Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
JACKSON
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
When I arrived at the reunion tonight, the last thing I expected was to play Isabelle’s fake boyfriend. She’d never accepted my offer, and I’d assumed she’d found someone else.
But when I saw Oliver questioning her, her expression tense, my course of action was simple—I’d play along because I wasn’t going to let Isabelle do this on her own, even if it meant I was helping her make Oliver jealous.
Well, I don’t know for sure that making her ex jealous is the reason she wanted to bring a fake boyfriend, but it seems like a logical explanation.
Kissing her wasn’t part of the plan either, but, fuck, it just happened. And the moment I felt the taste of her soft lips against mine, I knew I was screwed. If we didn’t have an audience, I wouldn’t have ended the kiss so abruptly, but it was probably still for the best.
Tonight may be the first and last time I kiss her. For both our sakes—but selfishly, mostly mine—it’s best we keep things black and white, especially if she still has feelings for her ex.
Even if the kiss felt real. So real.
“Dude, you owe me a hundred bucks.”
It’s Aaron, walking up to me with a plate of fruit.
I take a swig of my beer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He pops a grape inside his mouth. “Remember in high school, I said you’d kiss Isabelle one day.”
“I never agreed to that bet.”
I glance at Isabelle, who’s chatting with Josh—who used to be on the football team with me—and his wife.
Isabelle looks so beautiful in that black bodycon dress, which hugs her curves, her long hair down in curls. The first time I properly took her in tonight, my knees felt weak. Physically weak.
“Come on, Mr. CEO,” Aaron presses. “Don’t be so stingy.”
“I’m not stingy.”
Normally, Aaron probably wouldn’t let me forget about the bet, but he looks distracted as he stares at Jen, who’s chatting with someone. “Jen looks stunning.”
“You should go to her,” I say. I’ve noticed he’s been avoiding her tonight.
“I think she’s really cool,” Aaron blurts out. “I just … I don’t know if I’m ready to date again or if she’d even be interested in me like that.”
Aaron’s had one relationship, but his ex—who never deserved him—ended up cheating on him. I know he’s scared of getting hurt again.
“For what it’s worth, I think you two would be good together,” I say.
Aaron tips his head to the side. “You don’t think she’s out of my league?”
“Hell no.” I shake my head firmly. “Don’t ever think like that. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”
A smile plays on Aaron’s lips. “Thanks, man. You know, I really should get you to give me pep talks more often.”
“Go to her,” I say again. “You don’t have to ask her out yet or anything if you’re not ready to.”
“You know what? You’re probably right.” He places another grape into his mouth. “Okay, I’m going. But don’t think I’m forgetting about the hundred bucks you owe me.”
I shake my head, suppressing a smile as Aaron walks over to Jen, and then I approach Isabelle, placing a hand on the small of her back. She shoots me a tiny smile, her body relaxing under my touch.
“Hey, man,” Josh says with a grin. “I was just saying to Isabelle that I always knew there was a spark between you two.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Oliver chugs down his beer, his face red. He’s kept his distance from us so far, and I hope things stay that way.
“Not just a spark, Josh,” I say, deciding to go all in with my fake-boyfriend role. “We’re making entire fireworks.” I wrap my hands around Isabelle’s waist from behind, inhaling her floral and fruity perfume.
The faintest gasp escapes her mouth, but I hear it.
Josh rolls his eyes. “Jackson, the lovesick teenager.”
Another thirty minutes passes. Aaron and Jen left together a few minutes ago, him grinning like he’d just won the lottery and her blushing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Aaron this ecstatic—not even when he got a bunch of Burger Shack vouchers for free. I’m happy for him.
Playing Isabelle’s boyfriend tonight has come naturally to me, and despite the comments a few people made earlier tonight—not believing Isabelle and I were dating—no one’s said any more crap.
“Jen and Aaron are cute together,” Isabelle says. “I wonder what they’re going to get up to.” She frowns. “Actually, maybe I don’t want to know.”
I chuckle. “Aaron’s probably taking her for dessert or something.”
“True.” Isabelle’s gaze flicks elsewhere, and I follow it, noticing she’s staring at Oliver, who’s approaching us, his tie now undone and his movements sloppy.
Beside me, Isabelle tenses, and I have no intention of entertaining whatever bullshit Oliver is about to say or do.
“Hi,” he slurs.
I step forward, blocking Isabelle from Oliver. “Can I help you?”
Oliver aimlessly waves a hand in the air. “Just wanted to say that you two deserve each other.”
I glare at him, my molars grinding. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Oliver’s gaze darts behind me to Isabelle. “All those times you told me how annoying he was, I bet you were secretly fantasizing about getting inside his pants.”
