Page 9 of Fighting Jacob

With my painted lips twisted, I scan the vast selection of alcohol-laden glass shelves behind the bar. Nothing tickles my fancy as much as Jacob’s watchful glance, so I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. “A beer?”

Suspicion crosses Jacob’s face. “I thought you didn’t like beer?”

“I don’t, but I don’t go on dates either, yet here I am, entertaining you with my wit.”

Smiling like I just gave him next week’s lotto numbers, Jacob orders two beers from an elderly lady working behind the counter. They must know each other because they banter back and forth while she collects his order. For an older woman, she has a rocking body. Her white jeans showcase her long, lean legs, and her red shirt reveals gravity hasn’t taken hold of her rack just yet. She’s got style, even while glowering at me.

After handing me a beer, Jacob pivots on his heels and exits stage left. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I watch him approach a group of good-looking men at the side of the dance floor with my mouth gaping, mortified I've been ditched—for men!

I stop giving him the stink-eye when a deep voice on my right says, “Hey, Maggie, can I grab a beer?”

When I turn my eyes, my vision is rewarded with a tall, gorgeous man wearing grungy jeans and a white V-neck shirt. The veins in his arms pop when he leans over the counter to greet the barmaid with a peck on the cheek, which also exposes his drool-worthy ass. He’s not as built as Jacob, but even a nun would ogle all he has going on.

Recalling Jacob’s ditch and run, I step closer to the mysterious stranger. Let’s see how quick Jacob returns when he thinks he has competition. “Hi.” I add a seductive grin to my greeting.

He isn't the type I usually go for. My tastes lean more toward blond-haired, blue-eyed men, so he’s a little too dark and mysterious for me, but there’s something more than bitterness encouraging my attempt to ignite a conversation. I just have no clue what it is.

The dark-haired hottie takes a swig from his beer before bracing his back on the bar. “Hey. First time here?”

I quirk my brow. “That obvious?” He laughs but remains quiet. “Do you come here often?”

His lips lift against the rim of his beer before he takes another large gulp. After scrubbing his hand along his wet lips, he murmurs, "You could say that.”

His smile reveals he has dimples—a past favorite of my little sister's.

As my heart rate climbs, I thrust out my hand in offering. “Lola.”

He wipes his condensation-covered hand down his thigh before accepting my offer. “Nice to meet you, Lola; I’m Noah.”

Chapter Five

Jacob

As Slater’s eyes roam over Lola’s body, he rocks on his heels. “She sure is fine.”

I’m too busy scrutinizing Lola's exchange with Noah to take in the tiny denim shorts and spaghetti-strapped top she's wearing. I shouldn't have ditched her like I did, but when I noticed Noah approaching, I wanted to see if she fussed over him like every other female around here does any time he’s in the vicinity. She saw him immediately, but their conversation has lacked the fluttering lashes and puckered lips I usually witness.

I didn’t think she would, but Lola passed my test with flying colors.

After they finish shaking hands, I stroll back toward them. Lola doesn’t register my approach. She’s too busy staring at Noah, but it’s not the same heated look she gave me beneath lowered lashes last week. She actually looks a little constipated.

After jerking up his chin in greeting, Noah shifts his focus back to Lola. “It was nice meeting you, Lola. Might see you around sometime?”

Lola twists on the spot. “Hopefully.”

When Noah meanders past me, he gives me a curious stare. I don’t have time to evaluate what it means when Lola asks, “How do you two know each other?”

“He’s my brother.” When her brows stitch, I chuckle. “Not literally. He’s my brother from another mother.”

“Oh... okay.”

We take a swig of our beers in sync. My body welcomes the bitter, cold concoction. Lola’s response isn’t as embracing; her nose screws up as her throat fights the urge to gag. Once she forces the malty liquid into her stomach with numerous swallows, she returns her watering eyes to me. “Does Noah have a girlfriend?”

I spit malted liquid all over the bar top, shocked. After witnessing their exchange, that’s the last thing I expected her to ask. No sparks were flying between them whatsoever—none! So why the fuck does she care if he’s single?

The beer I’m choking on finishes sliding down my throat when Lola mutters, “Not for me.” She stares me straight in the eyes. “I don’t date, but even if I did, he’s not my type.”

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