Page 12 of Fighting Jacob

When her brows furrow, I try to keep the mood light. "It's not Maggie texting you your shifts, is it? She's a bit of a night owl who forgets most of the world is sleeping at three in the morning."

Her eyes stray to mine, her mood different from the girl who shred thousands of calories shaking her tuckus like no one was watching. "No. It's from an unknown number."

"One of those we have three hundred million dollars from a deceased relative you've never heard of messages?"

“I wish. It’s nothing but strings of gibberish.” She swivels her phone to show me the screen.

“Maybe it’s code for something?”

“Or maybe someone is on crack.” With a shrug, she stores her phone away before kicking off her shoes and tilting toward me. “Talking about braindead idiots, I just realized I have to turn down Maggie’s offer.”

“Why?” Confusion dangles on my vocal cords. She was so excited when Maggie asked if she could start next week, so I’m a little lost as to why she’s backing out now.

Apprehension crosses her features before she whispers in a huff, “I don’t have a license, so I have no way of getting to Ravenshoe for my shifts.”

“You don’t have your license? Why not?”

She folds her arms in front of her chest, raising her fantastic tits higher on her chest. I’ve yet to see them unconcealed, and it’s fucking killing me. “I failed three times—not because I’m incompetent. I know how to drive. My instructors were just female.”

A chuckle rumbles up my chest. I’m an ass for laughing, but I can’t help it. Women as gorgeous as Lola are accustomed to getting what they want—especially when it comes to men—but often other women see them as bitches. Although someone disliking her personality could be the reason she failed, I don’t see that being the only reason.

“I’ll drive you to your shifts...” My words taper when Lola’s eyes narrow into tiny slits. “Then I’ll teach you how to drive, so you can drive yourself to work.”

“I know how to drive… I just can’t work out the stick thingy.”

I laugh. “That could be the cause of your troubles. You’re probably yanking on it too hard. Sometimes you have to be gentle.”

She peers at me with a smug grin on her face. “Are we still talking about the gearstick?”

My shoulder touches my ear. “I don’t know. Are we?”

After rolling her eyes, she shifts them back to the scenery whizzing by her window. I think it’s the end of our conversation, but her faint whisper proves I still have much to learn about this woman. “If I agree to your offer, what will you get out of our deal?”

You, I mutter to myself, but knowing that will most likely piss her off, I keep that snippet of information to myself. She’s reminded me plenty of times tonight that we’re not on a date, so acting as if we are won’t be well-received. Instead, I waggle my brows, making light of the situation.

"You can be designated driver the next time we go clubbing. You may want to increase your lift ratios, though. My ass is heavy when it's laden with alcohol."

She accepts my jest better than anticipated, simply smiling before returning her eyes front and center. Ten minutes later, we pull into the driveway of her family home. I freeze with my belt halfway across my torso when Lola hits me with a firm finger point. “Uh-uh! Friends don’t walk their friends to the door.”

She steals my chance to retaliate by pressing her lips to mine, giving up that cherry lip gloss I’ve been dying to taste all night. It’s only the briefest peck, but it fills me with hope. I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t kiss my friends goodbye on the lips. That may have more to do with the fact they’re male, but still, it’s the truth.

When Lola inches back, I run my tongue over my lips, ensuring I get every smidge of lip gloss she left there before digging my phone out of my pocket. “We should exchange digits… so you can text me your shifts, then I’ll know what time to pick you up.” I only add on the last part because she was seconds from once again reminding me that we’re not on a date, so number swapping is a no-go zone.

My brow arches when she inputs her number by copying it off a card stored in her purse. “I recently got a new number, so I don’t know it by heart yet.”

I guess that’s why she was freaked about an unknown number messaging her at three in the morning?

After storing her number in my contacts, she hands me back my phone, almost leans in for another kiss before remembering that isn’t something friends do, throws open her door, then bolts down the sidewalk like her backside is on fire. Once she enters the safety of her home, I drop my eyes to the screen of my phone.

I try not to look too deeply into the two x’s at the end of her name.

I miserably fail. I knew she digs me!

The next morning, Noah’s head pops up from the bowl of cereal he’s devouring when I enter the kitchen. “What’re your plans this weekend, Jake?”

I grab the orange juice from the fridge. “I’m gonna head to the gym for a few hours; wanna come?”

“Hours?” He looks seconds from barfing. “No thanks.”

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