Page 19 of The Jack*ss in Class

I filed that last one away for future reference. “Counteroffer. Charming is my natural state so I can’t help it, and I accept the notebook mystery. But I reserve the right to ask exactly three personal questions per study session.”

She considered this for a long moment. “Two questions. And I can veto any I don’t want to answer.”

“Deal.” I stuck out my hand.

She shook it, her soft small hand disappearing in mine.

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“No, of course not.” I opened up my backpack and pulled out my own books and settled in.

Her groan was music to my ears. “Now?”

“What? Like I’ve got something else to do?”

We settled into a surprisingly comfortable silence, just the scratch of pens and occasional sips of coffee. I tried to focus on my marketing assignment, but I kept getting distracted by her.

She had at least four different colored pens spread out on the table, all these colorful tabs, and she was using them systematically as she made notes in the mysterious notebook. Every few minutes, she’d smile at something she was writing, this small, secret smile that made me want to know what was so funny.

Finally, I couldn’t help myself. “Good part?”

She glanced up, like she’d forgotten I was there. “What?”

“In the play.” I nodded toward her book. “You keep smiling.”

A faint blush colored her cheeks. “Oh. It’s justAs You Like It. Rosalind and Orlando are...” She trailed off, then straightened like I’d caught her doing something... naughty. “It’s a classic example of early modern theatrical comedy.”

“With all the best parts,” I said. “Love at first sight, gender-bending disguises, forest adventures, multiple couples getting together in the end.”

She stared at me.

“What?” I grinned. “You’re not the only one who’s done the reading list.”

“No, it’s just...” She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. “Most people don’t get excited about Shakespeare. They think it’s boring or too highbrow.”

“That’s because they forget he wasn’t writing for highbrow audiences. I mean, yeah, he had the nobles up in the balcony, but he was really writing for everyone. The groundlings paid to stand there and watch for hours.” I thought about Jules and her romance novel collection. “It’s kind of like how my sister and soon to be sister-in-law talk about romance novels.”

Her pen stilled. “Romance novels?”

“Yeah. Jules, my sister, she’s always telling me how romance gets dismissed as frivolous, because it’s mostly for women, by women, about women, but it’s actually this huge genre that appeals to all kinds of readers. And my brother’s fiancée, she runs this book club, and her members are, like, doctors and CEOs and stuff, but they all love these books because they’re fun and engaging and...” I noticed her staring again. “What?”

“Nothing. Just... surprised you know so much about romance novels.”

I shrugged. “Hard not to when you live with a teenager who won’t shut up about them. Actually, I’m fairly sure Jules was just freaking out about some super-popular romance novel based on a Shakespeare play, but with hockey players or something. Wouldn't stop talking about it at family dinner last week. She kept saying she can’t wait to see what the author writes next.”

Something flickered across her face—surprise? panic? and was that a slight smile when I mentioned the author’snext book?—but before I could be sure, her phone buzzed. She grabbed it immediately, frowning at the screen.

“Everything okay?”

“I have to go.” She started shoving books into her bag. “There’s a... situation I need to handle.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No.” She said it too quickly, then tried to smooth it over. “No, thank you. It’s just... a thing. At my place. Which is... somewhere you definitely can’t go.”

I raised my eyebrows. “That’s not suspicious at all.”

“Shut up, Kingman.” But there was no heat in it. She hesitated, half-standing. “Same time Thursday?”

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