Page 148 of The Jack*ss in Class

“Flynn,” I hissed, but it was only to hide the laugh.

“We’ll keep him in line,” Artemis promised, grabbing Gryff’s arm. “Come on, Twin One and Twin Two. Let’s go find seats before the two of you embarrasses us all.”

As they headed toward the main event space, I caught Gryff’s lingering glance at Artemis, the softness in his expression when she wasn’t looking. So much longing, so much fear of ruining what they had. I’d seen that dance before—had performed it myself with Flynn. Someday soon, one of them would need to take the leap.

Maybe I’d need to draft their story next, to show them how it could end.

The event passed in a blur of readings, Q&A sessions, and signing books until my hand cramped. Throughout it all, Flynn sat in the front row, exactly as promised, his proud smile never wavering. Occasionally he’d catch my eye and wink, or mouth “that’s my favorite part” when I read a particularly steamy passage.

During the signing portion, a young woman with curves similar to mine approached the table, clutching my first book like a talisman.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Before your books, I never saw heroines who looked like me getting the hot guy. It changed how I saw myself.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, remembering how I’d once felt the same emptiness, the same hunger for representation. “That’s exactly why I write them,” I told her, signing her book with extra care. “Because we all deserve to be the heroines of our own stories, no matter our size, shape, or what the scale says.”

Later, after the last reader had left and the bookstore staff were clearing up, I found Flynn in deep conversation with Gryff and Artemis near the refreshment table.

“Ready to go?” he asked, slipping an arm around my waist. “The after party awaits.”

“After party?”

“Just us,” he clarified. “And these two moochers who invited themselves over to raid our wine fridge.”

“Your wine collection is better than ours,” Gryff shrugged unapologetically. “Besides, someone needs to help Tempest celebrate properly. You’ll just try to get her to bed early for ‘recovery’ purposes.”

“Recovery is important,” Flynn argued with mock seriousness. “Book release is very taxing on the author.”

“I’m right here,” I reminded them. “And I vote for wine with friends, then early bed for... recovery.”

Flynn grinned. “See? The author has spoken.”

Back at our house, with shoes kicked off and wine glasses filled, the four of us sprawled across the living room. Artemis had connected her camera to our TV,scrolling through candid shots she’d taken during the event.

“This one’s my favorite,” she said, pausing on an image of me mid-laugh, Flynn watching me with unmistakable adoration. “Total romance novel cover material.”

“Speaking of,” Gryff said, examining my book’s cover, “this seems remarkably familiar. Twins and a woman caught between them? Are you writing about us now, Tempest?”

I felt my cheeks warm. “It’sTwelfth Night, not you specifically. Though I may have borrowed certain... personality traits.”

“Should I be worried?” Artemis asked, arching an eyebrow. “Do I feature in this fictional love triangle?”

“You’ll have to read it to find out,” I teased.

Artemis snorted. “I’ve read yours, I know how it goes. Boy meets girl, boy meets boy, girl meets girl, obstacles arise, grand gesture, happily ever after. Real life is messier.”

“Is it though?” I asked, glancing meaningfully between her and Gryff. “Sometimes the story writes itself, if you’re brave enough to let it.”

A weighted silence fell, Artemis suddenly extremely interested in her wine glass while Gryff studied the ceiling with unusual intensity. Flynn caught my eye, a silent laugh passing between us.

“To stories,” Flynn said, raising his glass. “The ones we read, the ones we write, and the ones we live.”

“To stories,” we echoed, clinking glasses.

Later, after Gryff and Artemis had left, together, as always, but still stubbornly apart, Flynn and I stood onour back patio, looking out at the yard we’d designed with Burrito in mind. The donkey enclosure, the shade trees, the special gate that would theoretically prevent escapes.

“Did you ever imagine this?” I asked, leaning back against Flynn’s chest as his arms encircled me. “When you were chasing a baby donkey across campus?”

“Honestly? No.” His lips brushed my temple. “I definitely didn’t expect to fall in love with the girl who wouldn’t even look up from her book.”

---