Page 71 of The Jack*ss in Class

“Blue or green?” Jules held up two button-down shirts, her critical gaze sweeping over me as I sat on my bed scrolling through Tempest’s latest texts.

Tempest: Abuela just landed. She’s already asking about “el chico guapo con el burro.” Fairly sure that means you.

I smiled at my phone, ignoring Jules until she snapped her fingers in front of my face.

“Earth to lover boy. This is important. First impressions with abuelitas are make-or-break.”

“Since when are you an expert on Mexican grandmothers?” I grabbed the green shirt from her hand. “And why are you so invested in my wardrobe?”

“Since I dated Miguel from the soccer team.” She snatched the shirt back. “His abuela is the family gatekeeper. One wrong move and you’re dead to them.” Shethrust the blue shirt at me instead. “This one with the dark jeans. It makes your eyes pop without being too try-hard.”

I took the shirt, surprised by her certainty. “Does Dad know you’re dating this Miguel? Or at all?”

“No, and you’re not going to tell him or I’ll make you wish peeing in your Cheerios is the worst thing I ever did to you. Got it?”

Hell hath no fury like a sister who’s been tattled on. I raised my hands in surrender.

“Trust me.” She flopped onto my bed, watching as I changed shirts. “So I think your Shakespeare tutor is secretly writing a romance novel. She was making some notes on her phone when you were doing donkey things.”

“Don’t be weird. Tempest is an English major. I’m sure it’s just something for a class,” I said, though some things clicked into place. Tempest’s secretiveness about her supposed notes, her nervousness when I mentioned romance novels, the way she’d reacted when she saw books on our shelf.

“Nope. It’s definitely a book.” Jules sat up, eyes gleaming. “I’m going to figure out if she’s published anything. I have my ways.”

“You keep your Google Fu to yourself,” I said firmly. “If she’s writing something, it’s her business to share or not.”

Jules smiled smugly. “Look at you, being all protective. You really do like this girl.”

I couldn’t deny it, so I changed the subject. “Do you know if Dad talked the boys into letting us use the jet to fly to Indiana?”

“I did, and we leave at nine sharp.” Dad’s voice made usboth jump. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed but expression softer than I expected. “Blue was the right choice, Jules.”

“Told you,” she gloated.

Dad stepped into the room, examining me with the same critical eye he used to evaluate new recruits. “Meeting her family tonight?”

“Yes, sir.” I finished buttoning the shirt. “Her grandmother just got back from Mexico. It’s a welcome home party.”

His expression grew serious. “Look, Flynn, tomorrow starts combine week. The scouts will be watching your every move. It’s important.”

Here it came, the lecture about priorities, about focus, about not letting anything distract from football.

Instead, Dad surprised me. “But this—” he gestured vaguely to my outfit, “—this matters too. When I met your mother, I nearly missed a playoff game because her car broke down and she needed a ride.”

I stared at him. Dad talked about Mom, but he had his standard set of stories, and reminders. I’ve never heard this one. “You did?”

“Coach benched me for the first quarter.” His smile was tinged with memory. “Worth it, though. April wore this blue dress that matched her eyes, and I remember thinking I’d sit out the whole damn season for another hour with her.”

I saw the way he blinked a few extra times and heard the gruffness in his voice talking about Mom. He would never get over her.

If I got too close to Tempest, let her in too far, I wouldn’t either.

He cleared his throat. “Point is, football’s important. The combine’s important. But it’s not everything.”

“So...” I said slowly, “you’re saying I should go to this party? Even with traveling and combine check-in tomorrow?”

“I’m saying don’t miss the things that matter because you’re too focused on the future.” He stood, clapping me on the shoulder, and left Jules and I just staring at each other.

With the two-week rule, I’d managed to avoid the meet-the-family milestone. But as I pulled up with baby donkey to the address Tempest had texted, a sprawling ranch-style house on the outskirts of Golden, my palms were actually sweating.

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