-Roxy Delgado:
I leaned against the cool marble pillar outside the dressing room, my heart thudding a little faster than I wanted to admit. The air in the boutique was sweetly perfumed, a mix of new fabric and expensive cologne that clung to everything. Every so often, the curtain to one of the dressing rooms would rustle faintly, and I'd glance over instinctively—hoping, waiting—for Sloane to step out.
Jackson, on the other hand, looked completely at ease. He was perched lazily on one of the velvet benches, his leg crossed over the other, scrolling on his phone like we weren't in one of the most expensive clothing stores in the entire mall. Then he looked up at me, smirk already forming on his lips. I knew that look—trouble.
"What?" I asked, crossing my arms but unable to hide the smile threatening to pull at my lips.
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming mischievously. "You've got it bad," he said simply.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
