Page 2 of Fighting Jacob

Her livid eyes slide my way, softening when she sees nothing but genuine concern reflecting in my wide gaze. “No, he didn’t.”

“Good. I’m glad.” I flex and unflex my fingers, fanning the sweat coating my palms. “You should still be careful, though. It isn’t safe out here this late at night.”

"Unsafe for whom? Me or you?" She tilts her torso my way, allowing the moon to dance in her eyes. "If anyone is in danger in this car, it isn't me. Don't you know I'm the Big Bad Wolf? I gobble up men like I'm a gym junkie, and they're my only source of protein."

“Gobble up men like you’re a gym junkie and they’re your only source of protein...wow.” My chuckles make her squirm in her seat. I can’t help but laugh. I fuckin’ love that saying. “Then why did you dive out of your date’s car? Was he vegan?”

Lola’s laugh doesn't make me squirm, but my god does it have my dick aching. "I would have preferred him to be vegan rather than a mommy's boy."

“Eww. One of them?”

Her nose twitches like a rabbit. "Yep. I hadn't even sliced through my steak, and he was already planning for me to meet his momma.”

“Maybe he was smitten?”

She gives me a look, one I don’t know how to decipher since we just met. “What about any of this says, take me home to visit Mommy?”

She flashes her eyes at me. They’re beautiful, mischievous, and reveal she’s untouchable. She doesn’t give a fuck what I think about her. She isn’t changing who she is for anyone. I’ve heard of women like her before, but I’ve never seen them, much less sat across from one. I thought they were a myth, a fucking legend; I had no clue I’d stumbled onto one while running from its opposite.

I'm not out late for no reason, either. I was on a date. A painful, wish it would have ended three hours earlier date. Daphne didn't just have daddy issues; she had a whole heap of fucked-up baggage I wasn't willing to dig through to see if she had more than a pretty face. Some people take years to show their true selves. Lola isn't one of those people—guaranteed. We just met, but I'm confident I'm on to something sweet.

“I’d take you home to visit my momma.” Her eyeroll stops halfway when I add on, “If I had one.”

“You don’t have a mom? Everyone has a mom.”

Some of her sass fizzles when I explain, “I had a mom. She passed when I was three.”

“Oh...sorry.”

Although her apology is genuine, it isn’t required.

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about.” I give her a frisky wink, lightening the mood before my eyes drift back to the road. It’s lucky traffic is light tonight, or we may have been in a wreck by now since I can’t take my eyes off her. “So, am I in with a chance now?”

Lola’s golden brow cocks high on her face. “I should let you into my panties because you have a dead momma?”

"What? No... unless that's a possibility?" She socks me in the arm, proving my earlier worries about her safety weren't necessary. "I was actually referring to a date." No matter how hard I try and iron out the hope in my voice, it doesn't happen. "You can devour your steak without worrying about me inviting my mom for dessert. So what do you say? Wanna grab a bite to eat with me?"

She smiles, making me hopeful my greatest wish is about to come true. If only the gleam in her eyes wasn't saying the opposite. "I appreciate your offer, but I'm not a dating type of girl."

“Weren’t you just on a date?” Confusion rings in my tone.

“No, I said I jumped out of my date’s car. That’s different.”

“How?” Anyone would swear she told me she gave someone a lobotomy with a spoon for how high my voice is.

While raking her teeth over her lower lip, she deliberates on whether to tell me the truth. I’m assuming she’s gone the honesty route when she murmurs, “Some people think a date is where the guy turns up with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine before taking you out for a candlelit dinner. My ideal date...” — she expresses this “date” with a husky purr – “is when two consenting people come together for a night of raunchy sex with no strings attached. My date wanted to date. Since I didn’t, we parted ways.”

“Hold on, let me get this straight.” I pause to make sure I have the facts in my head right before articulating them out loud. “You told your date that you wanted to have raunchy, no-strings-attached sex with him, and he turned you down?” When she nods, I gasp. “Is he a fucking imbecile?”

Lola takes my questions as a compliment, believing I’m joking. I’m not. I’m dead fucking serious. She’s beautiful. Just one glance at her face has my dick turning to stone. She can hold a conversation and doesn’t appear to have any weird neuroses, so why the fuck didn’t he accept her offer?

When I ask her that, she shrugs. “Maybe he doesn’t like sex. I don’t have sexual guilt. I love sex, and I’m not ashamed to admit it, but not everyone is like me. More often than not, my big mouth gets me in trouble.”

I thank god for my baggy pants when the looseness in the crotch saves me from making a fool out of myself. Her straightforward attitude is refreshing, but my cock isn't getting the memo that just because she likes sex doesn't mean she'll have it with me. He could be responding to the crackling of energy teeming between us, but I don't want to get ahead of myself. As I said earlier, I often jump the gun when it comes to relationships, so anything I can do to avoid it this time around, I will—such as continuing with our conversation even if I'm swimming way out of my depth.

“That’s a real shame you can’t admit to loving sex. What year is it? I thought all that chauvinistic shit died in the eighties?”

"Ha! I wish." Lola tilts my way before crossing one killer high heel over the other. "It only grew worse as the misandrists’ numbers climbed, except now, they're not just hating on men, they hate strong-willed women as well."

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