Page 52 of The Jack*ss in Class

“We’ve haven’t even started our essays yet.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. But he was enjoying the way I was flustered.

“Some of us have responsibilities beyond looking pretty and sacking quarterbacks.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re impossible.” I started packing up my laptop. “And I really do have to go.”

“Go to dinner with me tomorrow to make up our study time.” The request, or command, came out casual, but there was nothing casual about the way he was watching me.

My heart did a stupid little flip. “That’s not part of the tutoring arrangement.”

“Maybe I’m tired of arrangements.”

For a moment, I was tempted. I kept pushing himaway, and he kept trying. He was the last guy I expected to do that, especially when no other guy had. I was very, very tempted.

But that way lay madness. And probably heartbreak.

“Maybe another time.” I turned to go, then stopped. “But Flynn?”

“Yeah?”

I bit my lip, but that didn’t keep the words from coming out. “Ask me again, sometime.”

I left him sitting there, a slow grin spreading across his face. And if I put a little extra sway in my walk because I knew he was watching?

Well, that was my secret to keep.

When I got back to the house, Alice slapped a remote for the speaker into my hand. “He won’t eat the hay unless someone plays Taylor Swift or Kelsey Best,” Hannah reported during our daily status meeting. “And he only likes the old country albums.”

“Our donkey is a Swiftie?” Parker came in right behind me and looked delighted. “And a Bestie? That’s badass.”

“Our donkey is about to get us found out,” I reminded her. “Who needs to eat his dinner and take a nap so I can study?”

The dinner happened, studying not so much. But it wasn’t like I didn’t know most Shakespeare plays backward and forward. But I also had marketing, mythology lit, and my senior thesis class on Herman fricking Melville. Not to mention I was miles behind on my chapters.

I could only put off my agent, and FlixNChill, for so much longer.

Somehow I made it through the rest of the week without a panic attack. And I’d never admit it to anyone but baby donkey, but Flynn’s texts were keeping me going.

The morning of the awards ceremony, my phone buzzed with a text from Flynn.

Flynn: You haven't named the bonkey yet, right? Because I got it for sure this time.

I smiled despite myself.

Me: I doubt it.

Because unless he said Houdonkini, the great disappearing farm animal, he’d be wrong.

Flynn: Since I haven’t seen hide nor hair of our furry friend for weeks, you should call him Houdonki. Get it? Like Houdini, because he’s completely disappeared.

First of all, what the heck? How did he do that? And second, Houdonki was better than Houdonkini. But still not the right name for my favorite confidant.

“Are you sure he’s secure?” I whispered, peering down the basement stairs for the hundredth time.

“For the last time, yes.” Parker adjusted my collar. “The outside door is locked, he has hay and water, and Hannah set up that tablet playing farm animal videos to keep him calm.”

“He does love his YouTube,” Alice added, straightening the welcome banner.

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