by Shandi Boyes
After she finishes her avid assessment of my body, she bridges the gap between us. The seductive swing of her hips gains the attention of my cock, not to mention smelling my skin on hers. When she stops in front of me, a grin tugs on my mouth. She has to crank her neck back to peer into my eyes. She’s average height for a girl, but she’s got nothing on my six-foot-five frame.
I struggle not to fist pump the air when she says, “Pick me up Friday night at eight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After a final smirk, smitten at my reply, she spins on her heels and saunters to her front door. Once she's safely inside, I jump into my car so I can tap out my excitement on the steering wheel. My happiness should waver when Lola yells, “And it’s not a date!” before slamming her front door shut, but it doesn’t. Not in the slightest.
The way she purred my name when I was inside her proved she was right—she’ll be more than I’ll ever be able to handle, but that doesn’t mean I won’t give it my best shot. She’s piqued my interest to a never-before-reached level. That alone deserves further exploration.
Chapter Three
Jacob
“Can you drive yourself to Mavs tonight?”
Noah stops shoveling cocoa puffs into his mouth like he’s never been fed to peer up at me. Because he never drives after consuming alcohol, my request frustrates him. A majority of his pay at Mavericks is in the form of unlimited beer, but I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't necessary, and Noah knows that.
That’s why he agrees to my request with only the slightest bit of curiosity. “Yeah, no worries. Why?”
I waggle my brows. “I have a date.”
“Another one?”
When he slips off his chair to wash his now empty bowl in the sink, I bump him in the shoulder. “Don’t be jealous.” He’s always snarky about my love life because he doesn’t have one. “I can’t help that I’m popular.”
“Jealous? Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Jake.” After ruffling my hair, he leaves the kitchen. He’s halfway through the dining room when he shouts, “I’ll ask Marcus for a ride.”
Air whistles between my teeth when I laugh. I should have known he’d find a way to drink. He isn’t an alcoholic by any means, but after all the shit he’s been through, I can’t blame him for taking advantage of the unlimited beer his gig comes with.
Noah is the lead singer of the band Rise Up. I’ve been asked numerous times by their rapidly growing fan base why I’m not part of his group. My replies never alter. One, I can't play an instrument to save my life. Two, I'm tone-deaf. And three, I have my own dreams I want to pursue. I don’t need to ride my best friend’s coattails to achieve them. Music is Noah’s passion. Fighting is mine.
Not that anyone knows that.
Noah has been my best friend since the sixth grade. When my dad spotted him walking home from school in the pouring rain, he offered him a ride. I had seen Noah around, but we hung with different crowds. Back then, Noah wouldn’t have weighed fifty pounds wringing wet. He was nothing but skin and bones. Noticing that, my dad drove straight to our house, where he gave Noah the pastries and tarts he had baked the day before.
Ever since then, Noah has been a part of our family. I’ve always respected my dad, but it grew tenfold when he offered Noah the spare room in our house when his little brother was killed in a traffic accident. He never said why it was vital for Noah to move in with us, but as I grew older, I realized if he hadn’t done what he did, Noah most likely wouldn’t be with us today. Don’t get me wrong, my dad was, and still is, a hard ass. He disciplines me and my brother Patrick when we step out of line, but he stepped up to the plate when Noah needed a male role model.
The line I gave Lola earlier this week wasn’t a ploy to get into her panties. My mom did die when I was three, so I know what it’s like to grow up without a female influence. I can only imagine what it was like for Noah not having either a male or female role model. His dad was a drunk long before he was incarcerated, and his mom was rarely in the picture. When his eldest brother killed himself, he was truly alone in the world.
As much as this kills me to admit, I don’t remember my mom. The only memories I have of her are from the family photos my dad has of her around our home. Even eighteen years after her death, my dad still loves her. I don’t know if he dates, but if he does, he’s very discreet about it.
My eyes lift when Noah re-enters the kitchen. He switched his boxers for a pair of jeans and threw some products into his hair. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
I smirk before murmuring, “Lola.” Even her name rolling off my tongue is sexy.
“Nice.” He pops two slices of bread into the toaster, revealing why he’s no longer the skinned rabbit he once was. “Where are you taking her?”
My lips twist. I haven’t worked that part out yet. Lola said it wasn’t a date, so I doubt she'd appreciate me taking her to a steakhouse as I had planned, but I’ve been in her panties, so I’ve got to do more than drive her straight back to Bronte’s Peak like my wicked head is begging. I’d also like to avoid another citation. I’m not technically working right now, so I don’t have money to pay fines more expensive than a fancy hotel for the night.
There’s an idea—is booking a hotel considered a date or a date?
I stop deliberating when the heat of a gaze captures my attention. Noah is gawking at me with his brows furrowed. “Is it the same girl responsible for your floral scent the other night?”
When I nod, he inches back from the refrigerator. “Let me get this right.” He takes a breather so I can hear him through his breathless chuckles. “You fucked a girl, then you asked her out. She accepted your cock, but she won’t go on a date with you?” Her air quotes the word “date.” “What the fuck did you do wrong?” His eyes lock with mine. They’re brimming with humor. “You didn’t blow in your pants, did you?”
“Whatever.” After flipping him the bird, I stalk out of the kitchen.
He chases me down. “Jake…come on... I was joking.” When he catches up to me, he places his hand on my shoulder. “I wasn’t making fun of you. I was just...” He stops talking when he fails to come up with an excuse. He knows I’m notorious for disastrous dates, so he’s stumped about why I’m so frustrated.
