Page 78 of The Jack*ss in Class

The implication made my cheeks burn hotter. “We’re not… I mean, I haven’t…” I took a deep breath. “I’ve never even had a boyfriend before, much less had sex. Mierda. This is a disaster, isn’t it?”

“That’s how the best stories start,” Hannah said wisely.

But did I want to have sex with Flynn?

Ugh. Very much. Very, very much.

“But now he’s gone for a week,” I added, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice. “For his football thing.”

“Which gives us exactly seven days to prepare for what happens when he comes back,” Parker declared.

Oh, gawd. If anyone brought out Barbie and Ken and tried to give me the birds and bees talk, I was going to feed them to Burrito Petito.

“Operation Fun Times with Flynn is officially a go.” Bettie clapped her hands. “The combine’s on TV tomorrow. I’m declaring it a KAT house viewing party.”

“What? No. That’s too much,” I protested. I wasn’t even sure what a combine was.

“Too late.” Alice said, tapping on her phone. “And I may have just had ‘Team Flynn’ shirts made for the senior class.”

“You did not,” I groaned.

“Oh, but I did.” She showed me her screen, where a mock-up displayed a purple and gold DSU Dragons shirt with ‘KINGMAN 50’ on the back. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”

I flopped back on my bed, torn between mortification and a strange, bubbling happiness. “You’re all terrible.”

“You love us,” Parker said confidently.

Looking around at their eager, supportive faces, I couldn’t argue with that. For all their teasing and meddling, they were the first people besides Tío Pedro and Abuela who accepted me exactly as I was.

“Fine,” I conceded. “But no signs. Or body paint. Or anything that would end up on Flynn’s InstaSnap.”

“No promises,” Bettie sang.

Monday afternoon, more sorority sisters than I knew I had gathered in our TV room watching...football players do... things.

“There he is,” Parker screamed, pointing at the TV.

The room erupted in cheers as the screen filled with Flynn’s face. He stood in a line of players waiting for the 40-yard dash, looking focused but confident in his training gear, number 50 displayed prominently on his chest.

I sank lower in my seat, feeling simultaneously proud and embarrassed by the spectacle around me. True to her word, Alice had distributed “Team Flynn” shirts to way more than the senior class. Someone, probably Hannah, had even made a banner.

“God, he’s so hot,” a sophomore named Heather sighed from somewhere behind me. “Tempest, you are so lucky.”

“We’re just friends,” I said automatically, though the words felt hollow after that kiss.

The room filled with knowing laughter.

“Sure, honey.” Bettie patted my shoulder. “Just friends who make out on your abuela’s porch.”

“Shh, he’s up.” Alice hushed the room.

I held my breath as he crouched into position. The camera zoomed in on his face, those blue eyes intense with concentration, jaw set. This was the future professional football star, and potentially my boyfriend.

The whistle blew, and Flynn exploded off the line. Even to my untrained eye, his speed was impressive, his form perfect as he powered down the track.

“4.58 seconds,” Hannah read as his time flashed on the screen. “Is that good?”

“For a linebacker? It’s amazing,” Bettie confirmed, and the room erupted in cheers again.

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