Page 14

PONG CHAMPIONSHIPS

TEMPEST

I 'd just queued up “That’ll do, Pig” when someone pounded on my door.

Mierda. The only people who knocked were the ones not in the Baby Donkey Sitters Club.

If it was House mother Henderson checking to make sure I was actually staying in to answer the safety sister phone, I was going down fast and hard.

Baby Donkey was sleeping hard, and barely even pricked up his ears. Maybe if I arranged some stuffed animals around him, she wouldn’t notice.

Yeah, right.

Before I could have a full-on panic attack, the door swung open and three faces peered back at me. Parker, Hannah, and Alice stood there barely containing their giggles. Phew.

“Emotional support tacos,” Hannah announced, holding up a grease-stained paper bag. “No arguments.”

I waved them in, reaching for the bag where the smell of Cluck U’s street tacos wafted through the air. “I’m on safety sister duty tonight.”

“No, you’re not.” Alice flopped onto my bed. “Bettie’s taking over. She said, and I quote, ‘If Tempest spends one more night in those ridiculous slippers watching farm animal movies, I’m calling an intervention.’”

I looked down at my fuzzy pink slippers. “What’s wrong with my slippers?”

“Everything,” all three of them said in unison.

Parker grabbed a taco. “You have been extra stressed lately.”

Because my agent wouldn’t stop hounding me about meetings in L.A., my deadline was looming, and Flynn Kingman had started looking at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve. But I could only tell Parker about two of those things.

“It’s just senior year stuff.” I held out my hand for a taco from the bag, hoping food would stop the interrogation. “And being on call is important. You know how many creeps show up at hockey parties. We shall leave no sister behind...or intoxicated and alone.”

“Which is exactly why you should come.” Hannah started rummaging through my closet. “Safety in numbers.”

“I have reading to do.”

“You always have reading to do.” Alice tried to steal a bite of my taco, but I quickly shoved the rest in my mouth. “But lately you’ve been practically hermitted away. Is this about Flynn?”

I choked on my extra big bite. “Whrr? ”

It took me a minute to finish chewing and swallow. “No. Why would you?—”

“Because he’s been looking at you like you’re his next meal,” Hannah said from inside my closet. “And you’ve been looking back.”

“I have not.”

Parker snorted. “You totally have.”

Traitor.

“I just...” I glanced over to where the notebook hidden under my Shakespeare texts poked out. “I don’t have time for distractions right now.”

“Distractions are exactly what you need.” Hannah emerged with a pair of heels Catalina had given me, some jeans that I thought were a bit too tight, and a flowy white shirt that I didn’t know why I even bought. “You’re wound tighter than Mrs. Henderson’s bun. When’s the last time you had fun?”

“I have fun.”

“Watching movies about talking farm animals doesn’t count.” Alice grabbed my slippers and tossed them under the bed. “Come on, T. One night. If it sucks, you can come home and watch all the pig movies you want.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Hannah threw the jeans at me. “Get dressed. You’re going to have a drink, dance with your sisters, and maybe flirt with a hot football player who clearly has a thing for you.”

“Flynn doesn’t have a thing for me.”

Three skeptical faces stared back.

“He doesn’t,” I insisted. “We just study together. ”

To be honest, no guys ever had a thing for me. Flynn was just a big flirt. It didn’t mean he was actually into me.

“Right.” Alice rolled her eyes. “Because Flynn Kingman, who could probably quote the entire works of Shakespeare in his sleep, needs a study partner.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. There was no use arguing with them. Let them think what they wanted to.

“Fine.” I grabbed the clothes. “One hour. But only because I don’t trust any of you to play a proper game of beer pong.” All those long summers at Abuela’s with the neighbor kids had given me a lot of weird gaming skills.

Parker bounced off the bed. “That’s my girl. Now, since Flynn’s going to be there...”

“This isn’t about Flynn.”

But as my sisters descended on me with hair styling torture devices and makeup that would make Abuelita proud, like a pack of well-meaning wolves, I thought of the way he’d looked at me in class today. Like he could see right through me.

That was exactly the problem.

The hockey house looked exactly like every party house in every college rom-com movie or romance novel I’d ever written, or read, as far as anyone here knew. Red Solo cups, sticky floors, and enough sexual tension to fuel a trilogy.

I cataloged the classic romance novel scenarios playing out around me.

