Page 40 of The Jack*ss in Class

“It doesn’t matter. I made a complete fool of myself. Teaching Spanish insults to half the athletic department? Falling asleep on him? God.” I put my pillow over my face but winced at the movement. “I’m never leaving this room again.”

“They weren’t all insults,” Parker said with a smirk. “I distinctly remember something about his incredible?—”

I threw my pillow at her.

The donkey, thinking this was a new game, grabbed the pillow in his teeth and started prancing around the room.

“No, baby, don’t!”

Too late. He knocked over my backpack, spilling books everywhere. Including my romance novel plotting notebook.

Great. Because this morning needed one more reminder of all the secrets I was juggling.

“So,” Parker said, rescuing my notebook before it could become donkey breakfast. “What are you going to do about Flynn?”

“Nothing. I’m going to avoid him until graduation or death, whichever comes first.”

“Tem...”

“Nope. Not discussing it.” I pulled the covers over my head. “I’m just going to lie here and wait for the earth to swallow me whole.”

The donkey made a disapproving sound and headbutted my shoulder through the blanket.

“Even the donkey thinks you’re being dramatic.”Parker tugged the covers down. “Come on. You have Sunday dinner with your sisters, and if you don’t show up, they’ll come looking. You know how Catalina gets.”

I groaned. She was right. And showing up hungover to family dinner was still better than letting the Spicy Girls storm the sorority house looking for me.

“Fine.” I sat up slowly. “But first I need to figure out how to delete about fifty photos and videos from the group chat.”

“And feed your secret emotional support donkey.”

“That too.” I scratched the donkey’s ears as he snuffled hopefully at my pockets for treats. “At least you still respect me, right buddy?”

He promptly sneezed in my face.

“Rude.”

A couple hours later and at least I was showered and dressed... and sober.

I slid my sunglasses back on before stepping into the delicious smells of the Navarro family kitchen. If anything could cure a hangover, it was Ophelia’s pozole. The scent was already making me feel better. It was her look and the Spice Girls Inquisition I knew was coming that had me turning a little green.

“¿Qué diablos?” She squinted at me over a simmering pot of something that smelled amazing and also like it might make me throw up. “Are you hungover?”

“No.”

“She’s lying,” Freddie called from the living room, not looking up from what appeared to be game film on her laptop. “It’s all over the DSU underground FaceSpace. Our sweet sister went wild.”

“Jesus.” Catalina abandoned her critic’s position at Ophelia’s elbow to snatch my glasses off. “Youarehungover. You never drink.”

“I drink,” I protested, squinting against the afternoon light streaming through the bay windows.

“Wine with dinner doesn’t count,” Rosalind said, sitting all prim and proper at the kitchen island with her ever-present phone. “Neither does that time you had half a margarita on New Year’s and declared yourself tipsy.”

Freddie’s grin turned wicked. “Want to tell us about your Spanish lessons last night?”

I groaned, dropping my head onto the cool granite counter. “Can we not?”

“We absolutely must.” Cat pulled up a stool next to me. “What happened to my sensible sister who makes Mamá proud with all her responsible choices?”

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