Page 62 of The Jack*ss in Class

“So that’s the girl who’s gotten under your skin.” She folded her arms, grinning at me like she’d caught me stealing cookies. “Gotta say, big brother, you’ve been holding out on us.”

I grabbed a clean t-shirt from the laundry pile. “There’s nothing to hold out on.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes with the dramatic flair that only a teenage girl could perfect. “I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that since... ever.”

“Like what?” I pulled the shirt over my head, grateful for the momentary escape from her scrutiny.

“Like she hung the moon and stars and possibly invented football.”

I snorted. “You’ve been reading too many of those romance novels.”

“And you,” she pointed at me accusingly, “have beenbreaking your stupid no girlfriends, I only date someone for two-weeks rule. Admit it.”

Baby donkey brayed from the backyard, as if adding his agreement. We would be having a talk about manners and how to be a better wingman later.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I asked, heading back outside to check on our four-legged troublemaker. “The mall? A friend’s house? Literally anywhere that isn’t here interrogating me?”

Jules followed, undeterred. “First of all, nobody goes tothe mallanymore, and this is way more interesting than anything and everything else that I have to do. Flynn Kingman, campus player extraordinaire, tripping over himself for a girl who doesn’t even seem impressed by his football skills or status as an upcoming first-round draft pick.”

“She’s just... different.” I grabbed the brush we’d dropped earlier and started grooming the donkey, who had finally tired of destroying Dad’s herb garden.

“Different how?”

I thought about Tempest’s laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about literature, how she kept pushing back against my charm until I had to be real with her.

“I don’t know,” I lied. “She’s just not what I expected.”

Jules hopped up on the fence, watching me with a smirk that was far too knowing for a high school senior. “You know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“I think she’s exactly your type, but you never knew it because you’ve been dating the wrong girls.”

I focused on brushing a particularly stubborn knot outof the donkey’s mane. “And what type would that be, Dr. Ruth?”

“Smart. Independent. Doesn’t take your crap.” She ticked off on her fingers. “Has her own thing going on that has nothing to do with you or football. Oh, and she clearly loves animals, which means she’s not a sociopath.”

“Low bar there, princess.”

“You’d be surprised.” She swung her legs, studying me. “So when are you seeing her again?”

“We’re going to be connected at the donkey hip this week. We’re figuring out what to do with this guy,” I nodded toward the donkey, who had decided my shoelaces were tasty. “Tempest’s grandmother gets back next week and might take him in, until the sanctuary is able to rebuild their barns.”

“Cool, so family introductions already. Moving fast.”

I shot her a patented shut-your-face-brat look. But fucknuts. I hadn’t thought about that. I hadn’t ever gotten to the meeting-someone’s-family stage with any woman. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure.” She grinned, but her expression turned more serious. “You know, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if it was like that.”

Something in her tone made me stop brushing, but I stared into the abyss of brown fuzz instead of at my overly perceptive little sister. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sigh. I gave her a quick sideways look just in time to catch her shrug. She suddenly found her fingernails fascinating. “Just that... I don’t know. You’re always so carefulnot to get attached to anyone. Even more than the rest of the guys.”

“I’m not?—”

“You are.” She cut me off. “Just because you let someone into your heart doesn’t mean they’re going to... hurt you.”

“I don’t think Tempest is going to hurt me.” Because I wasn’t actually letting her into my heart or whatever other mushy-gushy stuff teenage sisters dreamed up when they read too many romance novels.

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