Chapter 15 #2
This time, I don’t bother hiding a smug grin. If Isabelle were sober, she would never hand out compliments to me like that, so I’m taking whatever drunk Isabelle’s giving me.
“Ricky, my personal trainer, does a great job.”
She giggles again. “I bet he does.”
I place a hand around her waist, leading her outside the school. We wait by the front gates, and I send a text to Tony, letting him know I’m done with my event.
“Look, I’m a penguin!” Isabelle squeals. She starts waddling around, her movements indeed like a penguin.
Amusement stirs within me as I put my phone away. “Yes, a very cute penguin.”
She grins at me, clearly pleased by the compliment, and starts flapping her arms up and down. “Look, I’m a starfish!”
I let out a chuckle. “Yes, you’re a very cute starfish, too.”
A gust of wind blows through the air, and Isabelle wraps her arms around her body for added warmth. It was eighty-two degrees earlier today, but the temperature has dropped significantly now that it’s the evening.
“It’s cold,” she mutters.
I take off my suit jacket, draping it over her shoulders. “My driver will be here soon.”
Isabelle pulls my jacket closer to her. “Your jacket smells so nice. I want to keep it.”
“Then it’s yours to keep, baby,” I whisper.
Isabelle’s face relaxes, and she bites her bottom lip, drawing my attention to it.
I’m instantly reminded that tasting her lips for only a few seconds tonight wasn’t enough. The urge to kiss her again crashes against me, but I shove the temptation away. The last thing I’m going to do is take advantage of her when she’s drunk.
“Isabelle?”
I turn to the sound of the voice, spotting a female passerby on the sidewalk, wearing a blue blouse and pencil skirt, with dark hair and brown eyes that’s similar to Isabelle’s.
“Oh my God, Ivy?” Isabelle calls out. “Is that you?”
“What are you doing here?” Ivy asks, stepping closer to us. Her gaze drifts to me, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And who are you?”
I hesitate, considering how to best answer that question. Friend is probably the most appropriate reply, given we’re no longer at the reunion. “I’m—”
“This is my boyfriend, Jackson,” Isabelle cuts in, looping an arm around mine. “Jackson, this is my sister, Ivy.”
“Your boyfriend?” Ivy crosses her arms. “Really? I think you’re drunk, Isabelle.”
My eyes narrow. What is her problem? First Oliver, and now Ivy. Ivy’s tone and the way she’s talking to Isabelle—it’s condescending and disdainful, and it doesn’t sit well with me one bit.
I reach for Isabelle’s hand, intertwining her fingers with mine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m very grateful and proud to call Isabelle my girlfriend.”
Maybe I shouldn’t play along. There’s no way Isabelle would tell her sister that I was her boyfriend if she were sober, and she’ll probably regret this tomorrow morning.
But fuck it. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
Isabelle turns to me with a smug look on her face, and it’s the most adorable sight ever.
“My boyfriend’s way hotter than Ben, right?” she adds, facing Ivy again. “And probably smarter, too. Guess I finally beat you at something.”
The way she says those last seven words causes a hollow feeling in my chest. It sounds like she’s joking, but I know she’s not. Suddenly, as I stare at the woman beside me, I realize that she’s witty, sassy, and passionate on the outside, but there are so many more layers to her than that.
Ivy scowls. “I have no time for this, Isabelle. You should get home.”
“Bye, sis,” Isabelle says, waving at her sister as Ivy walks off.
Moments later, Tony pulls up to the curb, his car window rolled down. “Good evening, Jackson.”
“Hey, Tony.” I turn to Isabelle. “Bella, this is my driver, Tony.”
“Hi, Tony!” Isabelle waves excitedly at him, flashing a bright smile. “Nice to meet you!”
Tony smiles politely at her. “Good evening, miss.”
I open the car door to the back seat, helping Isabelle as she climbs inside.
She gives me a side-eyed look. “I can get inside fine. I’m not that drunk.”
“That’s exactly what a drunk person would say,” I say, getting inside after her and shutting the door.
“You’re so annoying,” she mutters. “Jackass. You’re the biggest jackass in the world. Jackson ‘the Jackass’ Carter.”
“Thank you,” I sarcastically say, buckling her seat belt and then my own.
Tony clears his throat and eyes us from the rearview mirror as he starts up the engine. “Jackass—I mean, Jackson, where would you like me to stop at first?”
I turn to Isabelle. “Bella, can I please have your address?”
A sultry expression fills Isabelle’s face as she eyes me up and down, all cute and doe-eyed, then bats her eyelashes at me. “Dress?” She giggles. “You want my dress? You can take off my dress.”
Jesus.
An image of me ripping that black bodycon dress off her invades my mind, and I instantly feel my blood rushing south.
This woman is going to be the absolute end of me.
“Address,” I clarify. “Not dress. Address, as in where you live.”
“Oh … address?” Isabelle frowns and scratches her head. “Um … what’s my address?”
I drag a hand down my face. “Don’t tell me you forgot your address.”
Her face lights up. “Oh, wait, I remember!” She utters an address to Tony, which does sound legit, thankfully.
Tony pulls out onto the road, and we join the chaos of Manhattan’s Friday night traffic. Outside the car window, bright neon signs flash from restaurants and bars, the sound of car horns blaring in the distance.
I lean back against my car seat and close my eyes, my mind replaying everything that’s happened tonight.
Isabelle falls asleep on my shoulder, and a strand of her long hair falls over her face. I brush it behind her ear and hesitate for a moment, my hand flexing before caressing her cheek.
She deserves to know she’s beautiful inside and out.