A Perfect Fit

18

Isabelle

Jackson is currently standing very still in the hotel lobby. If it's not for the fact that I can feel his brown eyes taking me in and staring at me with such an intensity I've never felt before, I would really be questioning whether he's frozen on the spot.

But quite frankly, he's not the only one who's staring intently at someone right now.

I can feel my heart pounding madly against my chest as I slowly walk toward him and eye him from head to toe, a three-lettered word instantly springing to my mind.

Hot.

A navy blue designer suit tailored perfectly to his body, his brown hair looking even more deliciously handsome than usual, and god, his facial features.

So hot.

Not to mention that spicy cologne he's sprayed on which just makes me want to bury my head in his chest and take in his scent.

This also obviously isn't the first time I've seen Jackson wearing a suit, but something feels different tonight. It's as if there's something in the air, something I can't quite exactly put my finger on.

Okay, you need to calm down, Isabelle.

"Hey," he breathes, taking a step closer toward me.

"Hey," I reply, not knowing what else to say right now.

"You're wearing the purple dress," he then says, his voice breathless. "The one you showed me at your apartment." A fiery and passionate gaze radiates in his eyes, and it's so intense that I find myself unable to break eye contact with him.

"Yes, that's the one," I slowly say, a wave of nerves crashing against my body as I recall what happened the night of our high school reunion. "Uh...is that good or bad?"

Something flickers in his brown eyes, and I don't think I've ever seen him like this before.

"That depends on how you'd feel if I told you all the things I want to do to you right now," he then murmurs.

Oh. My. God.

He's just saying that to get us ready for the fake dating zone tonight, right? I mean, he's said some flirty things to me during recent times—which again, I assume is just Jackson being his playful self—but he's never said anything like this before. So unless something dramatic has suddenly changed with his thought process, surely this is all just a part of our pretense.

"You look so beautiful tonight, Bella," he adds, his voice ever so velvety and smooth. His gaze falls to my lips, and then, he takes another step forward, before gently touching my hair. "So, so beautiful."

"Thank you," I manage to say, feeling my breath stuck in my throat. "You don't look too bad yourself."

A cocky expression overtakes his face, and it's as though the Jackson I'm more accustomed to is suddenly back. "Only not bad?"

He's clearly a lot more than just 'not bad', and he's making me feel all sorts of dangerous things I probably shouldn't be feeling. But stubborn me refuses to admit that in his face.

I shoot him a teasing smile. "Well, I guess I can say that you're an aesthetically pleasing sight to look at."

He lets out a tiny chuckle, his dimples making an appearance. "I'll take that."

Brief silence floats in the air, and as his brown stare right into mine, it's almost as if he's looking at me for the first time. Something akin to anticipation then circles on his face. "Shall we make our way to the event?"