Page 139 of Bittersweet

Lola in my life.

We’ve been able to avoid my dad, a simple greeting and introduction to Lola before he was pulled off to somewhere else by my mother who looked over her shoulder with a wink toward me like she knew what she was doing.

My mother truly is a saint.

Not a saint is Chris fucking Jacobs, who is sitting next to Lola, laughing with her while telling everyone a story about Lola and a student talent show.

It turns out that Chris, who is originally from Ocean View and best friends with Luke Dawson, went to high school with Lola.

Jordan just told a story about falling off a stage while in ballet as a kid, pointing to a scar on her eyebrow as proof, which apparently jogged a memory of Lola for Chris.

“So then she steps forward but she catches the long skirt she was wearing on her shoe, and the entire thing comes down.” Chris is laughing and Lola is too, covering her face with a hand.

“Oh my God, no, stop!” she says, giggling that laugh I love to hear, slapping Chris on the shoulder.

His arm goes around her shoulders, pulling her into him.

“No reason to be embarrassed, Lol. Your panties were very cute,” he says, smiling. Even though this happened at least ten years ago, my gut churns knowing that he’s seen that part of her.

“Oh my God, you flashed the whole school?!” Jordan yells, aghast with second-hand embarrassment.

Lola buries her face in Chris’s arm.

Here’s the thing: Chris Jacobs is and always will be a flirt. He knows that. I know that. The whole damn world knows it. I’ve seen him flirt with a brick wall, with Tanner, his boss’s girlfriend, and Luke’s wife, Cassie, right in front of him.

It’s harmless.

It’s usually fun to watch.

But fuck it if right at this moment, being on the receiving end of him being on my girl, I don’t lose it.

Something inside of me snaps.

My hands circle her wrist and I’m tugging her from the sofa, pulling her away from the party, the noise, the crowd.

As I do, I hear the laughter of my brother and Chris follows us.

I don’t give a fuck.

“Ben, what are you—”

“Shut up and follow me,” I say, starting up the stairs toward my room.

“Ben—”

“One minute,” I say, words thick and gruff because I am trying not to crawl out of myskin. Chris flirting with her, Lola accepting it and giggling back. Her words, his hand on her. It’s all a movie in my mind; all I can think is how I need to claim her as mine.

Right now.

We get to my bedroom door and I push it open with too much force, tugging Lola in and closing the door, her back to the thick oak as I press my body to hers.

As always, every soft curve lines up with my body in a way that is so perfect, it’s like it was meant to be.

“Ben—”

“What the fuck was that?” I say, face in hers.

“Ben, seriously—”

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