Jock Road (Jock Hard) - Sara Ney Page 0,87
hem of his black, threadbare Iowa t-shirt. Run my palm down his bicep. “Because you’re upset, and driving is how you clear your head.”
This answer earns me a reluctant smile. “You think you know me that well, do ya?”
“I think I do, or I wouldn’t have found you here.”
Jackson stares down at me. “You should get off the road. It’s not safe.”
“I know.” I rest my hand on the window ledge, glancing over my shoulder when a kid on a scooter motors by. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine.”
He’s not fine; I can see it in his eyes. “You don’t have to be fine, Jackson. You’re allowed to be pissed off.”
I want to tell him he can confide in me. I want to tell him I’m here for him. I want to tell him his dad is an asshole who doesn’t deserve a son like him—
But I zip my lips shut because deep down inside, he already knows. It’s not necessary to say the words out loud.
Jackson’s eyes bore into me, deep and blue. A bit troubled, a bit something else entirely. “Get your sweet little ass inside the truck for a second.”
Aww. He thinks I have a sweet little ass? “Why?”
“Just ’cause.”
I laugh—that’s not an answer, but I miss him and love him, and if he wants me to leave my car on the side of the street to climb in his, I’m going to.
I hear the doors unlocking as I make my way around to the passenger side before Jackson leans across the cab and shoves the door open. Grabs at the crap in the passenger seat: cups and his backpack. A navy binder that says Playbook.
Everything gets haphazardly tossed into the backseat.
I hop up, slamming the door closed behind me, a pair of hands going around my waist. Pulling me closer.
“Someone is happy to see me!” I giggle, tilting my head so he can lay his mouth on my skin. He breathes me in, exhaling the pent-up tension building inside him.
“I missed you,” he murmurs, face buried in my hair. I reach up, raking my fingers through his blond mane, eyes sliding closed. “I really freakin’ missed you.”
The poor baby. He’s taken a real beating today, first on the football field, then from his father—his horrible, horrid father. Ugh.
“It’s only been an hour, but I missed you, too.” I scratch at the nape of his neck. “I was so worried about you.”
He doesn’t lift his head. “You were?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know if I should stay, or leave, or what to do. Then when I went back to the house and you weren’t there, I thought maybe the Children of the Corn got to you before I did.”
“Shut up.” He stifles a laugh in my neck. “That movie scares the shit out of me.”
“Does it?” Jackson Jennings is afraid of horror movies? This is news to me…
“Yes. If I watch scary movies, I have nightmares.”
“Aww, come here. I won’t let anyone get you.” I pat my lap so he’ll readjust and snuggle into me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits up, shoves the center console so it’s flush with the row of front seats, and drags me over.
“I’m so sorry I left, Jackson. I’m so sorry.” I kiss his temple. Nose. Chin. Everywhere to apologize.
“Darlin’, don’t worry about it.”
“I’m going to worry about it—I panicked, and I should have stayed.”
He runs a hand over my hair, smoothing down the curls. “Truthfully, your stayin’ would have made him angrier.”
“You’re sure you’re not mad?”
“No babe, I love you too much to be mad.”
He loves me.
Jackson Jennings loves me. My heart sores at he pats his lap for me to climb on top.
“Are you out of your mind? There’s no room in here for me to climb into your lap!”
“I can lie down if that would help?”
“You’re huge—we’ll never fit.”
“Won’t know until we try.” Spoken like a true hormonal maniac.
“We’re not fooling around in the middle of the road.”
“What about if we just have sex?”
Just have sex? I’ve created a monster. “We can’t have sex in the middle of the street! Someone will see us—everyone knows what your truck looks like.”
“Technically we’re not in the middle of the street—we’re parked on the side of it.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t be so literal.”
“I have to be literal ’cause I’m tryin’ to get inside your pants.”
What, like it’s hard? “Let’s be real here: it won’t take much.”
“Are you tellin’ me not to be a quitter?”
I bite down on