“I want to make sure the swelling is going down, or I’m not going to be able to sleep,” I say.
And if my sheet ends up smelling like him? It won’t be the worst thing in the world…
Jackson raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re really setting me up so well here, Isla. It’s takingallmy self restraint not to run with the obvious jokes.”
“Good,” I say. “You could do with a bit of practice on the self-restraint front, I’ve heard the way you tease your co-hosts on that podcast of yours.” I shove the swag bags aside to clear off a spot on the bed and fluff a pillow. “Now be a good patient, and lie down here. I’ll be right back with the ice.”
Jackson eyes the bed with the weary desperation of someone who’s crossed too many time zones without a proper place to lay their head. Two long strides and he’s down.
“Wake me up and send me back to my room if I fall asleep,” he says.“You got it,” I say. “Just a minute.” I duck into the hall with the ice bucket.
Even though I’m back in under sixty seconds, Jackson appears to be fading fast. He has pulled off his shirt and rolled onto his side.
“Got the ice,” I say.
“Mmmmm, just wanna sleep,” he protests.
I pull an ice cube from the bucket. “Let’s just ice it for a couple of minutes? Humor me?” I hold the cube to his lip, sliding it over the affected area. He’s right; his lip seems to have stopped swelling. It’s enlarged but not grotesque. Come to think of it, his lower lip was already pretty plump to begin with. He has extremely sensual lips. My fingers are tingling and damp with the ice that is quickly melting against the heat of his mouth.
Jackson’s hand closes around my wrist and he opens his mouth to bite the half-melted ice cube.
“This is one way to keep me up,” he says quietly. “But I assure you, it isn’t cooling me off. Why are you doing this, Isla?”
“I’m just trying to help, Jackson,” I answer, barely above a whisper.
He turns my hand over, kissing my palm and spitting the ice cube back out into it.
“Thank you for trying to make it better. But I think you skipped the important part.”
“Which is?” I say stupidly, feigning confusion.
Kiss it and make it better.
The ice cube is almost fully dissolved. There’s a tiny pool left, cupped in my palm. I can still feel his hot breath, and I realize I am panting. Jackson releases my wrist, and I pull my hand away, careful not to drip on the duvet. He sits up.
“Just go to sleep, Isla. I’ll be fine. Take your bed back.” Jackson pulls back the covers and stands up. He doesn’t even bother to make any attempt to hide his arousal as he heads back towards the other bedroom.
jackson
“I’m so excited for all the couples! This show is such a special opportunity, and I’m truly honored to be a part of it. I can’t wait to reveal the matches. I have the feeling that this is going to be magical!”
~Isla Fairfax, Playing With Matches Confessionals
Between the Benadryl,my less than ideal arrival, and the blackout shades in my bedroom, I sleep until 11 am the following morning. I wasn’t in a rush to wake. My normally black-and-white dreams were coming at me in vivid colors. I can’t remember much. Only that Isla was in them, and I wasn’t in any rush to wake. I could have binged a whole season. I haven’t slept in this late since I was in college.
I peek out my door to see if she’s around. There’s a bag of clothes from the gift shop sitting on the floor in the hall outside my door. I peel off the sticky note on the bag.
Good morning, Jackson! Rob had these clothes sent over for you, and I’ve tossed in some bug repellant wipes, too. Didn’t want to wake you. I’m headed down to breakfast and to check out the pool. - Isla
The suite is silent. I step out into the hallway. That’s when I see the typed letter that’s been slid under the front door of the suite. The envelope has my name on it.
Greetings Mr. Porter,
I checked with the airport, and your luggage was located in Miami. It was put on a flight this morning and should be here by later this afternoon. We are also tracking down your laptop bag, and should have news shortly.
Edwina
Things are finally looking up.
