Page 65 of The Jack*ss in Class

LA was a long way from Denver. A long way from her.

“Earth to Flynn.” Gryff snapped his fingers in front of my face. “You in there?”

“Yeah, sorry.” I shook my head to clear it. “Just thinking about the drills Dad wants us to run.”

“Sure you were.” He smirked. “Anyway, they want to fly us out to LA after the combine to see the facilities. All expenses paid. How cool is that?”

“Very cool,” I agreed, and tried to mean it.

Because it was cool. It was everything we’d worked for. Everything I’d dreamed of since I was old enough to hold a football. Of course I knew we might not get to stay in Denver forever. This was home, but I was ready to go wherever offered me the best deal and let me play a good game.

And I’d lied about no more buts. It suddenly felt like I might be leaving something behind that I hadn’t counted on.

The donkey’s bray from the backyard seemed to answer my unspoken question.

Some things were harder to walk away from than I’d ever expected.

By the time we finished the combine drills, sweat had soaked through my second t-shirt of the day, and my muscles burned in that satisfying way that meant progress. Dad had been merciless, running us through cone drills, ladder work, and explosive starts until evenGryff, who never complained about training, was groaning.

“Good work,” Dad said, checking his stopwatch. “Your three-cone time is improving.”

“Thanks.” I gulped from my water bottle, willing my heart rate to slow. “Still need to shave off another two-tenths.”

“You’ll get there.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Get cleaned up. I’ve got something to do at the university tonight.”

As he headed inside, Gryff collapsed dramatically onto the grass. “I think my legs have officially detached from my body.”

“Lightweight,” I teased, though my own quads were trembling.

“Worth it though.” He grinned up at me. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“That thing where you’re physically here but mentally you’re somewhere else.” He pushed himself up to sitting. “Or with someone else.”

I ignored him, pulling out my phone instead. No missed calls, but a text notification caught my eye.

Tempest: Hope your dad didn’t murder you over his herbs becoming a donkey buffet.

A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.

“See? That right there.” Gryff pointed accusingly. “Your whole face changes when she texts you.”

“Shut up.” I turned away, already typing a response.

Me: I’m alive, barely. Dad actually thought it was funny. Says the herbs needed pruning anyway.

I hesitated, then added one more thought.

Me: Sorry my baby sister harassed the hell out of you.

Her response came almost immediately.

Tempest: No apology necessary. She told me about her romance novel collection while we waited. Your sister is... interesting.

I laughed, which earned me another knowing look from Gryff.

Me: That’s putting it mildly. She likes you though.

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