By the beer pong table, a classic enemies-to-lovers was brewing between the hockey captain and the women’s soccer team goalkeeper.

Near the kitchen, there was a friends-to-lovers slow burn happening with two guys who clearly hadn’t figured out they were gone for each other yet.

And in the corner... oh, that was definitely the setup for a drunk-confession-of-feelings that would lead to the inevitable morning-after-regret subplot.

“Stop analyzing and start having fun,” Hannah said, pressing a cup into my hand.

“I’m not analyzing.” I was totally analyzing. But when you spent most of your time crafting meet-cutes and orchestrating perfect kisses, you could see the story beats everywhere.

Like the way Flynn Kingman had just walked in.

If this were one of my books, this would be the moment where the heroine’s breath caught, where time slowed down and the rest of the party faded away.

And okay, maybe my breath did catch a little, because Flynn in fitted jeans and a vintage DSU Dragons t-shirt was the kind of visual that deserved its own chapter.

“Your writer face is showing,” Parker murmured as she passed by.

I schooled my features. I did not have a writer face. But I did have a problem, because Flynn had spotted me and was now making his way over with the kind of swagger that belonged in the climax of a romance novel, not a college party that smelled like stale beer and hockey gear.

In my books, this would be where the sexual tension finally boiled over. Where the hero and heroine would have their big moment, leading to either a passionate declaration or an epic misunderstanding that would fuel the third act conflict .

But this wasn’t one of my books. This was real life, where I had secrets to keep and a career to protect, and absolutely no business noticing how good Flynn’s shoulders looked in that shirt.

“You came.” His voice had that low, gravelly quality that I definitely hadn’t used as inspiration for my latest hero’s voice. Definitely not.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” I took a sip from my cup to hide whatever my face was doing. “Some of us can actually be spontaneous.”

“Spontaneous?” He raised an eyebrow. “You probably did a cost-benefit analysis before coming here.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “Maybe I just needed a break from farm animal movies.”

He glanced around. “How is our mutual friend? No partying for him tonight?”

“The sanctuary’s still flooded,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “But he’s safe and settled.”

Flynn’s eyes narrowed. “Settled where, exactly?”

Shoot. In my books, this would be the moment where the heroine accidentally reveals too much, setting up future complications. But I was smarter than that. “Somewhere safe.”

“Uh-huh.” He was giving me that look again, the one that said he was putting pieces together. “And this somewhere safe wouldn’t happen to be closer to campus than the sanctuary, would it?”

Double shoot. I took a long sip of my beer to avoid answering. If this were a romance novel, this would be the part where the mysterious secret created delicious tension. But in real life, juggling secrets just made me feel like I was one miss-step away from disaster.

A cheer went up from the beer pong table, drawing my attention. The hockey captain had just sunk a dramatic shot, and the goalkeeper was trying not to look impressed. Now that was the kind of scene that sold books.

“Earth to Tempest.” Flynn was watching me with that intense look again, the one that made me feel like he could read every thought running through my head. “Where’d you go just now?”

Nowhere safe to admit to. “Just wondering how many of these parties end up being someone’s origin story.”

His laugh was unfairly attractive. “You think too much.”

“You don’t think enough.”

“Prove it.” He nodded toward the beer pong table. “Play me.”

And there it was. The classic challenge that would drive the rest of the chapter.

In my books, this would be where the heroine would say something witty and flirtatious.

Where she’d rise to the challenge with perfect confidence because she didn’t have a secret identity to protect or a business meeting in L.A. to worry about.

But I wasn’t my heroine. I was just me, trying not to stare at Flynn’s mouth.

Then again... sometimes the best way to hide was in plain sight.

“Hope you’re ready to lose, Kingman.”

Flynn lined up six cups in a triangle at each end of the table, but instead of heading to the keg, he pulled out bottles of water.

“Water pong?” some guy in a hockey jersey called out. “Come on, Kingman. Live a little.”

“Not tonight, Morris.” Flynn’s tone was light, but had an edge I hadn’t heard before. “I’m DD.”

“You’re always DD,” Morris grumbled, but backed off.

Interesting. I filed that away as Flynn filled our cups with water. In my romance novels, this would be where the heroine discovered the first crack in the hero’s carefully constructed facade. But before I could analyze it further, Flynn sank his first shot directly into my front cup.

“Ladies first.” He smirked as I lifted the cup. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

I drained the water, took aim, and sank the ball straight into his back center cup. “Please don’t.”