Page 17 of Fighting Jacob

Several painstaking seconds later, Noah points toward the only section of the bar I haven’t searched. I mouth a quick thank you before bobbing down to retrieve a bottle of Bud Light. I crack off the cap on the countertop before setting it down in front of him. “That’ll be...” I stop talking, having no clue how much Mavs charges per bottle.

Laughing at my stunned expressed, Noah snatches his beer off the counter before making his way back to his bandmates.

“The band's drinks are on the house.” Maggie moves to stand next to me. My quick thinking proved I’m here to work, but her shoulders are still taut. “You’ve met Noah. The blond on his left is Nick. The dark-skinned cutie on his right is Marcus, and the one with the dreadlocks is Slater. They form Rise Up. They’re supplied with unlimited beer every Friday night.”

“Okay. Great.” I scan the members of Rise Up into my memory bank for future reference. It’s not a hard task. They’re all gorgeous. Not quite as handsome as Jacob, but they’re pretty darn close.

While wiping down the already spotless counter, Maggie says, “Tonight, you’ll serve premixed beverages. Then, over your next couple of shifts, I’ll teach you how to mix drinks.”

Her sentence barely finishes leaving her mouth when we’re hit by six thirsty patrons.

For the next four hours, I’m run off my feet. They’re aching; blisters are forming on my heels, and my muscles are screaming in pain. Anyone would swear I endured a marathon instead of a four-hour shift at a rundown bar. I’m exhausted. I had no clue a shit hole like Mavs was so popular. We’re only slowing down now since Rise Up has finished their set.

“You did well.” Maggie’s praise isn’t needed, but it’s nice to hear. She doesn’t seem the type to give unnecessary compliments, so it’s even more reason to pat myself on the back. “You’re right to head off. I’ll text you some extra shifts tomorrow.”

I hold back my squeal until I’m in the backroom, then, after gathering my purse, I hobble to the table Jacob and Rise Up have used the entire night. Unfortunately, they’re not alone. There are several heavy-breasted females seated with them.

Jacob doesn’t pay them any attention when I stop to stand next to him. “How’d you go?”

“Good.” Despite my aching feet, I smile. “Maggie is texting me some extra shifts.”

The pretty brunette seated next to Jacob glares at me, wrongly believing I’m her competition. I’m not, but there’s no need to get snarky. We women should fix each other’s crowns instead of destroying them over a man.

I realize how two-faced I am when the unnamed brunette claws Jacob's thigh. He's as unprepared for her friendliness as I am for the emotions attacking me. I've never been jealous, but if I were asked to place my hand on the Bible and swear I'm not seconds from scratching the brunette's eyes out, I wouldn't be able to do it.

I’m not afraid my hand will be scorched from being placed on a religious artifact.

I just hate lying.

Chapter Eight

Jacob

I swivel my barstool, facing my back to the brunette who just tried to stake her claim in front of a woman she’ll never win against. Two weeks ago, I would have jumped to the numerous pleas in her eyes. Tonight...not a chance in hell. There’s only one girl I’ve got in my sights. It’s the one pretending she isn’t annoyed by the many daggers she’s been hit with tonight. Not just from girls jealous of all the attention she gets—but from Maggie as well.

Maggie can be a little stern, but it’s her way of keeping those she cares about on the straight and narrow. I've overheard many stories about her younger years. She had—and still does have—a wild side, so I’m confident any conflict of interest between her and Lola is simply a clash of personalities. They’re too similar to get along.

Noticing Lola seems a little flat on her feet, I ask, “Are you ready to head out?”

"Yes." She gives me a look, one I don't know her well enough to read. "My feet are killing me."

I cringe when she removes her black stiletto with a hiss. There’s a massive blister on the back of her ankle. “Remind me to wear more suitable shoes next time.”

Nodding, my eyes drift to Noah. “You ready?”

I get hit with the same deadly glare Lola got when she arrived at our table. It isn’t coming from Noah. It’s from the blonde who’s been vying for his attention all night. She’s more pissed than Noah was when I forgot to tell him I couldn’t drive him home tonight until he already had a few beers under his belt.

With Nick and Marcus having plans, and Slater’s only mode of transport his motorbike, Noah either leaves with us or rides bitch on the back of Slater’s bike. There’s no way he’ll do that, so he jumps to his feet. “Yep. I’m good to go.”

He downs the remainder of his beer, then slips on his leather jacket. Much to the blonde’s dismay, he leaves her side without so much of a goodbye. She shouldn’t be shocked. He’s not known for affectionate behavior.

Our drive to Lola’s house is made in silence. Neither Lola or Noah have murmured a peep. Their behavior is so out of character, I feel like I've been zapped to an alternative universe—even more so when my arrival at Lola's house coincides with her inviting me inside.

I eye her curiously, confused as fuck. She’s adamant we’ll never be a couple, yet she’s inviting me into her home.

What the fuck?

Earlier tonight, I sat in my car, honking like an ass to assure I maintained the “friends zone” she wants. I was itching to pick her up at her door as my dad taught me to, but since that isn’t something a friend does for a friend, I kept my ass planted in my seat. It was a fucking hard feat—especially when I saw her teeny tiny shorts.

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