Page 35 of The Jack*ss in Class

Even if Tempest was still at the party when I got back, she probably wouldn’t want to finish our game. Hell, she probably wouldn’t want anything to do with me now.

Which should have been fine. That’s what I wanted, right? Keep things casual. No expectations, no attachments, no chance of the kind of soul-crushing loss that could bring a strong man to his knees. I’d seen what that looked like, watched my dad try to rebuild a life around a Mom-shaped hole in our family. Some wounds never really healed.

Except I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Tempest’s smile reached all the way to her eyes when she sank that perfect shot. Or how she’d lit up talking about her adventures with her sisters and her grandparents at their villa in Mexico. Or how she hadn’t pushed when I wanted to play beer pong with water.

“Get it together, Kingman,” I muttered, turning onto Greek Row. Music thumped from the hockey house, bass vibrating through my chest as I parked. Through the front window, I could see bodies moving, red cups raising, another Friday night in full swing.

Please still be here.

I hadn’t meant to think it. Didn’t want to examine why it mattered so much. But I killed the engine and couldn’t deny the way my pulse kicked up at the possibility of finding her in the crowd.

I could handle more than two weeks with Tempest. I’d already accepted that. But anything deeper? That was a different kind of risk. The kind that ended with someone shattered beyond repair.

I headed for the front door and all I could think about was the way Tempest’s laugh had wrapped around me like a promise I was terrified to keep.

The party had hit that sweet spot between chaos and catastrophe by the time I got back inside. Music thundered through the floorboards, and the crowd had thinned just enough that I could scan faces without having to wade through a mosh pit of drunk college students.

No sign of Tempest at the beer pong table. Or in the kitchen. Or?—

“Looking for your girl?” Gryff materialized at my elbow, wiping at his lips. I knew that look. He’d been making out with someone. Which is exactly what I was usually doing at parties like this too. I’d scan for who, but I was already looking for someone.

“Not my girl.” I stood on my tiptoes and didn’t see Tempest anywhere. I did see fucking Xander, skulking away. He was the last guy I wanted around my...friends.

“Right. That’s why you’re doing that thing with your jaw.”

“What thing?”

“That clenched, cave-man thing. Like you’re about to grab her by the hair and drag her back to your—” He cut off with a grunt as my elbow found his ribs.

A burst of familiar laughter drew my attention to the living room. Tempest was perched on the arm of the couch, surrounded by her sorority sisters, and a slew of male admirers. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark hair wild, and she had a shot glass in her hand.

Shit.

“Oh yeah,” Gryff said, following my gaze. “She’s been doing shots since you left. Something about writing her own ending? Not sure what that means, but the girl can drink.”

Double shit.

As I watched, she threw back another shot, then immediately reached for a second one. Hannah, or maybe it was Alice, I couldn’t keep her sisters straight, tried to intercept, but Tempest was faster.

“Didn’t peg her for a party girl,” Gryff mused.

She wasn’t. I’d had to goad her into even considering aparty. Which meant this was my fault. Because I’d walked away and made her think…

“Down boy,” Gryff said as I started forward. “Let her have some fun. She’s got her sorority sisters with her, and they’re a stronger force than a steel chastity belt that’s got a whole bevy of locks.”

But I’d been to too many parties like this in my almost four years at this school not to recognize when someone was spiraling. Especially someone who clearly wasn’t used to drinking like this.

I made it halfway across the room before Tempest spotted me. Her eyes narrowed, and she deliberately reached for another shot.

“I don’t think you wanna do that, sweetheart,” I said, closing the distance between us.

“Don’t wanna do what, jackass?” Her words had the careful precision of someone trying hard to sound sober. “Don’t wanna have fun? Don’t wanna let loose? Don’t assume the great Flynn Kingman might actually…” She stumbled as she stood, and I caught her elbow before she could fall.

“Hey.” I steadied her, trying to ignore how right she felt under my hands. “I came back.”

“To save another damsel?” She tried to pull away, but ended up swaying into my chest instead. “Sorry, this damsel’s busy getting distressed all by herself.”

Christ. How many shots had she done?

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