Page 70 of A Perfect Fit

I shrug. “The only absolute necessity is that you’re coming with me.”

Isabelle’s cheeks redden, and a cocky smile forms on my face. I absolutely love seeing that goddamn blush on her and even more knowing I caused it.

“We should head down,” she says.

“Sounds good.”

I reach for her luggage handle, but she stops me.

“I can carry that myself,” she insists.

“I know you can,” I say. “But let me do it. I don’t want you to worry about anything for this trip. All you need to do is sit back, relax, and show up to the event as my date.”

“Okay.” Her pulse flutters at her throat. “Thanks.”

That’s my girl.

“You’re welcome,” I say. “Plus, it’s a good daily workout for my muscles.”

Her gaze flicks to my biceps. “Show-off.”

“What the hell are you hiding in here anyway?” I ask, gesturing to her luggage. “A piano?”

“Yep. Thought I could play some classical music as relaxation when I reach my daily Jackson threshold.”

Isabelle locks her door, and we start heading down the stairs, me following her.

“Daily, huh?” There’s a haughty smile on my face. “I’m on your mind that much?”

“If being full of yourself were an Olympic sport, you’d win a gold medal, Jacky.”

A laugh plummets from my mouth, bouncing off the old walls. Jokes aside, for some reason, I’m starting to not mind the nickname Jacky when it comes out of Isabelle’s mouth.

“I can probably say the same about you and your overpacking. In fact, wanna make a bet that your luggage will be flagged as overweight at the airport?”

“Absolutely.” The confidence in her voice makes me feel suspicious. “But you’re definitely going to lose.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Outside her apartment building, Tony’s waiting for us inside the car, his window rolled down. “Good afternoon, miss.”

“Good afternoon, Tony, is it?” Isabelle fiddles with the sleeves of her hoodie. “Sorry about what happened last time.”

Tony gives her a smile, his eyes crinkling. “No need to apologize at all, miss.”

I place Isabelle’s luggage inside the trunk next to mine and head to the back car door. Isabelle’s already settled inside with her seat belt on.

And at that moment, I realize I could get used to this—picking Isabelle up and going to places with her.

Chapter Nineteen

JACKSON

“Istill can’t believe you won the bet,” I say to Isabelle.

We’re settled in our plane seats, ready for takeoff.

When we checked in our luggage earlier, it turned out that Isabelle’s luggage was exactly the maximum acceptable weight. I was impressed. And shocked. And still am. I’m starting to think she somehow rigged the scale.