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Chapter Eighteen

IZZIE

O nce I’m back in Jackson’s house, wrapped in a towel because I’m dripping wet, mortification finally hits me. I can’t even look at him right now.

“Both of you need to get out of those wet clothes immediately,” Dione tells us.

“I can’t. I have nothing to wear.”

“You can borrow some of my clothes,” Jackson offers.

My brows pinch together. “I’ll swim in them.”

“Don’t be silly, Jackson,” Dione interjects. “She can wear something of mine. We’re closer in size.”

“Right.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’m off to get out of my wet clothes. Then we need to hit the road.”

Great. Now I can add guilt to my embarrassment. “I could just wear the PJs, if they’re still in the bedroom. It’ll be faster.”

Dione frowns. “I haven’t taken them yet, but you can’t wear them.”

I start toward the room. “It’s fine. It’s not like I need to go to work in them. Once Jackson drops me at my car, I’m going straight home.”

“But—”

“Let her be, Dione,” Jackson intervenes.

God, he must be late already. I can’t blame the weather for it. I should have never let Mickey convince me to go for a horseback ride. I knew better.

I run to the room, lest I delay him even more. The PJs are neatly folded on the bed where I left them. I peel off my scrubs and use the towel to dry myself, then realize that I’ll have to take my underwear off too, or it will look like I peed my pants. Oh God. I have to go commando and sit in a car with Jackson for an hour like that. The PJ pants aren’t see-through, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll know. There’s nothing I can do about it.

I glance at my reflection in the full-length mirror and wince. I look like a drowned, harassed rat wearing cute PJs and wet sneakers. It’s providential that I wasn’t wearing any mascara, or I’d look like a raccoon instead of a rat, which would be a tad worse.

“It’s not like you want to impress anyone, Izzie,” I mutter.

The pep talk does little to make me feel better. I might not spend hours in front of a mirror preening like Lydia, but I’d never go out in public like this if I could help it. The fact that I’ll be with Jackson just adds insult to injury.

I’m gloomy when I return to the living room, carrying my wet clothes. Jackson is not out yet.

“Let me get you a plastic bag for your clothes, dear,” Dione says.

“Thanks. I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

“What trouble?”

“You know… losing Raven Ray in the storm, forcing Jackson to go look for me, and now making a mess in his house.”

She gives me the bag she got from a cupboard in the kitchen. “Oh… don’t worry about any of that. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

Jackson joins us before I can reply. He gives me an elevator glance, making me even more self-conscious about my appearance. I clutch the plastic bag with my wet clothes against my chest.

“I’m ready,” I say before he can make a comment.

“Good,” he replies roughly.

Shit. He is mad. It’s going to be one hell of ride back to Miami.

* * *

JACKSON

I must be losing my mind, because seeing Izzie in that bizarre outfit did little to stop my attraction to her. On the contrary. I blame the silk PJ top which, despite being a loose fit, still showed her hard nipples. I’m also certain she isn’t wearing underwear under those pants. Now I have to force my attention to stay on the road, and not steal glances at her. The last thing I need is to sport a hard-on.

From the corner of my eye, I see her texting someone. My curiosity gets the better of me. “Are you messaging Jane?”

“Yes.”

When Izzie doesn’t elaborate, I ask, “Did you ask if she can come to our game on Tuesday?”

“No. I want to talk to her in person.”

“Right.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure she won’t need much convincing. She’s head over heels in love with Chad."

“He feels the same away about her.”

“And yet, you meddled.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter. “I apologized, didn’t I? And yet , you’re still judging me.”

“Can you blame me?”

I rub my face. This conversation is turning sour already, and I can’t have that. “Put yourself in my position. What would you have done if your younger sister came home one day and said she was getting married to someone you didn’t know anything about?”

“You can’t compare a sixteen-year-old airhead to a grown man.”

“Chad might not be sixteen anymore, but he’s inexperienced when it comes to relationships. Jane is the first serious girlfriend he’s ever had.”

“Oh my God. Was he a virgin?” she blurts out, and I don’t know why, but her question makes me laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“You. No, Chad wasn’t a virgin. Come on.”

“Don’t ‘come on’ me. It was a logical train of thought after you said he was inexperienced.”

“I suppose. But anyway, I said before that I won’t interfere, and I’ll be nice to your sister. You can trust me to keep my word.”

“Okay. I’ll give you a chance to prove you’re not an ass.”

“Good.”

“You’ll end up loving Jane. Everyone does.”

There’s no hint of jealousy in Izzie’s tone. She’s just stating a fact. “Is that so? Tell me more about her.”

“I thought your PI got all the intel on her,” she replies sarcastically.

“He wasn’t focused on positive aspects,” I reply. “I suppose confessing that doesn’t help my case, does it?”

“No comment.”

I look at her and find her smirking. I begin to relax. “Go on. I’m waiting.”

“Fine. Your PI missed that Jane gave up studying dance in one of the most prestigious schools in New York so I could pursue my dream of becoming a vet. She went to community college instead, while I attended my dream school out of state.”

“That was pretty selfless.”

“It was, and I wouldn’t have allowed her to give up her dream if I had known. She never told me anything, and I only found out years later from one of her former dance teachers.”

Damn, I did make assumptions about her character. “Thanks for sharing that story with me.”

“I know people will judge her anyway, but I really hope that you, being Chad’s best friend, won’t continue to be one of them.”

I don’t know what else to say to convince Izzie I won’t, so I just nod.

We fall silent, and I reckon it’s best if we don’t talk much. I turn on the radio and ask, “Any preference?”

“No. Whatever you feel like listening to is fine by me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, unless you plan to listen to hard-core metal. I don’t think I can handle banshee screaming before lunch.”

I smile. “Do you think I listen to heavy metal?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. You don’t seem like you do, maybe you’re secretly a head banger.”

I chuckle. “Who knows, maybe I am. But you haven’t earned the right to know that yet.”

From the corner of my eye, I see her jaw drop, and I smile wider.