“Bullshit,” I throw a balled up tee at him. It’s the same one he wore the other day. It lands on the table muffling the music. Jackson fishes out his phone and tosses the tee back. That’s when I see his screen. He’s listening to music on a streaming service. The lyrics to the song are flashing across the screen.
“Wait a minute. Are you streaming that music right now?” I ask. “How?”
“Nevermind,” Jackson shrugs and shuts the phone off, shoving it into a pocket. “Hurry up, and put one of your colorful suits on. I don’t want the bacon to get cold.”
“You hacked your phone, didn’t you?” I gasp. I step back out onto the patio to confirm my suspicions.
“Mayyyyybe,” Jackson smiles coyly. “What’s it to you if I did?”
“But we’re not supposed to be on the wifi!” I say primly.
“No, we’re really not,” his mischievous grin blooms, and his eyes twinkle. “Breaking the rules would bebad,right?”
“Right,” I nod.
“Then I guess you don’t want me to do yours?”
It would make it a lot easier to back up my chapters, I think longingly,but I can’t do it. I’m too much of a rule follower.
“No thanks,” I shake my head. “I promised to stay off social media. The whole point of us turning in our phones was to save us from being tempted.”
“If only it was that easy to avoid temptation.” His slightly feral gaze makes my heart stutter. “I’m starving. Meet me out front in five minutes?”
“Okay,” I capitulate. “I could eat.” My stomach is starting to growl, as well.
“Beautiful.” Jackson runs a warm hand down my arm as he passes me on his way back in. I’m not sure if he’s referring to breakfast or me.
Back in my room I choose a hot pink and yellow sundress with a pineapple print. I throw it on over a yellow swimsuit. Naturally I pair this with a straw hat, pineapple slice earrings, and a stack of fruit-scented jelly bracelets. Then I quickly pack up a pool bag with my sunscreen, a couple of magazines, a book on vampire lore, a water bottle, and my laptop.
Jackson’s right. I might have to work today, but there’s no rule that I have to do it in my room.
Now that we’ve gotten to know each other a little better, I finally think I understand what Jackson’s software is really about. It doesn’t have anything to do with data or numbers or love. His app is an attempt to fix his own broken family.
There’s something so sadly sweet about it. If love is the disease, then logic must be the cure. I can picture a younger version of Jackson feeling powerless to protect his mom and his sister from the man who was supposed to be his role model. More than that, I canfeelhim.
No wonder he’s leaned in so hard into numbers and logic. Numbers are predictable. Logic makes sense to him. It’s safe. Emotions aren’t.
jackson
“What do I think of Marco? I think he’s not what most people would think. Sure he’s super campy and a little over the top. And no question, he’s a hottie. But what most people don’t realize is that he’s also got a heart of gold. That’s what makes him the perfect host for this show. He genuinely believes in love.
~ Isla Fairfax, Playing With Matches Confessionals
“So,can you explain the appeal of meet-cutes to me again?” I quiz Isla over breakfast. “What is it, in yourprofessionalopinion, that makes them so important to people?”
“I think it’s about the story. We all see ourselves as central characters, and when something important happens in our lives, it had better have a great story. Nobody wants to tell their grandkids about a boring meet-cute.” Isla explains.
“I get that,” I say. “That’s why people embellish so much, even if they meet in a totally mundane way.”
“I think there’s nothing mundane about meeting someone you’re destined to fall in love with. Even the mundane becomes epic, simply because it’s such a momentous thing.”
“Do you think the ancient Romans were all, ‘Hey Dad, how did you and Mom meet?’” I adopt a kiddish voice then switch it to dad-mode. “‘Well, Son, we hooked up at Lupercalia. Your mom was really into my leather thongs and thank the gods I drew her name from the jar. It was so magical.’”
“Maybe,” Isla shrugs and helps herself to a blueberry from my plate. “I don’t think human nature has changed all that much over the centuries. People are still people.”
“But what if he’d drawn someone else’s name,” I ask, realizing the flaw in the story. “I mean it all seems so random. How do you know when someone isthe one?” I pop a blueberry in my mouth. “Please do not say ‘you just know.’ That’s such bullshit. I still hold that compatibility quotients are a much safer way to figure things out.”
“You have a major flaw in your logic,” Isla argues. “You assume people are finite, and unchanging.”
