Page 44 of A Perfect Fit

Less than a minute later, there’s a new reply to my post.

Jackson

You should take photos of yourself wearing the outfits. How else are people supposed to pick?

I don’t know which is worse—me being unaware that Jackson’s somehow also following my business account or me reading his text in his cocky voice.

Me

It’s called using your imagination

You probably don’t have one

I sit down on my bed, watching the three typing dots appear and disappear.

It looks like status quo Isabelle and Jackson are back. That comment he made at The Daily Brew about me came out of nowhere, especially since things had seemed to change between us after our conversation at Angela’s Rooftop Bar. That said, Jackson did immediately apologize, and now that more time has passed, I’m not mad about it anymore.

Jackson

I have a great imagination.

Me

Full of dirty thoughts

Jackson

I can be dirty- or clean-minded. I’m flexible.

My cheeks start to feel hot, so much so that I have to put down my phone and take a moment to calm myself down. Because why am I suddenly imagining Jackson being flexible, as in the physical, moving-into-all-sorts-of-positions kind of flexible?

He’s doing a great job at messing with my mind—that’s for sure.

When I don’t reply, my phone lights up with two more messages.

Jackson

I’m sorry again for what I said the other day. Have fun at the reunion.

P.S. My vote goes to the black dress.

I stare at his texts, my flustered state disappearing and morphing into confusion. Is he not coming tonight?

We obviously haven’t talked more about his fake-boyfriend offer, but it’s too late now.

I push away the temptation to ask him about whether he’s coming to the reunion.

Me

Guess I’m not going to choose the black dress then

And I know. It’s okay. I’m sorry for what I said too

With that, I put my phone away to get ready for the event.

Thirty minutes later, I’m wearing the black bodycon dress—but not because Jackson suggested it—with my hair curled and a matching scrunchie on my wrist, also made and designed by yours truly. So, yes, tonight, I’m going to be a walking ad for my business, but I’m going to walk in there proud. Because I’ve learned if I’m not my own biggest supporter, then who will be?

Certainly not Ivy. I haven’t heard from her or Mom since that night at my parents’ house.