Jock Road

by Ney, Sara

  A laugh escapes my throat. “Really? You helped build this house you didn’t want me livin’ in? Weird.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “Then stop pissin’ down my back and tellin’ me it’s rainin’,” I smart back.

  I expect him to hit me—or at least lash out, but he doesn’t. “If your mother could see you now, she’d be beside herself.”

  I laugh again. “Like Mama gives a shit. She hasn’t been here not once, and do you know why? She’d have to sit in a car with you for sixteen hours, and we all know she can’t stand you.” I smirk.

  He can’t even deny it. “Who raised you to talk to your betters like this?”

  I raise a shoulder and shrug. “You did.”

  My father stands and stares at me a good, hard minute before grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair and heading toward the front door, one last glance over his shoulder before storming out the door.

  It slams, damn near shaking off its hinges.

  Silently, I wait for the wake to settle from his thunder, alone in the kitchen, red faced and mortified. I hate this part of my family; resent the part that was never normal. Never nurturing. Always mercenary and greedy.

  I often wonder if my life had been different had I not been talented at sports; what would Pops have done with me then? Made me miserable anyway? Drilled me and trained me regardless, hoping I’d improve?

  Life would have been worse, I muse.

  It’s cold as balls outside, but I don’t grab a sweatshirt when I walk out of the house, my truck parked on the road facing main street. Without thinking twice, I climb behind the wheel and start the engine, determined to clear my head.

  After The Fight With His Dad

  Charlie

  It takes barely any time to find Jackson once I discover he’s missing from the football house after I return a bit later—when the coast is clear of his father—his truck no longer in his parking spot. No one saw him leave; he texted not a single soul.

  I know, though.

  Because I know him.

  I turn down Jock Row, easing it along the shoulder, letting the few cars on the road pass so I can stay loitering in the general area, expecting my boyfriend to come along. Hoping he comes along.

  Patiently, I wait him out, wondering where the hell he could possibly be. Our college town isn’t large, but it’s in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by cornfields and silos, with plenty of places for a guy to get lost in if he didn’t want to be found. All he’d have to do is hit the city limit and keep going…

  Jackson wouldn’t do that.

  I don’t think.

  I drive up and down the same road four times before I catch sight of that familiar black truck and pull onto the same shoulder of the road where I first laid eyes on him. Well, the second time I laid eyes on him—the first was in the cafeteria, when he took my food and pissed me off.

  At first I don’t think Jackson is going to notice my car; after all, it’s gotten dark out, and the street lamps aren’t that bright. Plus, why would he expect me to be parked on the side of the road?

  The black truck passes; in my rear-view mirror, I watch his brake lights go on. Watch his truck stop. Then…he does a three-point turnaround in the road, pulling up behind my car and killing his headlights.

  They’re just as bright and blinding as I remember them.

  I watch him in my side mirror, sitting behind the steering wheel, a frown on his face. Shoulders slouched, defeated.

  My hand grapples with the handle of my door, and I shove, pushing it open, stepping out onto the street, one foot hitting the pavement at a time. Slam my door shut, hit the remote to lock it, and mosey toward Jackson’s truck.

  His window rolls open. Head hits the seatback as he regards me. “What are ya doin’ on the side of the road?”

  I fumble with my key fob. “Waiting for you.”

  “How’d you know I’d swing by?”

  Swing by? What an odd way to put it—like the side of this road is a destination he frequents.

  I reach up and finger the 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 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?”

  “Nope.” He’s only halfway paying attention to me, fixated on the task in front of him.

  When my leggings are stripped off, I shiver from the cold—until Jackson rises up on his knees, crawling forward to settle between my legs. Hands working the fly of his jeans.

  It’s not as easy for Jackson to shuck his pants—the guy is well over six feet tall, jammed into the cab of a truck, twisted up like a pretzel. Still, together, we manage it.

  His giant, calloused hand slides under my shirt, warming my skin and getting me hot all over. I love his palms. I love his fingers.

  “I love you,” I whisper into the cab of the truck as he sets about removing my shirt. Drapes himself over my body, kissing my flesh along the way. Saying it back, quietly. Tenderly.

  I slide my hands over his back, pressing my fingertips into his ass; grasp his t-shirt and pull, dragging it over his head so we’re both naked.

  God, his body is ridiculous—firm and taut. There won’t ever come a day where I tire of it.

  “You feel so good, babe,” Jackson coos above me, reaching his finger between our bodies and pressing his thumb over that hot button on my clit until I moan.

  “God, if you’re not careful, I’ll come before you’re inside.”

  He smiles into my hair. Kisses my neck. Nips at my shoulder with those pearly white teeth.

  Mmm.

  An excited, impatient moan escapes my throat when Jackson shoves his blue boxer briefs down over his hips.

  My pussy throbs at the thought of him pushing his way inside me, and I lift my hips to meet the tip of his slowly descending cock.

  He’s toying with me, and I don’t like it.

  Jackson drags the tip along my slit; I’m still wearing my gray panties, but it doesn’t matter—I can feel the rock-hard erection pressing against me.

  “Stop teasing me!”

