Jock Road (Jock Hard) - Sara Ney Page 0,19

you, but nice try.”

“I’m not gonna ask you out. I want to make sure you make it home on this spare tire.”

This spare ty-er.

Ugh, that accent. It’s killing me.

“You don’t trust my handiwork? You said it would be fine.”

He smirks, leaning against my car and crossing those big, beefy arms across his ridiculously broad chest. Already has his phone out and fingers poised over the screen. “Just give me your dang number and quit bein’ a smartass.”

I guess he has a point about making sure the tire can get me home; I’ve never driven on a spare, let alone one I changed myself, and frankly, the idea freaks me out a bit.

It couldn’t hurt to give him my number—not if he only wants to follow up and check on me. The gesture is kind, makes me feel…protected and safe, and I haven’t felt that in a good, long while.

Not since I’m so far from my parents, who used to do everything for me, especially my dad.

“Maybe I could teach you to change your own oil.”

Your own ole.

Jesus. I have to stop talking to this guy before he and his accent turn my girl parts to complete mush. He’s an asshole with an annoyingly large truck.

“Thanks, I’m good.”

“You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

“On the side of the road on Friday night?”

“Ha ha. Well, you’ll have my number if you ever have an emergency. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

Yeah, that’s not going to happen, but I keep that to myself. I don’t want to sound ungrateful; he just came along and helped me. I didn’t have to call a tow and have a strange man pull up in the middle of the night, and I didn’t have to pay out of pocket.

He hands me his phone while he sets about rearranging the contents of my trunk, making room for the flat tire, then, with one hand, slings it into the back as if it weighs nothing.

“Your number?” He nods toward his phone.

My top teeth fiddle with my bottom lip, unsure. I mean…what’s the worst thing that could happen if I give him my phone number? He messages me too much and I have to block him?

Not like I haven’t had to do that with people before…

“All right.” My head tilts and I pop the digits into his contacts then hit save.

Have a brief panic attack.

No turning back.

Savannah will die when she hears I gave Jackson Jennings Junior my cell number, even if he isn’t going to ask me out. And even if his name is ridiculous.

He has it now, and she was all gaga over him last week.

I toss him his phone and he palms it before jamming it into his back pocket. “I’ll shoot ya a note in a bit to check on you.”

“Thank you for stopping.” I clear my throat. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jackson points to my driver’s side door. “You should get going. I’ll be in touch.”

I shuffle toward my vehicle. “Thanks again.”

“Yup.” He watches me climb in, buckle my seatbelt. Continues watching until I glance out my window and give him a jaunty little wave.

He shoos me away before climbing into his truck, the dark tint of his windows offering no glimpse of his form. For all I know, he’s sitting inside, on his phone. Or, staring at me.

I start my car, put it in drive. Turn on my left-hand turn signal and give my side mirror a glance: no oncoming traffic. I ease into the street and stop at the corner briefly before going right.

So far, so good. My wheel hasn’t popped off or wobbled.

Phew.

A few more blocks.

After a couple minutes, I’ve made it home, safe and sound.

My entire body relaxes, sagging with relief. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it sure as heck wasn’t making it home safely in one piece.

I pull up to the house and slam my car into park, grab for my keys and purse. Just as I’m reaching for the door handle, my phone pings with the telltale sound of a text notification.

Unknown Number: Did you make it?

Ah—it’s Jackson. I poke at his number and program him into my phone.

Me: Yup, just arrived safe and sound. No flying metal or screeching tires. All in one piece.

Jackson: That’s good. You should be okay, just don’t forget to take your tire in. You can’t drive on that spare long.

Me: I’ll take it home this weekend and have my dad take care of it.

Jackson: