Jock Road

EAT. SLEEP. FOOTBALL.
Those are Jackson Jennings, Jr's three mantras . His entire life, he's been a trained athlete with only one end-game: the Pro's. No girls. No parties. No alcohol.
EAT. SLEEP. FOOTBALL.
Repeat.
Every Friday night, Triple J cruises the strip on campus, bored, lonely and conditioned not to party. But I know the night he meets me on the side of the road, he begins questioning everything, wondering if his three mantras will ever be enough.
BIG. DUMB. JOCK.
The thing is, I have no time for Jackson's antics. Not when he's stealing the food off my tray or teasing me to no end, making me tingle in all the right places. If I ever plan to have a boyfriend—I certianly wouldn't choose one who acts like a Neanderthal. I'd choose one with manners and actual time to spend with me. Not a hulking man-child who cruises the strip at night, in his Big. Dumb. Truck.