  He hangs his head to stare down at me. “Well, well, well, look who the feisty one is.” His lips kiss me full on the mouth; his dick flirts with the valley between my legs. Pushes.

  I help it along, spreading myself, pulling my panties aside without having to remove them. Spread my legs, too, propping my heels up on the arm rest on the driver’s side door.

  Basically, I look like I’m at the gynecologist, about to have a full exam of my vagina.

  Don’t. Care.

  I want him inside me…

  I want him…

  I want…

  A set of blue lights in the back window catches my eye, and I pause, the throbbing sensations between my legs relegated to the backburner as my brain registers what the hell I’m seeing.

  Is that…

  Are those…?

  My head pops up, eyes damn near popping out of my head as a squad car pulls up behind the truck, lights blazing.

  I blink.

  Blink again, mind slowly processing the situation. I give his shoulders a gentle push.

  “Jackson, stop.” Tap, tap. “Stop! Jackson, the police!”

  He twists his head slower than molasses, gazing out the window, squinting at the car behind us. Relaxes his countenance, pulling his t-shirt over an incredible set of abs.

  “Huh?” The lummox kisses me on my bare shoulder. Ugh, stop! This is no time to keep fondling me!

  “What are you doing? We’re about to be arrested for public indecency!”

  “Relax, babe, it’s the campus police.”

  “Is there a difference?” Why does it sound like I’m panicking? BECAUSE I’M PANICKING!

  His nonplussed laugh is ill timed. “Yeah, the badges aren’t real and they can’t actually arrest us.”

  “They can’t?”

  “No, babe. All he can do is write me a warnin’ on a slip of paper, which I’ll immediately toss in the waste bin.”

  “Oh. Then what am I getting all worked up for?”

  “Don’t know, but it sure is cute.” He grabs a scrap of material and tosses it at me. “Here, put your shirt back on. He’s getting out of his car.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Relax babe. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Aww.” I coo as the campus security officer approaches the truck. I can see him taking a notebook—or ticket pad out of his back pocket. “And I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, either.”

  “What’s going to happen to me? I’m six foot three and a million pounds.”

  He exaggerates worse than I do. “I won’t let anyone hurt your feelings. I’ll be the defender of your honor because I was the defender of your virginity.”

  “No, you were the thief of my virginity. Huge difference.”

  Thief of Jackson’s virginity? Kind of has a nice ring to it…

  There is a knock on the window and Jackson powers it down, resting an arm on the doorframe, pasting on a patronizing smile I can see, even with just a side view.

  “Anything wrong, fake officer?” He chuckles at his own joke.

  The kid ignores his barb and adjusts the sunglasses perched atop his head, despite the fact that the sun went down hours ago. “Do you know who that other vehicle belongs to?”

  I give a little wave around my boyfriend. “Yeah—me.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yup, everything is fine. We’re just—”

  “—Trying to have sex on the side of the road.”

  “Jackson!” I smack him on the arm, embarrassed. “Sorry about him, he’s new at all this.”

  The security guard doesn’t so much as crack a smile. “So you have a disabled vehicle on the side of the road so you an have sex in your truck?”

  Jackson nods. “The side of the road is kind of our thing.”

  I groan. Unfortunately, it is kind of our thing, and I wonder if we have years of anniversaries ahead of us that will be celebrated along this very stretch of street.

  The thought warms me, and I scoot closer to Jackson. He looks down at his lap when I sl
ide my hand into his. Give it a squeeze.

  I love you, I mouth to him as campus security writes us each a warning for having two vehicles parked on the side of the road.

  Love you, too, babe, he mouths back. Takes the tickets when they’re handed to him through the window. Balls them up when the campus patrol saunters away, tossing them into the back seat of his truck.

  “Hey!” I begin. “We should save those! They’re mementos!”

  “Really?” He looks skeptical. “You want to keep two slips of paper threatenin’ to tow us next time we get caught on the side of the road?”

  “Yes. It’s romantic—we met on the side of the road.”

  “No, we met in the cafeteria.”

  True. “But I didn’t realize I liked you until I saw you on the side of the road.”

  “No, you couldn’t stand me.”

  Also true. But now he’s just being literal. “You and your big, dumb truck.”

  “You love this big, dumb truck.”

  He’s right, I do. “Come over here and give me some sugar.” I tap the side of my mouth with the tip of my finger.

  Jackson snickers. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Yes, ma’am.

  Epilogue

  Jackson

  Goddamn I’m hungry.

  Nothing new there; I could always go for food. Trouble is, I’m too far from home to dash there real quick, even with my truck on campus—fuck if I’m willing to lose my parking spot next to the athletic building over a snack—and I’m not jogging home for the frozen burrito I’m craving, even if it would burn off the calories.

  Like a bear sniffing out food after a long winter, I skip the athletic dining hall—that’s too far too because this is an emergency.

  The on-campus cafeteria for regular students will have to do.

  I turn my nose up at the thought, dreading the flat hamburger patties and stale lettuce I’ll surely find when I get there. Chicken sounds appealing; so do a few fatty hot dogs.

  I quicken my pace, not sure where this fucking joint is located; I haven’t eaten there since…well, since I stole Charlie’s food the first day we met.

  Still. She’s here somewhere; I just have to…