Palm South University: Season 2, Episode 2 (Palm South University #2) Read online

  Copyright © 2016 Kandi Steiner

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.

  The characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Kandi Steiner

  Edited by Betsy Kash

  Cover Design by Kandi Steiner

  Formatting by Elaine York/Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting

  Tweet as you read using #PalmSouth and join the Facebook Discussion Group here.

  Everything is changing. - Adam

  Erin

  Ashlei

  Adam

  Erin

  Adam

  Ashlei

  Erin

  Ashlei

  About the Author

  “OH MY GOD, GIVE ME THAT!”

  Skyler flies through my bedroom door, kicking it closed behind her before snatching the large burrito I was just about to bite out of my hands. Her soft hair falls into her face a bit as she shoves nearly half of it in her mouth, her eyes rolling up. Moaning, she chews it slowly, like she’s savoring every morsel.

  I blink.

  “Thank you,” she says, handing me back what’s left of the burrito and wiping the corners of her mouth.

  “You sure you don’t want to eat the tin foil, too?”

  She swats at my arm before climbing into bed next to me. “Don’t be an ass. This Spring Break diet is going to be the death of me, I swear.”

  I laugh. “Ah, it all makes sense now. Want the rest?” I offer her the burrito again but she pushes it back, shaking her head.

  “I’m already going to have to do like fifty crunches and run a mile to get rid of that one bite. But seriously, who made kale a thing?” She grimaces. “I just want to eat cheese fries and lose ten pounds.”

  “You’re beautiful,” I whisper, kissing her nose. She scrunches it, so I kiss it again.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs, blushing a little. “Still, I’m going to be on the beach surrounded by a hundred tiny little things in thong bikinis. I need to be on my game.”

  Frowning, I take a bite of my burrito and chase it down with the soda on my night stand. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Why are you all grumpy?”

  I sigh. “I won’t be with you that week. I’m kind of bummed about it.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course we’ll be together.”

  “Did you forget what fraternity I’m in?”

  Skyler’s still frowning, but as recognition sets in, her brows pull inward and she chews her lip. The Kappa Kappa Betas always go on Spring Break with the Omega Chis, and being that I’m an Alpha Sigma, that pairing doesn’t exactly do us any favors.

  “Well, whatever. You can still come.”

  I chuckle around another bite. “Yeah, because that would go over well.”

  “I’m serious.” Skyler sits up on her knees, making me look at her. She’s dressed in nothing but a small Kappa Kappa Beta tank top and tiny little shorts. No make-up, hair natural and wavy. Stunning as usual. “I’m not giving you the option. You’re my boyfriend and you’re coming on Spring Break with me. Where’s your laptop?”

  “Why?”

  She rolls her eyes at my question before hopping off the bed and retrieving my computer from the desk. Falling back into the covers, she flips it open without another word, clicking away at the keys.

  “Done.”

  “What’s done?”

  “I just booked you for the all-day boat trip we’re doing on the second day of Spring Break. And…” her voice trails off as she finishes typing off a text. Not a second goes by before her phone pings in her hand. “Perfect! You’re set to go in the van we rented to take down there and you’ll stay in our hotel room. All set!”

  I shake my head, finishing off my burrito and chugging down half my drink. “Are you serious right now? You know the Omega Chis are going to flip their shit.”

  “They won’t. Because if they do, I’ll bitch at Bear, and he’ll bitch at everyone else until they shut up. Trust me. It’s all good.” Smiling devilishly, she crawls up the covers and locks her lips on mine, grinding her hips against my own. My boxers, the comforter, and her tiny ass shorts are the only things separating us. I groan, tugging on her bottom lip.

  “You’re going to be the death of me, Skyler Thorne.”

  “At least it’ll be a fun way to go,” she whispers, nipping at the skin on my neck. Fastening my hands on her small waist, I flip her over, pinning her in the sheets.

  “Can’t argue that.”

  As I kiss my way down her neck, Skyler runs her fingers through my hair and gives it a small tug. “How are the pledges doing? You guys had a killer rush.”

  I move my lips to hers, snaking my tongue inside her mouth and stealing a moan before replying. “Good. We’re getting ready for the camping trip before the bonfire next week.”

  “I always forget you do that,” Skyler pants, bucking her hips up to meet mine. “Creepers. Kidnapping those poor kids.”

  Grinning against her skin, I slip my hands under her tank top and push it up and over her rib cage. “Trust me. It’s the most fun they have in the pledge process.”

  “And what’s the worst part?”

  I pull her tank off the rest of the way, sucking the sensitive skin on the swell of her breast. “If I tell you, I’d have to kill you.”

  “Death by orgasm?”

  “Torturous death by orgasm.”

  She smiles, biting her bottom lip as she peers down at me with heavy blue eyes. “Tell. Me. Everything.”

  EVEN THOUGH SKYLER OFFICIALLY CALLS me her boyfriend, she never sticks around after we have sex. Sometimes she’ll lie on my chest for a while or we’ll talk, but sooner or later, she’s out the door and it’s just me alone in my bed.

