,” Nancy, a girl who used to be in my chemistry class, mutters.
“If you have a problem with my girlfriend, you can deal with me,” Jackson adds, authority coloring his voice.
Holy cow times ten.
There’s a dangerous, unwavering look in Jackson’s brown eyes as he glares at Oliver. I dig through my vocabulary to think of the right word to describe him right now, and one in particular springs to mind.
Protective.
I think I’ve just unlocked Jackson in protective mode.
My heart beats loudly against my chest like a bongo drum, my mouth turning dry. Oddly, only when Jackson is standing beside me, with his hand on the small of my back, does my heartbeat begin to slow down.
He gives me a gentle look, and amid the chaos, his presence is comforting. Calming. Reassuring.
“No. No problem at all, man.” Oliver places his hands in his pockets and flashes a diplomatic smile at me and Jackson. “I guess I just didn’t see that coming.”
Jackson doesn’t say anything or even bother making eye contact with Oliver. Instead, he pulls me closer to him.
“Sorry I’m late, Bella,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice husky and suave. I’m met with the smell of his cologne—that fresh yet intoxicating scent with a hint of evergreen and pine. “That dress looks even more beautiful on you in person, baby.”
It’s not just his close proximity and compliment now causing heat to creep up my body and a crazy, fluttery feeling in my stomach, butterflies of all shapes, colors, and sizes escaping from their cages. It’s also him calling me baby and his newest nickname for me.
Bella. Isabella.
My dad and friends call me Belle. My ex called me Izzy. But Bella? This is new. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.
Everyone looks eager to see what will happen next, like they’re tuning in to a drama-filled episode of a reality TV show. I don’t exactly blame them; they know Oliver and I used to date and that Jackson and I weren’t friends. This is the high school reunion drama you’d be here for.
“So, how did you two get together?” Patricia, another former classmate, asks me.
I fiddle again with my scrunchie. “We, uh, reunited on a plane ride from London to New York. I was on vacation in London, and Jackson was moving back to New York. We … started talking again, one thing led to another, and here we are.”
Technically, that’s not a lie.
Patricia purses her lips. “Didn’t you hate each other back in high school?”
“Well, we’re not in high school anymore,” Jackson replies. “Are we, Patricia?”
She opens her mouth to protest but closes it, a salty frown marking her face. More silence settles around us as others stare at Jackson, Oliver, and me.
“I don’t believe what you’re saying either,” Nancy chimes in, turning to me. “You didn’t mention you were dating him earlier, Isabelle.”
“Yeah, it seems odd that you didn’t arrive together,” another person adds.
Jackson sucks in a breath, and I can sense his body tensing. He’s probably regretting playing along. Our former classmates are right—me and him dating simply doesn’t make sense.
“That’s fine,” Jackson says, voice calm and steady. “Actions speak louder than words anyway.”
My mouth opens slightly in alarm.
There’s a brief lull as our eyes meet, and for a moment, it’s like someone’s pressed a Pause Time button. Everything comes to a halt, save for my loudly beating heart, reminding me I’m still very much alive and breathing.
The next thing I know, Jackson’s hand tips up my chin, and his mouth lands on mine, taking advantage of my already-parted lips.
Holy cow times a thousand.
Jackson Carter is kissing me. In front of everyone.
Sparks hum through my veins, and a lightheadedness washes over me when his lips, soft and warm, press against mine. He tastes like mint. Instantly, I forget about the audience around us. My eyes flutter shut, and I wrap my hands around his neck—
Jackson pulls away, ending the kiss almost as abruptly as he initiated it.
I gingerly touch my lips, which are tingling despite the kiss—our kiss—lasting only a mere couple of seconds.
Obviously, that was all an act. So, why am I suddenly craving the taste of his lips against mine again?
Jackson’s hand circles around my waist, and he faces our former classmates with a look that means all business. “Now, I know Bella and I make a fine couple, but it’d be great if we could have some space.”
Well, he’s definitely good at this.
The crowd disperses as everyone wanders off, whispering among themselves.
That really just happened. Jackson kissed—fake kissed—me.
I take a deep breath and face him, my heart still beating like crazy. “Hey, can we talk? Outside maybe? So no one overhears us.”
“Yeah. Of course.” He looks completely calm and unaffected by what just happened, whereas internally, I’m still freaking out.
Jackson and I walk past Jen, who’s grinning, a look on her face, as if to say, I told you.
We exit the gymnasium and arrive near the courtyard. I stare at Jackson, who’s glancing ahead and avoiding my gaze, his facial muscles tight.
I gulp and lift a hand. “Okay, it’s not what it looks like.”
Jackson turns to me, cocking a brow. “You mean, we weren’t playing boyfriend and girlfriend just then?”
