Page 72 of Fighting Jacob

I swivel in my seat to face Flynn, lead singer of Wanting Wombats. “G’day, Flynn.”

He laughs at my piss poor attempt at an Aussie accent before nudging his head to his bandmates sitting at the table that used to belong to Rise Up. “Wanna join us for a beer?”

“Sure.”

For the next hour, I share beers with Flynn and his bandmates. It took me a while to catch on to their Australian lingo, but after Flynn explained a few key pointers, I caught on. Sheila is a girl; having a root is having sex, and a ute is a truck. So when the bassist said, "You should have seen the Sheila I was rooting in my ute last night," he meant to say, "You should have seen the girl I had sex with in my truck last night."

"What about that Sheila who used to work here? She was fine. Didn't you take her home one night?"

Flynn rubs his hands together at Paul’s question. “Oh yeah, she was fine. Her rack still holds the number one spot in my spank bank.”

I spit out the beer I just swigged. “You’re the lead singer of a band, so why do you need a spank bank?”

“Don’t judge, mate. If you saw this girl, you would add her to your spank bank as well. She was an easy eleven out of ten.” When his eyes glaze over as if he’s recalling her in his spank bank right now, I relocate my barstool. His bandmates laugh, nearly drowning out what he says next, “She has a little butterfly tattoo tucked away, so only the privileged get to see it. It’s just down here.” He yanks down the waistband of his jeans before pointing to his right hipbone.

I slam down the beer, almost cracking it in the process. I tell myself time and time again plenty of girls have butterfly tattoos on their hips, not just Lola, but nothing calms the storm brewing in my gut.

“What did you say her name was again?” I stare at Flynn, silently fucking praying he doesn’t say Lola.

“I didn’t, but her name matches her perfectly.” Time stands still when the name I’d given anything not to hear rolls off his tongue. “Lola.”

“When?”

Noticing the abrupt change in my composure, the hazy look into Flynn’s eyes switches to unease. “It was a while ago, mate, maybe last year?”

With my heart close to tatters, I rocket out of my seat and storm toward the parking lot at the back of Mavs.

“Or the year before?” Flynn yells just as I burst through the wooden doors as fast as Maggie did an hour ago.

I punish my ignition with my key before taking out my frustration on my engine. My foot barely lifts from the floor of my car, meaning I arrive at Lola's apartment in record-breaking time. She still lives in Erkinsvale, but she moved into her own apartment a few months back. I thought her decision to move out of her parents’ home was for privacy—neither of our cars are ideal for our steamy hookups—but now I’m wondering if that privacy was solely for me or are other men occupying her time when I’m not around?

After taking three flights of stairs two steps at a time, I bang furiously on her paint-peeling front door. My anger takes a step back when she opens the door with a beautiful smile on her face. “Hey, Jacob.”

The lust detonating in her eyes frustrates me more than it comforts me. We had no plans to meet up today, so why is she pleased about my unannounced arrival? That's not the Lola I know. I risk having my nuts dissected with tweezers if I infringe on her "private" time, don’t I?

I take two steps into her apartment before pivoting to face her. The hankering gleam in her eyes falters when I scratch my brow. “Is everything okay—?”

“Did you sleep with Flynn?”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Lola

I take a step back, shocked. With how much time has passed, I completely forgot about the time I left Mavericks with Flynn. Although Jacob’s anger is understandable, especially if he has the timelines confused, he has no right to question me. For months, I overheard play-by-play rundowns on the girls he “dated” when our friendship had a prolonged break, so if anyone has the right to be angry, it’s me, not him.

“Did you sleep with Flynn?!” This time around, he asks his question so loud, half the population of Erkinsvale hears it.

It also makes my anger skyrocket. “You need to leave.”

With my gut a twisted mess of confusion, I move back to my foyer to show him the way out. He’s been here many times the past few months, so he knows the way, but I’m so close to snapping, I either show him out or kick him out forever.

When I nudge my head to the hallway outside my apartment, Jacob shakes his head. “No. Not this time. I’m sick of your stubbornness. For once, answer my fucking question. Did. You. Sleep. With. Flynn?”

Big, angry breaths separate his words, but it does little to quell my bubbling anger. “You have no right to question who I have or haven’t slept with! We’re not even a couple!”

He moves to stand in front of me, his strides heavy and angry. “We’re not a couple?”

“No, Jacob, we’re not.” I bite the inside of my cheek, hating the quiver my words were delivered with. “We’re friends, right? Friends who like to fuck each other. Isn’t that what you told the guys after we broke up?”

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