Page 8 of Fighting Jacob

Emily nods when I murmur, “It takes an ugly storm to create a rainbow.”

“And more than one froggy kiss to find a prince.”

I laugh. “That’s right, although you better limit the number of frogs you kiss. I don’t see Prince Charming being a fan of cold sores.”

We lie shoulder to shoulder for several minutes before time gets away from me. The massive dong of a grandfather clock is indication enough, much less the excitement buzzing in my stomach.

“I better go finish prepping for my non-date.”

When I lean over to hug Emily, she returns my embrace. "Have fun."

Her lips furl when I saucily wink. “You know I will.”

Hoping to keep tension out of the air, I remove myself from her bed in an unladylike fashion. When I land on the floor with a thud, Emily giggles. I’m glad I’ve made her smile before heading out for the night. I wouldn’t have had any fun if she was still upset. I've been called many names in my short twenty-one years, but I hope never to add “shitty sister” to the list.

As I pace out of Emily’s room, I struggle to figure out who she gave her virginity to. She wouldn’t hand it over to anyone, so it would have been someone she thought was special.

Several minutes later, I’m still at a loss. As far as I'm aware, Emily hasn't dated in over two years, so I'm suspicious the guy responsible for the broken look in her eyes can also be blamed for her lack of dating. I guess there’s only one way to find out. I’ll have to pay more attention to my little sister’s love life. Unlike Emily, I’m not a fan of snooping, but if it’s the only way to stay informed, I’ll take it in stride.

Thirty minutes later, I finish applying a final coat of mascara to my lashes. I have no clue why I’m putting in so much effort. I told Jacob it wasn’t a date, yet I’m the one getting glammed up to the nines. I’m all for putting your best foot forward; I just hope it doesn’t give Jacob the wrong idea. I like him—enough to know he doesn’t deserve to be lumped with someone like me.

At precisely eight PM, Jacob knocks on the front door. I stand behind it for a few seconds, praying he didn't bring the cliché flowers and bottle of wine most suitors arrive with. Don't get me wrong, it's a gesture normal girls would swoon over. I’m anything but ordinary. The fact I let Jacob in my panties before taking me out for dinner is a clear sign of this.

After a big exhale, I pull open the door, sighing when I discover Jacob’s empty hands. His dark-washed jeans and long-sleeve button-down shirt give him a sexy yet casual look, and his smirk does wicked things to my insides—so much so, I balance on my tippy toes to greet him with a kiss before realizing that isn't how friends greet each other.

When I inch back, Jacob’s eyes drop to mine. They’re blazing with an equal amount of lust and mischievousness. “You ready?”

I wink, hoping it will break out the cheeky side he seems to have a hard time unleashing without a little bit of goading. “Sure am.”

After closing the door, I shadow him to his car. When he opens my door for me, I almost comment that we’re in the twenty-first century, so I’m more than capable of opening my own door, but I hold in my bitchy remark when I see his gentle smile. He’s not a bad guy; he’s just picked the wrong girl to find attractive.

He closes my door then jogs around his car to slip into the driver’s seat. Just as it did last week, the deep rumble of his engine vibrates right through me, activating a handful of sensory buttons not many guys know about. Mix its hearty purr with the yummy scent of Jacob's aftershave, and a panty disaster is bound to happen.

Jacob latches his belt before his eyes drift to me. “I thought we might watch a gig at Mavericks bar, if you want?”

His nervous stumble over his last three words makes me smile. “Sure, sounds great.”

Some girlfriends mentioned a band of hotties who perform at Mavs every Friday night. I’ve not yet seen them play, but from their description, they sound like a band I'd appreciate.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, we pull into the lot of an establishment that looks like it was built in the sixties...and hasn’t been touched since. Rise Up must be the only thing attracting people to this shit hole, because there’s no way they’re here for the decor.

A vein in my neck twangs when Jacob parks in the manager’s spot at the back of the dimly lit lot. “You’re the manager of Mavs?”

“No.” His laugh works me over better than the vibration of his engine. “Ollie lives a block over, so he lets me use his spot.”

When he cranks open his door, I mimic his movements, stealing his chance to open my door for me. “I would have gotten that for you.”

I roll my eyes. “I know. That’s the point.”

He eyes me curiously before smiling a scrumptious grin. “You’re unlike any other girl I’ve ever dated.”

"I know," I reply again. "That's also the point.”

He throws his head back and laughs. He has a wonderful chuckle. It makes me all warm and fuzzy... What? Jesus, Lola! Get a grip.

Needing distance before I once again act on the stupid thoughts in my head, I make a beeline for the back door of Mavs. Smoke smacks me in the face when I break through the warped wooden door. It’s coming from a group of partygoers at the back of the thrumming space washing down their beer with a hit of nicotine. The number of people under twenty-five is shocking. For how rundown Mavs is, I thought it would be full of dirty old geezers escaping their nagging wives for a night. I was wrong—very wrong.

When we reach the bar that stretches across one wall, Jacob locks his baby blues on me. “What would you like to drink?”

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