Page 26 of Fighting Jacob

I take a step back, shocked. I thought she was angry about me getting friendly with Stephanie. How fucking stupid am I? She’s not worried about me hooking up with any random. She’s concerned about who Noah might go home with.

“Who Noah fucks is no concern of yours.”

I skirt by her, my steps slowing when she retaliates, “You’re only doing this because you’re angry at me. Don’t sacrifice their chance of happiness because things didn’t work out for us the way you hoped.” She stares me straight in the eyes, the moisture brimming in hers foreign. “I thought you cared about Noah—”

“I do.”

“Then start acting like it!”

With that, she spins on her heels and returns to her station behind the bar. I take a few moments to expel my frustration with a long, unintelligible rant on how she is the most frustratingly beautiful and opinionated woman I've ever met. I tug on my hair; I scrub my tired eyes, and I mouth a million curse words to God before making my way back to the main area of Mavericks. I don't look toward the bar, but I don't need to see Lola to know her eyes are on me. I can feel them.

Shell stops sucking Noah’s face when I stand next to them. “You ready to head out?”

“Now?” Noah peers at me, dumbfounded.

“Yep.” I turn to face the set of eyes I feel burning a hole in my temples. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Maybe we can catch up another time?”

Hearing the words I didn’t express to save face, Stephanie huffs before storming off in the direction of the washroom. Reluctant to leave Noah’s side, it takes Shell a few seconds to follow after her. She looks as pissed about Stephanie’s dramatics as Noah is about mine.

I’m pissed Lola is more concerned about Noah’s bed companions than mine, but that doesn’t mean I don’t agree with her. Noah deserves to have someone like Emily in his life. If that means I have to miss out on a little action for one night, then that's what I’ll do for my friend.

Furthermore, Noah may hate me for the cockblock, but I doubt it would be worse than how much I’d hate myself if I let Lola’s lack of interest persuaded me to take Stephanie home. Stephanie is a nice girl, but she’s neither stubborn nor opinionated, so she’s not the right girl for me.

An hour later, sprawled on my bed, chugging down yet another beer, my phone dings with a text message.

Lola: Thank you.

In my drunken haze, I reply.

Me: You owe me.

Lola: I know...

I stare down at my cell, unsure if I should reply or not. I want to leave her alone like she clearly wants, but I’m dying to know why she hasn’t reached out to me the past two weeks.

Fuck it—I’m already in the shit, so what’s the worst that could happen?

Me: What did I do?

I swear, the moon circles the earth ten times before she replies.

Lola: It wasn’t you.

I groan.

Me: Please don't give me that bullshit excuse. It's not you; it's me.

Lola: Lol, I wasn’t! I meant it wasn’t you who made me this way.

Her reply has my suspicion piqued about the baggage she’s carrying. Doesn’t scare me away, though. Not in the slightest.

Me: Then why did you cut ties with me?

I wait patiently for her to reply. It’s a long-ass thirty seconds.

Lola: I want to be your friend, Jacob, but you want more.

My fingers fly over the screen of my phone.

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