Jock Road (Jock Hard 3)

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 my bottom lip, chewing. Thinking.

Having sex in his truck, in the exact spot where we met does seem romantic, in a weird way. What would be the harm…?

His hand snakes inside my pants, down the back, fingers sliding over my ass crack.

“Yes, I’m telling you not to be a quitter.”

“So what you’re sayin’ is you want to have sex in my truck.”

Jesus, is he going to make me say the words? I can’t. I press my lips together and shake my head, little jerky movements back and forth.

“Come on, Charlotte—say it.”

“I can’t.” I’m not going to tell him I want to have sex in his truck; he already knows it’s what I want, so why is he trying to make me say it?

Ugh. Guys and their egos, I swear.

“Do you want to do it or not?” I stubbornly press.

“Do.” He nods. “I do.”

“Then knock it off.”

Jackson’s eyes wrinkle at the corners. “Yes, darlin’.”

Pleased that I was able to assert myself, I lower myself to the seat, feet in Jackson’s lap. He removes my shoes first, unlaces the ties of my sneakers, setting them both on the floor in front of me.

Starts on the waistband of my bottoms, tugging. I watch, amused. “You’re not wasting any time, are you?”