  And when I’m alone, I think.

  About rush. About all the activities coming up. About the whispers I’ve been hearing around our fraternity concerning the presidency next semester.

  I know I’m at the top of everyone’s mind, and as fucking stoked as I am about that, I can’t help but wonder if being with Skyler is going to pull me from what I need to do to make it actually happen.

  I love being around her, we have fun together, but I can still tell it’s not serious for either one of us. Couple that with the fact that planning events and taking on a presidency requires most if not all of my future time, it just feels like we’re speeding fast toward an inevitable crash.

  Sighing, I reach for my phone and type out a text to Cassie.

  – Breakfast tomorrow – the usual spot? –

  Letting my thoughts drift to that little redhead does absolutely nothing to soothe my stress. After what happened with Clay last semester, I knew she would need someone to lean on over break. Apparently, that someone wasn’t me. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

  She came to my window that night.

  I can still remember the way it felt to hold her, the way my chest ached when she told me I was right about Clay. It fucking killed me, because I didn’t want to be right — not about knowing he would hurt her.

  What she doesn’t know — what no one knows — is that I laid that fucker out the next day. I stormed right into his bedroom while he was getting dressed, Paris having just left, and decked him
hard across the jaw. I made sure he knew it was coming. Hell, I even told him to hit me back. But he didn’t. He knew he was a piece of shit, even if he didn’t admit it to anyone else.

  But then, I didn’t hear from Cassie all break, and when I finally saw her at the Omega Chi party last week, she made me feel like I was responsible for the hurt she endured — not him.

  I can’t figure this girl out.

  After twenty minutes go by with no response, I sigh, plugging my phone into the charger and setting an alarm for class in the morning. Leaning back on my pillows, I tuck my hands under my head and stare up at the ceiling, brain still not getting the memo that it’s time to turn off.

  I’m excited Skyler wants me with her for Spring Break, but I can’t shake the feeling that whatever is happening between us is going to be short lived. She’s smart, funny, and gorgeous — but that’s exactly it. She deserves to be with a guy who can give her all the time in his life, or at least to be able to have the freedom to do whatever she wants. I can’t call her my girlfriend and then put other things before her — like the Alpha Sigma presidency.

  Rolling over, I pull a pillow over my head and let out a large puff of air. There are too many “what ifs” and I don’t have enough energy to figure them all out tonight. One step at a time, Brooks. Tomorrow starts the planning for the pledge retreat. I need to just focus on what I can control.

  Except, I don’t really feel in control of anything at all.

  I AM FREAKING OUT.

  Erin Xander does not do well with freaking out.

  I am in control of all things at all times. My planner is color coordinated and scheduled through the end of the year, with very few dates to spare. I’m already three weeks ahead in my classes, and even still I’m meeting up with Cassie in less than an hour to study. Because I need to be in control, and I’m running out of things I can hold onto.

  It’s only Sunday, the auction isn’t until Saturday, and yet I’ve already handled every aspect of it — the food, the drinks, the paddles, the emergency kits, the girls we’ll auction and the transferring of the donations. All done. Handled. As if that wasn’t enough, I’ve also planned half of Spring Break and hand-crafted mason jars for the sorority council meeting at the Kappa Kappa Beta house this Wednesday.

  And yet, I’m still freaking out.

  Because no matter what I do, I can’t control what will happen after I pee on this stupid stick in my hand. The stick that will tell me if I’m carrying Clinton’s child.

  Oh God.

  Burying my face in my hands, I drop the stick onto my lap and focus on my breathing. I need Jess, since she’s the only one who knows about my… situation, but she’s not answering her phone and I’ve barely seen her since she walked in on me vomming my brains out at the O Chi party. I can’t tell any of the other girls — especially not Skyler — and yet I can’t wait any longer to take the test.

  Chewing my lip and knowing there’s slim to no chance in hell he’ll answer, I thumb through the contacts in my phone and hover over his name. Just seeing it on the screen makes my heart jump and my breath accelerate — even after all these years. Before I can talk myself out of it, I let my thumb drop, dialing his number.

  Ring.

  Ring ring.

  Ring motherfucking ring.

  Hey, you’ve reached Kip Jackson. Sorry I—

  “Gah!” Hearing his voice springs more memories on me than I’m equipped to handle at the moment. Why did I think it was a smart idea to call the blue-eyed boy who stole my heart so many years ago? Tucking my phone into my small purse, I lift myself from my bed and stare at the pregnancy test. Sighing, I slip it in next to my phone and give myself a once over in the mirror. My eyes are tired, my skin ashen, my hair greasy. I do not look put together. I do not look in control.

  At this point, I have no choice.

  I need to tell Clinton.

  I don’t want to stress him out with thinking about the possibility of a baby if there isn’t one, but at the same time, I need him right now. If there’s one thing Clinton Pennington is good at, it’s being a friend. We both agreed that our little hook up was just us having too much fun that night at semi-formal, and something inside me just knows he’ll be calm and collected through this. He’ll be able to soothe me, tell me it’s okay, and make me feel like whatever the test says — we can handle it. Together.