“Okay, it is what it looks like,” I admit.
He pinches his nose bridge and draws a breath.
“My intention wasn’t to ambush you,” I clarify when he doesn’t say anything. “It just … happened. Oliver asked if I was seeing someone new, and I said yes. When he asked me if that person was here, in the spur of the moment, I lied. And then you happened to show up, and I … just …”
Jackson opens his mouth as if to say something but shuts it again.
“Are you mad?” My voice comes out unintentionally small.
His expression softens. “I could never be mad at you, Bella.”
Bella. My insides go all funny again.
“If you still need a date for that event you mentioned last time, I’ll come with you,” I say. It’s the least I can do for him after hurling him into my last-minute fake dating scheme.
Jackson’s brows shoot up, like he wasn’t expecting me to offer. “It’s in Chicago next week.”
“So, I’ll travel to Chicago with you,” I say. “I mean, we’ve already survived a whole eight-hour flight together. A short domestic flight is nothing compared to that.”
“Since the awards night will run into the evening, we have the option of staying overnight,” he says. “My company’s been nominated as an award finalist, so the travel and accommodation will be covered.”
“Sounds exciting.”
I love any opportunity to dress up, and it’ll be fun to travel again.
“Great.” A tiny smile touches his lips. “I’ll text you the details.”
We start walking back to the gymnasium, but something else is still lingering heavily on my mind. If I don’t clear the air about this, I won’t be able to sleep tonight.
“About that kiss …” I begin, not knowing how to phrase my question.
Jackson runs a hand through his hair again, lines of tension bracketing his face. “Don’t think too much about it.”
“Okay.” I swallow down the disappointment that clogs my throat. Fair enough. What did I expect him to say anyway? Of course, he only kissed me so that people could stop pestering us with questions. And it worked.
Maybe the flash of desire I felt when he kissed me was only because I hadn’t kissed anyone in so long. Maybe it was just my body reminding me I still had hormones and they needed attention.
Jackson will play my fake boyfriend tonight, and I’ll be his date for his event next week. This will simply be a you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours deal—metaphorically, of course. Nothing more, nothing less.
As we step inside the gymnasium, several people turn to watch us.
Activating my best fake-girlfriend mode, I link my arm in Jackson’s and say to him, “You know, I’m so happy you’re here with me, babe.”
Jackson stops in his tracks with a frown. He places a hand on my forehead. “Are you okay? Do you have a fever?”
I scoff, ignoring the comfort of his touch. “I’m just trying to compliment you, like a girlfriend would, okay?”
He clears his throat, a flushed expression taking over his face. “Right. Yes.”
“Hey, Isabelle!” It’s Samantha, a girl who used to be on our speech and debate team. She walks up to Jackson and me with a smile. “You got lucky with Jackson. He’s a good egg.”
Jackson loops a hand around my waist. “Actually, I’m the lucky one.”
“He’s not wrong,” I joke.
Samantha laughs. “You two are cute. How’ve you both been?”
After some more chatting with Samantha and others, Jackson and I step away to a quieter area. I glance at the food and drinks table. Oliver’s standing there, helping himself to a beer. Veronica’s saying something to him, but he appears distracted and somewhat agitated.
To be honest, I think I need another drink, too. Or maybe some dessert.
“Are you hungry?” Jackson asks, noticing me eyeing the food table. “Do you want anything?”
Okay, this is good. Boyfriends who are caring ask their girlfriends whether they’re hungry.
“I had a few of the sandwiches earlier tonight, but I’m craving dessert,” I say.
“Wait here,” he says, a gleam in his eyes. “I’ll be back in two minutes.” He walks to the food table, returning shortly with a plate of desserts.
My mouth drops open. “No way. Strawberry jam doughnuts?”
“Your favorite.”
“I didn’t see them at the food table earlier,” I say. “Where’d you get them from?”
A grin plasters itself across his face. “I have my ways.”
I stare at him, then at the food again.
“They’re not poisoned,” he sarcastically adds.
I grab a doughnut off the plate. “Yeah, I don’t think Jackson Carter Poisons Girlfriend at High School Reunion would make a good headline.”
Jackson watches as I take a bite and chew.
The doughnuts are from one of New York’s best bakeries, Dorothy’s Desserts—I instantly recognize the distinct taste and flavor.
The doughnuts are so perfect. Meanwhile, my life’s so messy that I need a fake boyfriend to prove to my ex he doesn’t matter to me anymore. And all for what?
I stop chewing, my head down as I glance at the rest of the doughnuts on the plate.
“What’s wrong?” Jackson asks, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Everything’s perfect.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but thankfully, he doesn’t push the topic further.