Page 116 of The Jack*ss in Class

“That’s my girl,” Abuela crowed when I successfully negotiated a trade deal that left Trixie groaning in defeat. “She gets that ruthless nature from her Abuelo.”

“It certainly wasn’t from me,” Tío Pedro laughed shaking his head. He always was a lover, not a fighter.

To my surprise, Abuela and Bridger Kingman had formed an unlikely alliance in the game, absolutely eviscerating all competition with their combined tactical skills. Watching them, I realized how much I’dcompartmentalized my life. School Tempest, family Tempest, secret author Tempest, Flynn’s girlfriend Tempest. All these separate versions of myself that I kept carefully isolated from each other.

I didn’t want to live like that anymore.

Three hours and four hotly contested games later, I found myself the unexpected champion of the final round of a card game that involved bluffing and strategy in equal measure.

“Beginner’s luck,” Declan grumbled good-naturedly as I collected my winnings, which consisted of a pile of gummy bears that had served as betting currency.

“Natural talent,” Abuela corrected, looking impossibly proud.

As the night wound down and people began gathering their things, I felt a strange sense of calm settle over me. Tomorrow would be difficult. My parents would be upset, disappointed, perhaps even angry. The campus gossip would continue, and the media scrutiny might intensify.

But tonight had shown me something important. I wasn’t alone. I had Flynn, who had never once looked at me with anything but admiration and desire. I had Abuela and Tío Pedro, who had always embraced all of me. I had this extended circle of the Kingman family and their partners, who had welcomed me without hesitation.

And most importantly, I had myself—all of myself, the parts I’d been proud of and the parts I’d hidden away.

Tomorrow, I would face my parents not as the dutiful daughter desperate for approval, but as Tempest Navarro, best-selling author, college senior, and a woman who wasfinally ready to take up exactly as much space in the world as she deserved.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t going to make myself smaller to fit someone else’s expectations. I was going to stand tall in the fullness of who I was, and that felt like the most revolutionary act of all.

CRASHING

FLYNN

Itook Tempest back to my place after game night. No way I could handle even a moment of her out of my sight. I would use every highly honed defensive tackle skill I had to smash anyone who even thought about approaching her or looking at her funny.

But sitting on my bed in my room, she was getting all up in her head without the distraction of my family chaos machine. I couldn’t let that happen. So I used the skills the universe had bestowed upon me and what had been playful and new in LA was deepening into something profound here, in the face of her fears.

I’d tried to be gentle, slowly undressing her, peppering her skin with soft kisses. But she’d wanted so much more from me.

“I need to feel something real,” she’d whispered. “Something that’s just mine.”

So I gave her what she needed, losing myself in her until all the worry that shadowed her eyes was replaced with pleasure and connection.

Afterward, she fell asleep with her head on my chest, my arm around her, protecting her from whatever I could.

I put on a pot of coffee, leaning against the counter as I waited for it to brew. Last night she’d curled into me on my bed, vulnerable in a way I’d never seen her before.

The coffee maker beeped, pulling me from my thoughts. I filled two mugs. Mine with milk, hers with the cinnamon oat milk creamer I’d picked up just for her, and headed back to my room.

She was sitting up when I returned, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders, wearing one of my t-shirts. The sight of her there, in my bed, in my clothes, hit me like a linebacker at full speed.

“Morning,” I said, offering her the mug. “Thought you could use this.”

“My hero,” she murmured, accepting it gratefully. She took a sip, eyes closing in appreciation. “You remembered the oat milk creamer.”

“I pay attention.” I sat on the edge of the bed, giving her space even though every instinct wanted me to pull her close again. “How are you feeling?”

She sighed, cradling the mug in both hands. “Like I’m about to face a firing squad.”

“Your parents can’t actually execute you,” I pointed out. “Pretty sure that’s illegal in all fifty states.”

That earned me a small smile. “You haven’t met my mother. She is... intense, and she’s going to hate you on principle for being a dumb jock who’s corrupted her daughter into writing smut.”

“First of all,” I raised an eyebrow, “I’m pretty sure you were writing smut before I came along.”

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