  I walk slowly down Greek row to the Omega Chi house, focusing on my breaths with every step. I’m wearing my favorite Kate Spade high heels, trying to grasp the part of me I feel quickly fading away, and I listen to them click and clack on the pavement as I near the house.

  The boys welcome me in, offering me a beer even though it’s only eleven in the morning on a Sunday. I shake my head. “You boys need Jesus.”

  “Hey, Jesus liked red wine,” one of the pledges retorts.

  He’s got a point.

  My throat swells as I make my way down the hall to Clinton’s room. I try to swallow, but there’s nothing there to aid in the process. My mouth is dry, my heart hammering. How the hell do I have this conversation right now?

  Loud music is spilling from his room, which brings me some relief because at least he’s awake. I can’t imagine having to stir him from a slumber to deliver this news. Steeling myself at the door, I tap on it lightly with my knuckles.

  “Bear? It’s Erin. Uh, can I come in?”

  No answer.

  The song blaring from inside his room is slow, rhythmic — a sultry R&B song with lyrics crooning how they could fuck the subject of their affection all the time. Growing anxious, I push through the door without another knock.

  “Bear, this will only take a min—”

  Clinton doesn’t hear me, thank God, because he’s currently buried beneath a pile of sheets and blankets. A girl is leaned against his headboard, her eyes downcast at the movement between her legs. One of her hands is locked on his headboard, the other is tangled in the purple ends of her hair, and if I had to guess, the moans drowning under the loud bass of the music are courtesy of whatever Clinton is doing beneath those sheets.

  My cheeks burn as flashes of our night together hit me with rapid speed. Slamming the door closed as quickly as I can, I adjust my purse on my shoulder and storm toward the exit, desperate for fresh air. The girl didn’t see me, even though I was standing right in the doorway. She was preoccupied. As was Clinton.

  And I was just about to tell him I need him to be with me while I take a pregnancy test.

  Smacking my forehead, I start the walk back to the KKB house, mumbling under my breath the entire time. How idiotic can I be? This is Clinton we’re talking about. What happened between us was a mistake, an accident, a one-night thing. Did I really think he would hold my hand while I peed on a stick?

  Throwing a quick wave in the direction of my sisters gathered on the couch, I quickly sprint up the stairs and back into my room, closing the door swiftly behind me. For once, I’m actually thankful that Ashlei isn’t here.

  I pull the test out of my purse and make my way to our bathroom, tossing it on the counter and planting my palms to steady myself. Telling Clinton would have been a dumb move, and now that I see it more clearly, I’m thankful he was preoccupied. This is just something I need to handle on my own, even if it feels impossible. After a few deep breaths, I lift my eyes to the mirror, trying to find the courage I need.

  You can do this, Erin.

  Everything will be okay.

  I only half-believe myself, but it’s all I need to make my next move. Grabbing the test, I rip open the package, pop off the clear plastic lid, and squat down on the toilet.

  And then I pee on my hand.

  A smart girl would have peed in a cup and dipped the stick in, but being that all of my intelligence is wasted in the classroom, my common sense is at exactly level zero.

  Luckily, I do still manage to pee on the test strip, so I set it flat on the counter and walk away.

  I try playing on my phone.

 
; I try organizing my closet.

  I try laying out my outfits for the next week.

  Every time I look at my phone, no time has passed.

  I open my planner.

  I shut it again.

  I make sure I have everything I need for my study session with Cassie.

  Nothing distracts me, nothing stops my mind from racing with what the results of this test could mean, but enough time finally passes that I can check it.

  Everything feels numb — my nose, my ears, my feet. The house is filled with girls, yet everything seems silent as I put one foot in front of the other, making my way toward the bathroom counter. My hand shaking, I take one last deep breath, and then I lift the stick and squeeze my eyes shut.

  I open one, then the other, and the tiny screen comes into focus.

  “Ready, G-Big?” Cassie pushes through my bedroom door without warning, causing me to curse and fumble the pregnancy test before quickly shoving it in my makeup bag.

  “Hey baby G! Yes, all set. Just let me grab my bag.”

  “Can we hit Cup O’ Joe’s on the way? I need a pick-me-up,” she says, thumbing through her phone as her bright red hair falls around her.

  “Definitely.” I toss my makeup bag, test still inside, into the messenger bag with my books and notes before slinging it over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  MY STOMACH ROLLS AS I STEP OUT of my car and pop open my bright pink umbrella. It’s one of those dreary days in Florida — the very few we have — where it’s below sixty degrees and rainy. It rarely happens, but when it does, it seems to take a toll on all of us. We’re usually bathed in sunlight and donning flip flops, so rain boots and big coats don’t sit well with us.

  The rain seems absolutely fitting for how I feel, though, so I revel in it. It takes so much effort to smile or even just exist around my sisters right now, knowing how different my reality is from theirs. When I’m alone, I finally get to think, to feel. So, on the way here, I let myself cry — just a little — enough to let a little of the pressure out.