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Me: My mother is a surgeon who thinks romance novels are “trashy garbage” and my father’s a Shakespearean scholar who just laughed at a romance adaptation of his beloved plays.

Gloria Horne: And when you’re making multi-seven figures from the FlixNChill deal, merchandising, and even more backlist royalties because of the ridiculous amounts of publicity you’re about to get, you can buy them.

.. I don’t know, a private hospital wing and a first edition folio to make it up to them.

She thought buying my mother’s love would do anything? She didn’t know my family. Because it wasn’t just my parents who were going to judge me. My mother was nothing compared to what would happen when my abuela found out I’d been hiding something this big from the family.

Gloria Horne: When can I get pages of the new book? Football player and nerdy girl trope is a personal favorite of mine.

The universe had a twisted sense of humor sometimes.

Me: I need more time.

Gloria Horne: Two weeks. Then I need at least a partial manuscript.

Gloria Horne: And seriously consider the publicity angle. Maybe start small. InstaSnap, FlipFlop, any kind of social media presence. Build up to the big reveal.

Right. Because I didn’t have enough social media chaos in my life already. But Parker would pee her pants to launch socials for my pen name.

Me: Two weeks for pages. Still no to the publicity.

Gloria Horne: For now. But darling? The world’s going to know about Miranda Milan eventually. Might as well be on your terms.

I turned the Batphone face down, trying to ignore the way my hands were shaking slightly.

Miranda Milan... the mysterious romance author who wrote about love and family and happy endings, felt extremely far away from Tempest Navarro, the good daughter who was supposed to be applying to law school instead of wasting time on frivolous literature.

“You good?” Parker asked without looking up from her laptop where she’d pretended not to watch every reaction I had to the conversation on the Batphone. “You’re doing that thing where you forget to breathe.”

“I’m fine.” I ran my fingers along that swirl of soft fuzz right on baby donkey’s forehead, staring at him like he held all the answers to life, the universe, and everything.

“Uh-huh.” She still didn’t look up. “But also...I want you to note, that you aren’t currently having a panic attack, and... that’s good. Give yourself a pat on the back for that.”

She was right. I could still literally feel the dread right smack dab in the middle of my chest, but I could breathe. I could swallow. My heart wasn’t racing. My brain wasn’t fritzing out into fight-or-flight mode.

I could... think.

“Yeah. Thanks. I... I’m not...not freaking out. But I’m not okay. I just need some time to think.”

I carefully scooched out from beside the sweetly snoring donkey and grabbed my notebook. The one I did all my plotting in. “Mind donkey-sitting a little bit more today? I’d like to hit the library.”

“I know that look. It means you have a book idea.” She waggled her eyebrows. “If it happens to involve tying up a sexy football player and your, ahem, heroine having her way with him, I’m all for it.”

“That happened in book three with the baseball player. I’m not doing the same thing again.” I slipped on my jacket and gave the donkey another scritch between the ears.

“Too bad. That was hot.” Parker shook her head, faux disappointed. “Oh, and that gamer guy messaged again. Says his brother wants to know if you’ve picked a name for the donkey yet.”

The library steps appeared blissfully quiet and people-free. Probably because we were two days into the semester and no one was ready to get back to studying yet. Exactly what I’d hoped for. Because I didn’t need anyone looking over my shoulder at these notes.

I didn’t even usually let this notebook out of the lock and key safety of my room. But the library had a certain magic to it for me, and I needed that right now.

“Oh em gee, Flynn.” A blonde in a Denver State cheerleading jacket was practically bouncing down the steps. “You’re hilarious. Come on, it’s so cold out here, I’m nipping out. Let’s go grab coffee or...”

Of course. I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and prepared to slip past Denver State’s golden boy and his admiring fangirl.

“Sorry, babe.” Flynn’s voice carried clearly in the evening air. “Can’t. Got a study date with my tutor.”

I froze mid-step.

“Your tutor?” The blonde’s voice rose slightly. “But you’re, like, really smart.”

“He is, isn’t he?” I muttered under my breath.

“There she is now.” Suddenly Flynn was beside me, one hand landing warm on my shoulder. “Ready to dive into some Shakespeare? ”

The blonde looked between us, her perfect ponytail swishing. “Oh. I didn’t realize...”

“Tempest’s brilliant.” Flynn’s hand was still on me, slowly creeping across my back. “I’m lucky she agreed to help me.”

I shrugged off his hand. “I didn’t agree. I was assigned.”

“Even better.” He grinned down at me. “Fate.”

“That’s not—” I started, but blondie was already backing away. She gave me an interesting look that, if I didn’t know better, was jealousy. Nothing to be jealous of. Guys like Flynn Kingman weren’t ever interested in me.

“Well, have fun studying.” She gave a little wave. “Text me later?”

“Can’t.” Flynn was already steering me toward the library doors. “Probably be at this for hours. Shakespeare’s complicated, right, tutor?”

I waited until the other woman was out of earshot. “What are you doing?”

“Getting tutored?” He held the door for me with an exaggerated flourish. “Unless you’d rather go over Beatrice and Benedick’s antagonistic flirtation techniques out here?”

“There’s nothing to tutor you on. We don’t even have homework yet.” I tried my best to speed-walk to the area with the study carols, but I should have remembered that Flynn could keep up. He had earlier today too.

“Consider this a preview.” He followed me into the quiet of the library. “Besides, you still haven’t told me the bonkey’s name.”

“That’s because?— ”

“Is it Eeyore-udite? Get it? Because he’s clearly very smart, running circles around the football team like that...”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “No.”

“Sir Francis Bacon Bits? No wait, that would be better for a pet pig.”

“Do you ever stop?”

“Not when I’m winning.” He dropped into the chair next to mine as I tried to set up at an empty study table. “Come on, one hint? Is it literary? Historical? Sports-related? Does it involve puns?”

I pulled out my notebook, but kept it firmly shut, determined to ignore him.

“It’s definitely pun-related, isn’t it?” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I bet it’s awesome. I bet it’s the best donkey name in the history of donkey names.”

“No.”

But I was smiling now, despite my best efforts not to.

And Flynn definitely noticed. Dammit.