Page 64 of The Jack*ss in Class

“April was a challenge too.” A rare smile crossed his face. The one that was specifically for memories of Mom. “First time I met her, she pretended we weren’t flirting our asses off.”

“What happened to the love at first sight story?”

His smile widened. “I fell first, and harder. The best way to go, kid.”

I absorbed this information, trying to reconcile it with the scattered memories I had of Mom. She’d died when I was six, leaving behind impressions more than concrete memories—her laugh, the smell of her perfume, the way Dad’s face lit up when she entered a room.

The way he hadn’t lit up again for years after she died.

“She would have liked Tempest,” Dad continued. “Shealways appreciated people who weren’t impressed by superficial things.”

“We’re just friends,” I said automatically.

Dad gave me a look that said he wasn’t buying it. “If you say so.” He pushed off from the fence. “Gryff’s inside. Says he’s got news about the combine.”

My twin was sprawled across the couch in the family room, demolishing a sandwich the size of his head.

“About time,” he said when I walked in. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes, drama queen.” I grabbed my own sandwich from the kitchen counter. “What’s this news?”

Gryff’s face split into a wide grin. “The LA Bandits are sending their head scout specifically to watch us.”

My stomach did a weird flip. The Bandits were a top-tier team, three-time Bowl champions. Getting on their radar was huge.

“Both of us?” I asked.

“Yep. They’re looking to rebuild their defense, and want to protect that slow-ass quarterback they won’t let go of.” He paused dramatically. “Imagine both of us getting drafted to the same team. We’d never have to split up.”

We’d played side by side our entire lives. The thought of continuing that in the pros had always been our dream, but it also seemed impossible given how the draft worked.

“That would be...” I searched for the right word. “Badass.”

“Right? And it’s LA. Sun, surf, celebrities.” Gryff wiggled his eyebrows.

I nodded, trying to match his enthusiasm. LA would be incredible for our careers. The coaching staff was legendary, the facilities top-notch. And yet...

“What about Denver?” I asked. “Any word from the Mustangs?”

“Sure, of course they’re interested too. We’re legacies, man. But there is no guarantee. More teams recruiting us, the better.” He studied me. “I thought you’d be more excited.”

I was. Or I should be. But suddenly there was a new variable in the equation I hadn’t considered before.

“I am excited,” I assured him.

“But?” Gryff’s eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with a certain Shakespeare-loving donkey owner, who lives here in Denver, does it?”

“No,” I said, too quickly.

My twin’s expression turned smug. “Holy shit. It does.” He leaned forward. “Flynn Kingman, are you actually considering a girl in your future plans? A girl who’s not a two-week fling?”

“I’m considering my career,” I corrected, even as something twisted in my chest. “The Bandits or the Mustangs, or wherever we get drafted, would be amazing. And even better if we get to play together in the pros.”

Gryff watched me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Again...but?”

“No buts.” I took a bite of my sandwich, chewing longer than necessary. “Tell me more about what the scout said.”

He let me change the subject, launching into details about combine expectations and draft projections. Ilistened and nodded in all the right places, but part of my mind kept drifting to Tempest, to mud fights and coffee on the deck and the way her laugh made everything else fade away.

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