“Lola is unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
Hearing something I didn’t mean to divulge, the humor in Noah’s eyes shifts to understanding. “All right, then why don’t you bring her to Mavs? It’s not a ‘date’ type of place.”
I give his suggestion some consideration. I did offer to buy Lola a drink, and Mavericks sells drinks, so Noah's idea could work.
“All right. Sounds good.”
“Good.” He slaps my shoulder again twice, his smile returning. “Then I can see why she has your panties all twisted up.”
Chapter Four
Lola
“Does this outfit say, ‘I love your cock, but I don’t wanna be your girlfriend?’”
My younger sister Emily’s head pops up from the hideous pink bedspread she's sprawled on. Her brows stitch as she stares at me, dumbfounded. I love teasing her. She's so timid and shy, I swear she blushes on cue. We share the same DNA, but I've often wondered if one of us is adopted. We're total opposites. She has dark, tanned skin; mine is beige and pasty. She thinks studying is fun; I prefer to party. But the most profound proof is that she's a prude, and I am not.
“Ah... I think you look nice?”
Smiling at the unease in her tone, I flop onto her bed. “Nice wasn’t the look I was going for.”
Warmth blooms across my chest when she giggles. She has the cutest little laugh. Sometimes she even snorts when she giggles too hard—not that she’d ever admit it.
“Who’s the lucky guy?”
I roll over to join her in staring at the popcorn ceiling in her room. “A guy I met last week. When he offered me a ride home, we ended up at Bronte’s Peak. Oh my god, Em, the size of his co–”
She slaps her hand over my mouth before
I can finish my story. “I get the picture.”
When she frees my mouth from her hand, I spread mine apart to indicate the length of Jacob’s cock. She acts unaffected, but her throat working hard to swallow gives away her true response. She’s as mortified as I was when my dive out of my date’s car left me stranded in Ravenshoe until six in the morning.
Ten minutes—ten goddamn friggin’ minutes—was all it took for me to be on the cusp of homelessness. Thank goodness Jacob arrived when he did, or who knows what tricks I would have needed to dust off to stay warm?
Calm down, I’m joking.
I didn't sleep with Jacob as payment for a ride. I did it because, for the first time in a long time, I acted on the crazy thoughts in my head instead of shutting them down. Jacob was a breath of fresh air, the bundle of naughtiness you don’t realize you need until they unkink your knots.
I was also dying to see if he was as sexy out of his hideous khaki pants and long-sleeve shirt as he was in them. He was—if not better! My god—his body is a machine. I just wished he showcased it in all its glory. Don’t get me wrong, the sex was good—actually, it was amazing—but I’m sticking with my initial assumption: Jacob is too sweet for me.
He seems like a guy who wants to get married, have 2.5 kids, and make slow, sensual love to his wife every Tuesday night, whereas I’m a girl who’d rather stay single, keep anyone under the age of twelve as far away from me as possible, and fuck as often as the urge arrives. Call me what you like. I am who I am, and I’m not changing for anyone.
Despite my beliefs, not even our dead silent forty-minute drive from Bronte's Peak could conjure up a way to let Jacob down gently. Jacob is gorgeous, and his stamina could give mine a run for its money, but little things he said and did during our rendezvous flashed up clinger warnings.
The last thing I want is a relationship. They don’t end well for me, so I don't go out with men who want more than a friendship between the sheets. So why do I keep giving in to Jacob? He must have a magic wand—and no, I don’t mean the one between his legs.
Although peeved I caved to his suggestion of a friends-only date, excitement is still heating my veins. Not even a saint would feign disinterest in bedding a man as well-endowed as Jacob. I’m far from saintly, but our sweaty car romp has highlighted my dreams every night this week. It’s been a nice change from the nightmares I usually have.
After shaking my head, freeing them from the silly thoughts in there, I drop my eyes to Emily. “You have to go to Bronte's Peak one day, Em. The fun you could have there. . .” My words trail off when she stiffens. We’re not the closest of siblings, but I still know her well enough to know when she’s keeping stuff from me. “You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”
When she shakes her head, I tsk her. She’s the worst liar.
“What base did you get to?” When her eyes open even wider, my jaw falls to the floor. “Emily Faye McIntosh!”
I’m stunned beyond words. My timid, innocent sister isn’t the virginal preacher I thought she was. Someone pinch me because I must be dreaming. I tickle her ribs, smitten to have found traces of the same blood in our veins. “You little hussy.”
“I’m not a hussy.”
My tickling onslaught stops when regret fills her eyes. “I know that. It wasn’t what I meant. I’m just shocked.” My tone is sincerer than earlier. “I hope your V-card was stamped by someone worthwhile.”
Her eyes shoot back to the ceiling as a disappointed sigh spills from her lips. “I thought so at the time. He turned out to be nothing but a frog.”
My heart clenches when tears well in her eyes. We may be opposites, but she's my baby sister, so I'll always love and admire her. "Don’t let him get to you, Em. No matter how foolish you feel, it’s nothing on how foolish he’ll feel when he realizes he had perfection in his grasp but gave it away for something worthless.”
This is the reason I am the way I am. I used to let things bother me too. Not anymore. By not allowing anyone to become attached, I won’t end up disappointed. I wouldn’t recommend that Emily follow my footsteps, but she needs to stop worrying about what people think about her and be the person she wants to be. It’s the only way she’ll be guaranteed to make it out of her teens intact.
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?”
