Page 51 of A Perfect Fit

My mouth drops open. “No way. Strawberry jam doughnuts?”

“Your favorite.”

“I didn’t see them at the food table earlier,” I say. “Where’d you get them from?”

A grin plasters itself across his face. “I have my ways.”

I stare at him, then at the food again.

“They’re not poisoned,” he sarcastically adds.

I grab a doughnut off the plate. “Yeah, I don’t think Jackson Carter Poisons Girlfriend at High School Reunion would make a good headline.”

Jackson watches as I take a bite and chew. The doughnuts are from one of New York’s best bakeries, Dorothy’s Desserts—I instantly recognize the distinct taste and flavor. The doughnuts are so perfect. Meanwhile, my life’s so messy that I need a fake boyfriend to prove to my ex he doesn’t matter to me anymore. And all for what?

I stop chewing, my head down as I glance at the rest of the doughnuts on the plate.

“What’s wrong?” Jackson asks, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Everything’s perfect.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but thankfully, he doesn’t push the topic further.

Chapter Fifteen

JACKSON

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

When I arrived at the reunion tonight, the last thing I expected was to play Isabelle’s fake boyfriend. She’d never accepted my offer, and I’d assumed she’d found someone else.

But when I saw Oliver questioning her, her expression tense, my course of action was simple—I’d play along because I wasn’t going to let Isabelle do this on her own, even if it meant I was helping her make Oliver jealous.

Well, I don’t know for sure that making her ex jealous is the reason she wanted to bring a fake boyfriend, but it seems like a logical explanation.

Kissing her wasn’t part of the plan either, but, fuck, it just happened. And the moment I felt the taste of her soft lips against mine, I knew I was screwed. If we didn’t have an audience, I wouldn’t have ended the kiss so abruptly, but it was probably still for the best.

Tonight may be the first and last time I kiss her. For both our sakes—but selfishly, mostly mine—it’s best we keep things black and white, especially if she still has feelings for her ex.

Even if the kiss felt real. So real.

“Dude, you owe me a hundred bucks.”

It’s Aaron, walking up to me with a plate of fruit.

I take a swig of my beer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He pops a grape inside his mouth. “Remember in high school, I said you’d kiss Isabelle one day.”

“I never agreed to that bet.”

I glance at Isabelle, who’s chatting with Josh—who used to be on the football team with me—and his wife.

Isabelle looks so beautiful in that black bodycon dress, which hugs her curves, her long hair down in curls. The first time I properly took her in tonight, my knees felt weak. Physically weak.

“Come on, Mr. CEO,” Aaron presses. “Don’t be so stingy.”

“I’m not stingy.”