“What the fuck?” I demand, my hands balling into tight fists. “Apologize to Isabelle right now, and then shut the fuck up.”
There’s no way he’s going to say that and get away with it. I don’t care that he’s drunk; it’s no excuse for his behavior.
“How could you even say something like that?” Isabelle adds, her voice coming out as a small cry.
The color drains completely from her face, and seeing her hurt and mortified expression only causes the flames in my chest to burn brighter. How could she still have any feelings for that dickhead? She deserves so much better than fucking Oliver Morrison. Can she not see that?
Oliver shifts his gaze to me. “You can have her, Carter. You know what they say—sloppy seconds.”
Oh, fuck no.
My ears are pounding, pure fury rippling through my body, like lava expelled from a volcanic eruption. “What the fuck did you just say?”
He smirks. “You heard me. Sloppy sec—”
My fist connects with his jaw, marking the first time I’ve ever punched anyone or resorted to violence in my life.
Loud gasps resound in the gymnasium, and only then do I realize a crowd has gathered around us, but I don’t care. That shithead should get more than just a single punch.
“Don’t you dare talk like that about my girlfriend ever again.”
Oliver stumbles backward, pressing a hand to the spot where I just hit him.
“And don’t you dare say another word to disrespect her or do anything to hurt her,” I add, still seething. “Don’t even fucking breathe near her.”
Oliver lets out a shrill laugh. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning to.”
“Oh my God, Olly? What happened?”
It’s Oliver’s date, frantically rushing over to us.
“Nothing, Veronica.” Oliver places an arm around her. “I was just having a nice catch-up with my friends.”
“You’re drunk,” Veronica sighs. “I’m taking you home.”
“Fuck this,” Oliver grumbles. “Veronica, we’re leaving.”
Veronica gives me and Isabelle an apologetic look. “I apologize for anything rude he might’ve said to you both,” she says.
Isabelle shakes her head. “It’s not your fault.”
Veronica gives her a rueful smile before slinging an arm around Oliver and leading him toward the exit.
“He’s an asshole!” someone randomly yells.
I turn to Isabelle, my expression softening. “Are you okay?”
Isabelle nods slowly, her face still pale. “Yeah.” She glances at my hand. My knuckles are still red from the punch. “Are you okay? That looked like a painful hit.”
“I’m okay,” I say. “You worried about me?”
Isabelle rolls her eyes. “I should’ve known you’d say something like that.”
I’m treating Isabelle being her usual sassy self as a good sign. “I’m going to take that as a yes. Anyway … we can leave now as well. We don’t have to stay any longer.”
Isabelle plasters a smile on her face, but I see right through her and know she’s putting on a facade. “It’s all right. Let’s stay for a little longer. Why let him ruin our night?”
“Okay,” I reluctantly say.
“I’m going to grab another glass of champagne.” She walks off before turning to me again. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to get drunk.”
Isabelle is drunk.
One minute, she was still sober, and the next, she’s ten times more energetic than usual. I tried encouraging her not to overdo it on the alcohol, but she insisted she had great alcohol tolerance.
Great alcohol tolerance, my ass.
“I’m taking you home,” I say to her.
Isabelle folds her arms and stares at the drinks table. “I’m not leaving yet. I want another drink.”
I sigh and rack my brain to think of a creative solution, because drunk Isabelle appears to be just as stubborn as sober Isabelle.
“Fine,” I finally say. “But you’re going to lose the competition.”
Isabelle perks up at the word competition, and she whips her head around to face me. “What competition?”
“The competition of who gets home first.”
She places her hands on her hips. “Actually, I changed my mind. I’m going home. You’re definitely going to lose.”
It worked.
I do my best to conceal a smirk. “We’ll see about that.”
Isabelle heads toward the exit, her steps unbalanced. I reach out a hand to steady her, but she swats my hand away.
“I can walk by myself just fine!” she snaps.
I raise a brow. “You’d trip and fall in less than twenty seconds.”
“Wrong.”
“Let’s see about that,” I drawl.
Isabelle carefully places one foot in front of the other, like she’s walking a tightrope. “See? I’m walking fine, and, whoa—”
She stumbles and trips, but I catch her before she can fall. Her head falls against my chest, and I instinctively wrap my hands around her from behind. She shuts her eyes briefly and then stands straight.
She feels like home.
I swallow, trying my best to regain my composure. “That was definitely less than twenty seconds.”
“So rude,” Isabelle whines. “I can’t believe I have such a rude boyfriend.” She pats my bicep, a giggle dripping from her mouth. “Oh my gosh, you’re so sturdy.”