Page 147 of The Jack*ss in Class

After breakfast, he handed me a soft but lightweight sweater and a pair of jeans, but added some silky lingerie for underneath and a pair of high heels to finish the look. Then he led me outside where a sleek black town car waited at the curb. The driver opened the door with a flourish.

“Your chariot, Ms. Milan,” Flynn said, using my pen name with a playful formality.

“Are you kidnapping me?” I asked as he ushered me inside.

“Technically, no, since you’re going willingly.” He settled beside me. “Besides, kidnapping seems like a plotline for your next book, not this one.”

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up in front of a romance-only bookstore in LA. The windows were filled with displays of my latest novel, featuring the striking cover of twin football players with their backs to the reader, a woman’s silhouette between them.

“What are we doing here?” I asked as Flynn guided me to the door. “The signing isn’t until tonight.”

“You’ll see,” was all he said.

Inside, the store was empty save for the manager, who greeted Flynn like an old friend. “Everything’s ready, Mr. Kingman.”

Flynn led me to a section, where an entire table hadbeen dedicated to my books. In the center sat a tower of hardcovers, arranged in a display that mimicked a football stadium.

“I wanted you to see it first,” Flynn explained, watching my reaction. “Before the crowds, before the interviews. Just you and your work, the way it started.”

Emotion welled in my throat as I traced a finger over my name on the glossy cover. “It’s beautiful.”

“There’s more,” Flynn said, guiding me around the display.

On the other side, someone had set up a small table with champagne, pastries, and a stack of congratulatory cards from my family, his family, and our friends.

“You did all this?” I asked, blinking back tears.

“With some help,” he admitted. “Your sisters picked the pastries. Abuela selected the champagne. My sister made sure we got the space privately for an hour.”

I laughed, wiping away a stray tear. “Our families really have merged into one unstoppable force.”

“The Kingman-Navarro machine,” Flynn agreed. “Terrifying in its efficiency.”

We toasted with champagne, surrounded by my books and the quiet hush of the empty store. It was the perfect counterbalance to the public event that would come later—this private moment of appreciation for the journey that had brought us here.

“To my favorite author,” Flynn said, clinking his glass against mine. “Who’s finally taking up all the space she deserves.”

That evening the bookstore was packed by the time wearrived. A line of readers wrapped around the block, many clutching dog-eared copies of my previous books along with their recently purchased copies of the new one.

“This is insane,” I murmured to Flynn as we slipped in through the back entrance. “There must be hundreds of people out there.”

“Five hundred and twenty-seven at last count,” came a familiar voice. “I had Artemis do a drone flyover to check.”

I turned to find Gryff grinning at us, looking relaxed and California-cool in designer jeans and a fitted t-shirt that showed off the results of his pro football player training regimen. Beside him stood Artemis, drone controller and camera in hand.

“Surveillance seems excessive,” I laughed, accepting Gryff’s bear hug.

“It’s not surveillance, it’s documentation,” Artemis corrected, snapping a photo of Flynn and me. “For posterity. And maybe extortion, depending on how the night goes.”

Artemis had been Gryff’s best friend since high school, where she’d played on the women’s rugby team. When he’d been drafted by the Bandits, she’d followed him to LA, ostensibly to try out for the Olympic team, but we all suspected it was because neither could bear to be separated from the other. They shared the house across from ours, adamantly insisting they were just friends despite the obvious chemistry between them.

They were a romance novel just waiting to be written.

A bookstore employee appeared, looking slightly frantic. “Ms. Milan? We’re ready for you whenever you are. The crowd is getting... enthusiastic.”

I took a deep breath, smoothing down the deep purple dress I’d chosen specifically for tonight—the same shade as the DSU Dragons, a nod to where this journey had begun.

“You’ve got this,” Flynn said, squeezing my hand. “I’ll be right there in the front row, looking inappropriately turned on by my girlfriend talking about her dirty books.”

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