Page 65 of A Perfect Fit

“Thanks.” The word seems pathetic and small, but it’s heartfelt. “I know I’ve dragged you into enough chaos already.”

“You didn’t drag me into anything,” Jackson firmly says. “You wouldn’t have told your sister I was your boyfriend if you weren’t drunk, but I played along. So, whatever happens next, we’re in it together.”

Together. The situation doesn’t sound as bad when he says that word.

There’s cocky and charismatic Jackson, who I thought I was always immune to. Then there’s the protective, thoughtful, and caring Jackson, who I’ve been seeing more lately. Immunity to this Jackson … is nearly impossible.

A glint forms in his eyes. “Wait. Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“I want to give you something.” Jackson flashes his dimples, and I find myself unlocking my phone and passing it to him.

“I know the Instagram DMs were fun, but now you have my number,” he says, typing something into my phone. “Usually, I tell people not to contact me before nine a.m., but I think I can make an exception for my girl.”

My girl. His words keep doing something funny to me, but I tell myself he’s just being his playful self.

Jackson passes my phone back to me, and I stare at the contact name he used for himself, not believing my eyes.

“Man of My Dreams,” I read aloud. “You know, I genuinely wonder if you sleep on an ultra-large pillow to fit your big head.”

One corner of Jackson’s mouth curls up, drawing my attention to his lips. “Big head?”

I roll my eyes at the innuendo. Jeez. What happened to men who were wholesome and non-suggestive and⁠—

Jackson lifts me and carries me to my kitchen while I loop my legs around his waist.

Oh God. Don’t think about the dream. Don’t think about the dream.

He props me on the kitchen counter and slowly, sensually trails a path of open-mouthed kisses along my jawline⁠—

“Isabelle.” Jackson’s voice brings me back to reality. “You zoned out. And your cheeks are quite red.”

“They’re so not,” I protest, folding my arms.

“And don’t tell me the weather’s hot this time. We’re indoors with air-conditioning.”

“I wasn’t zoning out,” I bite out. “I was just …” I rack my brain to think of a good response, but nothing comes up. My mind blanks like a web page that won’t load, no matter how many times you refresh it.

“Daydreaming?”

Now I’m annoyed with myself because I’m never shy or speechless around Jackson like this.

So, I attempt to say in a sarcastic tone, “Obviously, I’m having dreams about you.”

Except the words somehow sound more breathless and seductive rather than jeering.

I think Jackson picks up on it, too, because suddenly, his Adam’s apple bobs.

Thankfully, a knock on his office door bursts our little bubble, and Jackson clears his throat, directing his attention behind me. “Come in.”

The door opens, revealing a woman with a bob haircut. “Mr. Carter, Mr. Cavanaugh is waiting for you in conference room 1.”

Jackson nods at her. “I’ll be there in a few minutes, Clarissa.”

“Great. I’ll let him know,” Clarissa says before leaving.

“I should head off,” I say to Jackson. “See you on Friday for round two of fake dating?”