Page 7 of Fighting Jacob

“All right. Sounds good.”

“Good.” He slaps my shoulder again twice, his smile returning. “Then I can see why she has your panties all twisted up.”

Chapter Four

Lola

“Does this outfit say, ‘I love your cock, but I don’t wanna be your girlfriend?’”

My younger sister Emily’s head pops up from the hideous pink bedspread she's sprawled on. Her brows stitch as she stares at me, dumbfounded. I love teasing her. She's so timid and shy, I swear she blushes on cue. We share the same DNA, but I've often wondered if one of us is adopted. We're total opposites. She has dark, tanned skin; mine is beige and pasty. She thinks studying is fun; I prefer to party. But the most profound proof is that she's a prude, and I am not.

“Ah... I think you look nice?”

Smiling at the unease in her tone, I flop onto her bed. “Nice wasn’t the look I was going for.”

Warmth blooms across my chest when she giggles. She has the cutest little laugh. Sometimes she even snorts when she giggles too hard—not that she’d ever admit it.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

I roll over to join her in staring at the popcorn ceiling in her room. “A guy I met last week. When he offered me a ride home, we ended up at Bronte’s Peak. Oh my god, Em, the size of his co–”

She slaps her hand over my mouth before I can finish my story. “I get the picture.”

When she frees my mouth from her hand, I spread mine apart to indicate the length of Jacob’s cock. She acts unaffected, but her throat working hard to swallow gives away her true response. She’s as mortified as I was when my dive out of my date’s car left me stranded in Ravenshoe until six in the morning.

Ten minutes—ten goddamn friggin’ minutes—was all it took for me to be on the cusp of homelessness. Thank goodness Jacob arrived when he did, or who knows what tricks I would have needed to dust off to stay warm?

Calm down, I’m joking.

I didn't sleep with Jacob as payment for a ride. I did it because, for the first time in a long time, I acted on the crazy thoughts in my head instead of shutting them down. Jacob was a breath of fresh air, the bundle of naughtiness you don’t realize you need until they unkink your knots.

I was also dying to see if he was as sexy out of his hideous khaki pants and long-sleeve shirt as he was in them. He was—if not better! My god—his body is a machine. I just wished he showcased it in all its glory. Don’t get me wrong, the sex was good—actually, it was amazing—but I’m sticking with my initial assumption: Jacob is too sweet for me.

He seems like a guy who wants to get married, have 2.5 kids, and make slow, sensual love to his wife every Tuesday night, whereas I’m a girl who’d rather stay single, keep anyone under the age of twelve as far away from me as possible, and fuck as often as the urge arrives. Call me what you like. I am who I am, and I’m not changing for anyone.

Despite my beliefs, not even our dead silent forty-minute drive from Bronte's Peak could conjure up a way to let Jacob down gently. Jacob is gorgeous, and his stamina could give mine a run for its money, but little things he said and did during our rendezvous flashed up clinger warnings.

The last thing I want is a relationship. They don’t end well for me, so I don't go out with men who want more than a friendship between the sheets. So why do I keep giving in to Jacob? He must have a magic wand—and no, I don’t mean the one between his legs.

Although peeved I caved to his suggestion of a friends-only date, excitement is still heating my veins. Not even a saint would feign disinterest in bedding a man as well-endowed as Jacob. I’m far from saintly, but our sweaty car romp has highlighted my dreams every night this week. It’s been a nice change from the nightmares I usually have.

After shaking my head, freeing them from the silly thoughts in there, I drop my eyes to Emily. “You have to go to Bronte's Peak one day, Em. The fun you could have there. . .” My words trail off when she stiffens. We’re not the closest of siblings, but I still know her well enough to know when she’s keeping stuff from me. “You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”

When she shakes her head, I tsk her. She’s the worst liar.

“What base did you get to?” When her eyes open even wider, my jaw falls to the floor. “Emily Faye McIntosh!”

I’m stunned beyond words. My timid, innocent sister isn’t the virginal preacher I thought she was. Someone pinch me because I must be dreaming. I tickle her ribs, smitten to have found traces of the same blood in our veins. “You little hussy.”

“I’m not a hussy.”

My tickling onslaught stops when regret fills her eyes. “I know that. It wasn’t what I meant. I’m just shocked.” My tone is sincerer than earlier. “I hope your V-card was stamped by someone worthwhile.”

Her eyes shoot back to the ceiling as a disappointed sigh spills from her lips. “I thought so at the time. He turned out to be nothing but a frog.”

My heart clenches when tears well in her eyes. We may be opposites, but she's my baby sister, so I'll always love and admire her. "Don’t let him get to you, Em. No matter how foolish you feel, it’s nothing on how foolish he’ll feel when he realizes he had perfection in his grasp but gave it away for something worthless.”

This is the reason I am the way I am. I used to let things bother me too. Not anymore. By not allowing anyone to become attached, I won’t end up disappointed. I wouldn’t recommend that Emily follow my footsteps, but she needs to stop worrying about what people think about her and be the person she wants to be. It’s the only way she’ll be guaranteed to make it out of her teens intact.

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