Page 73 of The Jack*ss in Class

“Querida, my Tempest.” A man who looked to be a similar age as my dad, with the same eyes as Tempest, waltzed out from the backyard, took the flowers, and wrapped Tempest into a huge, enveloping hug. “Only you could make your abuela even more happy than me.”

“Tío Pedro,” he introduced himself with a warm handshake. In a lowered voice, he stage-whispered like he was telling me a secret that wasn’t a secret at all, “I’m the cool uncle and Tempest’s biggest fan.”

“Flynn Kingman.” I returned the handshake.

His eyes sparked with the same mischief I often saw in Tempest’s. “Querida, no me dijiste que era tan guapo.”

“Tio,” Tempest closed her eyes and pressed her hand over her face. “Flynn speaks enough Spanish to know what you just said.”

“Well, it’s not like he doesn’t know he’s good-looking.” He winked at me. “Now come, I want to hear all about everything you’ve been working on, and see if your gentleman suitor can keep up with you.”

“Tio.” Her hand headed toward her face again, but I grabbed it, and pressed a kiss to the back.

“Oh, I can keep up. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

What the Navarros had was... a lot. I met Tempest’s older sisters, Catalina and Rosalind, first. If I didn’t have three very intense older brothers and an even more intense little sister of my own, I wouldn’t have stood a chance against them.

“So, Flynn, tell us about your football prospects.” Catalina, Tempest’s eldest sister, directed the conversation as we were seated around one of the enormous tables in the backyard. Everything about her was polished and precise, from her immaculate white suit to her perfectly articulated questions.

I answered politely, watching Tempest from the corner of my eye. She physically shrunk, hunching her shoulders and slumping down when her sisters took center stage, and her earlier animation faded.

“Tempest never brings boys home,” Ophelia said, coming over and ladling more food onto my plate. “Especially not football players.”

“This is why,” Tempest muttered, but only I seemed to hear her.

“Perhaps you’re just scaring them off with the way you dress,” Catalina chimed in. “All those baggy sweaters and clunky shoes. Please come to boutique and let me style you.”

I noticed Tempest’s grip tighten around her fork.

“I think she looks perfect exactly how she is,” I said firmly, meeting Catalina’s eyes.

A surprised silence fell over the table.

“Well, of course,” Catalina recovered smoothly. “We all just think she could enhance her natural beauty with a little effort. Like Ophelia with her cooking, or how Freddie has her Olympic prospects, and Rosalind with her deviously strategic mind. That one is going to be president someday.”

Tío Pedro interjected, winking at Tempest. “The real question is whether Flynn here has read anything more challenging than a playbook.”

Tempest’s mouth quirked up slightly at that. She liked Uncle Pedro. I did too. More than her sisters. I knew family ribbing, and this judgment of Tempest wasn’t that.

I turned to address him directly, “Tempest and I met in Shakespeare class. She’s been tutoring me, though to be honest, I never needed it. I just like hearing her talk about books.”

“A football player who reads Shakespeare?” Rosalind peered at me, looking skeptical. “I find that hard to believe.”

“‘The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,’” I quoted with a slight smile. “As You Like It, Act 5.” Everything Jules had ever done to prepare me to deal with sisters was coming in handy today.

Tempest’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. She glanced around, clearly checking how everyone else reacted to my challenge.

God dammit. She definitely wasn’t used to anyone standing up for her and it had me wanting to throw her over my shoulder and haul her straight out of this party. Family were supposed to be the ones that supported you, not tore you down.

“‘We know what we are, but know not what we may be,’” Tío Pedro responded, raising his glass to me.

“Hamlet,” I acknowledged with a nod. Okay, she had one person on her side. I suspected her abuela was too, but she was holding court at another table. We should have sat with her.

“Well,” Rosalind’s surprised timbre said it all. “It seems our Tempest has found someone who speaks her quirky little language.”

I turned back to Tempest, ready to ask if she was ready to go. I didn’t know where, but I’d had enough of this kind of celebration.

“If only she’d find someone who could help her go on a diet,” a slightly older woman, probably one her aunts, stage-whispered from down the table. “That dress is at least a size too small.”

---