Page 28 of Fighting Jacob

With wide eyes and swollen lips, I peer past Jacob’s shoulder. As suspected, my dad’s rusty blue truck is parked behind us. Even from a distance, I can see his snarl.

Eek! Busted!

When Jacob’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror, the pulse in his neck thrums like the one feeding his cock. “We better get going.” His usually smooth voice is extra scratchy. “Don’t want you to be late for your test.”

After pouting like a child, I plop back into the passenger seat. Although I’m on the verge of climax, I should probably pick a better location than the driveway of my parents’ house in the middle of the day.

Sorry, Dad!

I should also pick a different companion to get down and dirty with. My relationship with Jacob is supposed to be platonic, yet here I am, on the verge of orgasm after doing nothing more than the grind up every thirteen-year-old boy expects during seven minutes in heaven. I need to resurrect the barriers before one of us gets hurt. And for the first time ever, I'm afraid that person may be me.

Chapter Fourteen

Jacob

With Lola spending a majority of our trip to the DMV in silence, I reflect back on how our morning started. I shouldn’t have laughed when she strutted toward me looking as if she’d just finished filing my tax return, but I couldn’t help it. I’ve become accustomed to seeing her in teeny shorts and tank tops that struggle to contain her generous rack. Today she’s donning a black knee-length skirt, a white floral blouse, and a red knitted cardigan I swear I saw in my grandma’s closet last winter. If her outfit wasn’t bad enough, her wild locks have been wrangled into a low ponytail, and her makeup is basically non-existent.

It’s lucky she can rock the granny look, but I was happy pretending she couldn’t if it risked bringing out the hellion I’ve grown to love the past two months. My skate across thin ice paid off. Lola hated my tease, so much so, she retaliated in a way only she could. She proved without a doubt she’s the sexpot deserving of the title “Cock Tease.”

It’s a pity her dad interrupted us. I didn’t think I’d leave his driveway still breathing. I probably wouldn’t have if Lola did take up my campaign.

When I pull into an empty spot at the back of the lot, Lola’s eyes finally lock with mine. They’re clouded with regret, and she has a deep groove between her brows. I try to pretend I don’t know what’s she’s sorry about. “What’s up? Nervous?” When she shakes her head, I honk her nose before clambering out of my car. “Good. Cause you have nothing to worry about.”

My assurance has a double meaning. Every time we overstep the boundaries we discussed six weeks ago, she apologizes for leading me on. Every time she apologizes, I reply with the same thing: “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

I won’t have her apologizing for making out with me. I love hanging out with her, even when we’re following the rules. Besides, the handful of times we’ve gotten carried away, I instigated them, so there’s no way she owes me an apology. If anything, I should be expressing regret for not being able to keep my hands to myself when she’s in my vicinity.

When Lola’s confused eyes meet mine, I give her a frisky wink. “Come on, let’s get this done, then you can terrify more people than just me when you get behind the wheel.”

Giggling, she throws open her door and steps onto the sidewalk. I learned early on that she isn’t a fan of guys opening her door, ordering her food, or telling her what to do. Stick to those three little rules, you'll get along with her like a house on fire. Ignore them...enjoy your last days on earth.

After guiding her through the glass door at our local DMV, Lola goes to the counter to check in, while I head for the plastic chairs lining the foyer. Even in the hideous outfit she’s wearing, she attracts numerous pairs of male eyes. I put up my blinkers, acting like the jealousy bug isn’t stinging me. I should take up acting because my ruse is outstanding. It probably helps that Lola only has eyes for me as she makes her way across the room to join me in the waiting area.

Just as she’s about to sit next to me, her name is called. A disgruntled moan rolls up her chest when her eyes lock on the person calling her name. This time around, she got a male instructor.

“You’ll be fine.” My words are barely heard through my chuckle.

After unclenching her fists, she struts to the male instructor with her hips swinging and her bosoms bouncing, working her disastrous getup as if it’s the latest fashion craze. I’ll give it to her, she’s got the assets to pull it off.

For the first half an hour of Lola's test, I scroll my Facebook feed. Once that becomes brain-draining, I flip through the outdated magazines in the lobby. I'm through my fifth car magazine when my cell vibrates in my pocket. When I yank it out, I notice it's a call from Hank.

As I press my phone to my ear, I walk outside. “Hey, Hank.”

“How’s Jake the Giant this morning?”

With a huff, I roll my eyes. Hank was as original with my fighting name as he was with his business. As much as I loathe the name he picked, I’m now known as “Jake the Giant” in the fighting circuit.

It’s lucky my stats are impressive enough no one ribs me about the childish name he gave me. I’ve remained undefeated the last ten rounds, which means I’m the twelfth-ranked fighter in my division. With a better ranking comes a better purse, but the caliber of my opponents has always increased. I don’t mind. I like a challenge, hence my relationship with Lola.

I push my phone closer to my ear when Hank discloses, “There’s been a change to your fight tonight. Rampant is out. They want you to fight The Constrictor.”

“Who is The Constrictor?” I haven’t heard of him in our local fight scene.

“He’s from the West Coast, undefeated, and has been the past year.”

“A year?”

Alarm resonates in my tone. I’ve only been fighting in the minors the last couple of months, so why are they matching me with a professional who’s been undefeated for a year?

---