Page 60 of The Jack*ss in Class

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with an expression that made my breath catch. “I think my heroism might need some work.”

“Just a bit,” I agreed, suddenly very aware of how close his face was to mine, how easy it would be to close that distance.

His eyes dropped to my lips. “Tempest?—”

“FLYNN!” A voice from inside the house shattered the moment. “HAVE YOU SEEN MY PURPLE CONVERSE?”

Flynn closed his eyes, looking pained. “And that would be my sister.”

“The infamous Jules?”

“The very same.” He stood, offering me a hand up.

As he pulled me to my feet, the donkey trotted back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Flynn sighed, tugging gently on the lead rope.

“Come on, troublemaker. Let’s get you sorted before you cause any more problems.” He glanced at me, mud-splattered and disheveled, and his smile returned. “Though I have to admit, chaos looks good on you, my queen.”

Despite the cold, the mud, and the runaway donkey, warmth spread through my chest. This boy was dangerous in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

Jules bounded onto the deck, her purple-streaked hair pulled into a messy bun. She stopped short when she saw us mud-covered and standing awkwardly apart.

“Well, well,” she said, eyes darting between us with laser-like assessment. “I was looking for shoes, but it seems I found the entertainment instead.”

Flynn gestured to the donkey. “This one’s fault. Don’t even start.”

“I’m Jules,” she said, completely ignoring her brother and extending her hand to me before realizing it was pointless given my mud-caked state. “And you must be the Shakespeare girl who’s been driving my brother insane.”

“Tempest,” I managed, suddenly very aware of how I looked. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Her smile was genuine but calculating, like she was solving a puzzle. “I’ve heard so much about you that I was beginning to wonder if Flynn had made you up.”

“Jules,” Flynn warned.

“What? It’s true. Gryff, and Isak talked about nothing but ‘Tempest this’ and ‘Tempest that’ at game night at Hayes’s house the other day.” She leaned against the railing. “Though they failed to mention you’re exactly the kind of badass who’d roll around in mud with a donkey and my brother.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” I said, feeling heat creep up my neck.

“The best mud fights never are.” Jules grinned. “Come on, I’ll find you something to wear.” Before I could protest, Jules had linked her arm through mine and was steering me toward the house, mud be damned. “Flynn, deal with your escape artist while we handle the fashion emergency.”

“I don’t want to mess up your floors,” I started.

“Please. This house has survived eight athletes and countless man-child disasters. A little mud is nothing.”She pulled me through a side door that led to a laundry room. “Strip down to whatever you’re comfortable with. I’ll grab you some clothes.”

She disappeared before I could respond. I peeled off my mud-caked jacket and jeans, grateful I’d worn decent underwear. Jules returned with a stack of clothes and a towel.

“The sweats are Flynn’s because, yes, he still does his laundry at home, so they might be big, but they’ll work. The t-shirt is mine.” She handed them over with a critical eye. “So you’re the tutor who doesn’t need to tutor Flynn because he’s secretly a Shakespeare nerd.”

I laughed despite myself. “Pretty much.”

“And you’re the girl with the viral donkey and secret writing sessions in the library.”

My head snapped up. “What?”

Jules’s smile turned knowing. “Flynn mentioned you’re always writing something. Said you slam your notebook shut whenever he gets too close.” She perched on the washing machine. “I do the same thing when I’m writing fanfiction my brothers would be traumatized to read.”

“I’m just... taking notes,” I said lamely.

“Sure.” She nodded, clearly not believing me. “Just like I’m ‘just studying’ when I have six tabs of AO3 open.”

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