Page 96 of Fighting Jacob

Once the taillights of Curtis’ truck blur into the distance, Hank joins me on the sidewalk. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

I want to give a more confident reply, but I can’t shake the feeling that Curtis is up to something. Hank’s gym is tucked at the back of a shopping complex. There’s no way he spotted me because he was driving past. He went out of his away to approach me.

I shift on my feet to face Hank. “Will you reconsider my offer?” When Hank huffs before entering the gym, I chase him down. “Just think about it. You need a place to stay; I need a roommate. It’s a win-win for both of us...”

My words trail off when I’m subjected to his narrowed gaze. “A fifty-seven-year-old man doesn’t sleep on the couch of a twenty-three-year-old woman without rumors circulating. What would people think?”

“You’d be the envy of every old geezer in town.”

Hank tries to maintain his stern expression. He should never give up his day job. Acting is not his forte. “I’m gracious for the offer, but I’m fine how I am.” His thankful eyes bounce between mine before he pulls out the rug from beneath my feet. "Now, get your ass into the ring and give me thirty burpees."

“Thirty?!” I must have heard him wrong. I hate burpees, and Hank knows this.

“Argue with me again, and I’ll bump it up to a hundred.”

I’m in the ring before half his threat leaves his mouth. Hank doesn’t care what bits you have between your legs. If you go against anything he says, you’ll pay.

After a grueling workout that included a record number of burpees, I take one of the world’s longest baths. The hot water soothes my overworked muscles, but I won’t sit unaided for a week. It’s safe to say I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never be sassy to Hank again.

As I make my way out of the bathroom, my cell phone scuffles across the kitchen counter. A smirk curls my lips when I see Jacob’s grinning face on the screen. We’ve texted back and forth the past few days, but this is the first time he’s called me in months. After swiping my finger across the screen, I press my cell to my ear.

“Good afternoon, Jacob.” Jesus, whose voice is that? I sound like I’m applying for a position as a sex phone operator.

“Hey, Lola, how are you?”

The apprehension in his voice spikes my heart rate. “I’m good. You?”

“Umm, yeah, I’m good... Ah... Are you busy Saturday morning?”

My brows furrow. “No...why?”

He coughs to clear the nerves from his throat. “I was wondering if you could meet me somewhere?”

“Somewhere...?” I leave my question open for him to answer how he sees fit.

He doesn’t follow the script like I’m hoping. “It’ll be better if I tell you in person.”

“Okay. Where?”

He recites an address for a property in Ravenshoe before requesting I meet him there at nine AM Saturday.

“Should I bring anything?”

I hear him swallow before, “Just an open mind.”

My suspicion grows when he forces out a quick “goodbye” before disconnecting our call.

When I arrive bright and early Saturday morning, I double-check the address written down. I must have mixed up the digits because there’s nothing but a bank of office buildings in front of me.

After ensuring the address in my GPS matches the one I scribbled down, I pull into an empty spot at the front to call Jacob. Just as I’m about to hit the call button, I realize my navigation skills are as good as they’ve always been. Jacob is standing in the foyer of the building. He’s wearing his standard cargo pants and a polo shirt, but his Vans have been replaced with shoes only men over the age of sixty should wear, when on a yacht, far away from anyone who could possibly see them in such hideous shoes.

I’m still laughing at my funny inner monologue as I glide down the hedged sidewalk. When Jacob notices me approaching, his throat works hard to swallow.

“Hey. You okay?” Although they’re the words that come out of my mouth, my voice makes it more sound like: Why the hell am I meeting you at an office building?

“Lola.” Jacob adds a head bob to his greeting, but eye contact seems to be a thing of the past as far as he's concerned. No matter how often I seek his gaze, I never get it. His eyes shoot in any direction I'm not standing.

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