Page 59 of The Jack*ss in Class

“Probably.” He didn’t move. “But they’re just herbs. Dad loves to cook. We ate sooooo much spaghetti growing up.” He took a sip of coffee, his expression softening. “Besides, look how happy he is.”

The donkey did indeed look blissful, ears perked forward as he systematically eviscerated what might have been basil.

“Your dad’s going to kill us both,” I pointed out.

“Nah.” Flynn’s shoulder brushed mine as he leaned against the railing. “Dad’s got a soft spot for giant balls of fluff. We had so many dogs growing up. He thought if he called them all Bear, we wouldn’t notice it wasn’t the same dog for... twenty years,” he added with a grin.

“So that’s where we’re setting the bar? As long as your father likes me more than your childhood pets, we’re good?”

“Trust me, my queen, you’re leagues ahead of Bear the Third. That dog ate Dad’s championship ring.”

I nearly choked on my coffee. “What?”

“Yep. Dad took it off to do dishes one night, Bear decided it looked tasty, and three extremely uncomfortable days later...”

“Okay, stop.” I laughed, holding up a hand. “Too much information before I finish my coffee.”

His smile turned softer, more genuine. “You have a great laugh, you know that?”

The sudden shift caught me off guard. “I—thank you.”

A comfortable silence fell between us, broken only by the occasional happy snuffle from the donkey. Flynn still hadn’t put a shirt on, and I was running out of willpower to look elsewhere.

“So,” I said finally, “what’s the plan for today’s donkey care?”

“Well, we need to reinforce his pen, refresh his water, give him a good brushing, and figure out why he keeps escaping to eat Dad’s herbs when he has perfectly good hay.” Flynn ticked each item off on his fingers. “Also, Dad reminded me four hundred and forty-two times that this is only lasting a week, so we should definitely brainstorm exit strategies.”

“I have an idea about that. I’m really hoping my abuela might take him in when she gets back next week.” I smiled at the thought. “She’s kind of a force of nature. Former telenovela star, never met an animal she didn’t love. Between her drama andyourdonkey’s escape artist tendencies, they’d make quite the pair.”

“Telenovela star?” Flynn’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing. No wonder you have such a flair for the dramatic.”

I shoved his shoulder playfully. “Says the man who creates campus-wide chaos on a weekly basis.”

“It’s a gift.” He winked, and my stomach did a completely unauthorized flip. “Come on, let’s save what’s left of Dad’s herbs before he revokes my key privileges.”

We made our way down to the yard, where the donkey greeted me with an enthusiastic bump of his head against my hip. Flynn disappeared into the shed and returned with brushes and a repaired hay feeder.

I brushed baby donkey and Flynn knelt to secure the feeder. The morning light caught in his hair, turning the edges golden. “This little guy has about ten times the personality per pound.”

As if to prove the point, the donkey stretched his neck out and gently tugged on Flynn’s hair.

“Hey,” Flynn laughed, gently extracting himself. “I’m trying to help you here, ingrate.”

I allowed myself a small smile at the sight of six-foot-something of college football star being bullied by a miniature donkey. “I think he likes you.”

“Story of my life. The ones I’m not trying to impress love me, and the ones I am...” He looked up at me, his expression suddenly serious. “Well, jury’s still out on that one.”

My heart stuttered. “Flynn?—”

Before I could finish whatever dangerous thing I was about to say, the donkey spotted something beyond the fence and took off at surprising speed, dragging his lead rope with him.

“No,” we both shouted, lunging after him.

What happened next was pure chaos. The donkey circled the yard, kicking up mud. Flynn slipped, grabbing for my arm to steady himself but succeeding only in pulling me down with him. We landed in a tangled heap of limbs and laughter, covered in Colorado’s finest February mud.

“Sorry,” Flynn gasped, still laughing. “I was trying to be heroic.”

“How’s that working out for you?” I couldn’t stop giggling, even as I felt mud seeping into my jeans.

---