Palm South University: Season 2 Box Set Read online

  I thought I could handle not putting a title on what we are, just doing what we want and going from there. But the truth of the matter is that I don’t hook up with other people and when I’m not with him, he’s all I think about. Toss in the fact that I get insanely jealous when I see him with any other woman, coworker or not, and the recipe for disaster thickens. I don’t know who I thought I was fooling.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  “WHAT’S UP, BABY BROTHER?”

  “About time you answered your phone!” Clayton says as I toss my gym bag into the corner of my room. I’m taken aback by the deepness of his voice. He just turned thirteen, and already I can tell he’s about to hit the glorious days of puberty. “I have a serious question.”

  “Uh oh. Do I need to sit down?” I joke, kicking off my basketball shoes. I push the speaker-phone option on my phone and set it on the bathroom counter as I start the shower.

  “Mac and I are stuck on this mission in Grand Theft Auto and can’t figure it out. We’ve been here for hours, bro.”

  I laugh. “I can’t believe I was playing basketball and missed your calls during this tragic time.”

  “I know. What a shitty big brother you are.”

  “Hey!” I scold as I peel my still-wet t-shirt over my head. “Since when do you curse?”

  “It’s not a big deal. Mac says shit all the time.”

  I frown. “You’ve been over at Mac’s a lot lately.”

  There’s a pause on Clayton’s end and I still, wondering if there’s something he’s not telling me. “Sorry. I’ll cool it on the cursing, Mom.”

  I laugh, asking him for more details on the mission he’s on and walking him through it while the bathroom steams up. We chat for a while, mostly about school, not even a little bit about mom or Carlton. It feels good to catch up with Clayton and I can’t help but feel like I should do it more often. Just because I’m not in the same state doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be there for him. I’m the closest thing he has to someone to look up to in his life.

  That fact hits me hard. I haven’t heard from mom or Carlton since I gave them enough money to get them out of whatever trouble they were in last semester, which gives me hope, at least, that they’re doing okay. Still, just because I haven’t heard from them doesn’t mean I shouldn’t pick up my phone and call Clayton more often.

  “Hey,” I say just as we’re about to hang up. “Why don’t you come down for family weekend? I’ll book the flight. We can hit the beach and go go-karting.”

  “Really?” Clayton asks, excited.

  “Yeah, really. I’ll even let you get your ass kicked in Halo if you’re lucky.”

  “Hey, what happened to no cursing?”

  “I’m twenty-one. I’m allowed to curse.”

  He chuckles. “I really would like to. I feel like there’s a lot we never get to talk about with all the distance, you know?”

  I run my hand through my fade, catching my own eyes in the mirror. “Yeah I know. It’ll be fun. I’ll text you later with the flight details. If mom is upset or has questions, just have her call me,” I add, jaw tensing at the mention of her.

  “I doubt she will, but yeah, I’ll tell her. Love you, big bro.”

  “You too.”

  We end the call and I thumb through my music, pressing play on a J Cole song and setting it to shuffle through my playlist. I take my time in the shower, letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles from playing hard at the courts. My knees are tight, arms sore, and I’m ready to collapse in bed and watch ESPN. But as I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist, I see a completely different option presented.

  “Your clothes smell, dude.” Shawna says, her small frame leaning against the bathroom counter. “Like, bad.”

  “Hi to you, too.”

  “Hi,” she says, kissing me swiftly before propping her ass on the bathroom counter, shamelessly watching me dry off. “There’s an art festival in town. You should take me.”

  I chuckle. “You have absolutely zero fucks to give about the normal way people do things, huh?”

  “Normal is boring.”

  “What do I get out of this deal?”

  “My company, of course. Plus we can knock out that extra credit assignment for our art class. It’s a win-win.”

  I brace my hands on either side of her legs on the counter, boxing her in, watching as her eyes follow the beads of water gliding down my chest. “Hmm… so what you’re saying is you want me to do homework with you. Sounds like a favor of sorts.”

  She grins. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do you want in exchange, Bear?”

  “Come to Key West.”

  “No.”

  I laugh. “You’re so exhausting. Just come with me. I want to bang you in at least four places on Duval Street.”

  “So romantic.”

  “It’s your kind of romantic and you know it.”

  “Touché.”

  “So you’ll come?” I ask, hopeful.

  Shawna leans forward, her bright green eyes playful behind her black frames. “Nah.”

  I drop my forehead to hers. “You’re impossible, woman.” She just giggles, but the sound is cut short when I press my hips forward, meeting hers. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer. She’s in a simple, strapless black dress, and with only my towel and her panties separating us, it suddenly feels a lot hotter in the bathroom.

  “Well, if your persuasion tactics weren’t so awful, maybe I wouldn’t be so impossible.” She bites her lip, rolling her hips just enough to stir up the friction between us.

  “You’re saying I’m not bringing enough to the table?” I ask, sucking her bottom lip between my teeth and reaching my hands into her jet black hair. When I reach the purple ends, I grip harder, tugging with just enough force to expose her neck to me. She gasps, arching her back.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she breathes.

  My hands still in her hair, I kiss across the swell of her breasts. “Well, let me sweeten the deal, then.”

  In one fluid motion, I drop my towel to the floor, push her panties to the side, and slide inside her, pulling her hair harder as she cries out. She’s so wet, so ready, and I pull out before rocking back into her again, slowly this time, letting her feel every inch.

  “Oh fuck,” she breathes, letting her legs fall open wider as she takes me in. My hands snake up her thighs, bunching her dress just above her hips as I flex mine again. I grow harder with each thrust, hitting her deeper every time, and she rewards me with nails digging just as deep in my back.

  I work her slow at first, watching her mouth hang slightly open, her eyes focused on where we meet. It’s so hot that she loves to watch, and when she lifts her legs to rest on my shoulders, I find a new depth that makes us both moan. I know she loves when I work her clit, but this time I want her orgasm to come from the spot only I can reach inside.

  Grabbing her ass in my hands, I lift her, just slightly, just enough to push deeper. Her head falls back, hair sticking to her back, and I take advantage of the access to her breasts. Using my teeth, I pull the top of her dress down and say a silent prayer that she’s not wearing a bra. Sucking her nipple ring between my teeth, I pump harder, the steam circling around us, our breaths shallow.

  Suddenly, Shawna bucks against me, pressing her hands into my chest until I stumble back a bit. She hops off the counter, spins around, and bends at the waist, pressing her chest to the cool counter, hooded eyes finding mine in the mirror. I take my cue, stroking myself as my free hand finds her center. Slipping two fingers inside, she moans, and the sound jolts straight through me as I place myself at her entrance. When I rock into her, my hands gripping her waist, she gasps.

  I start slow again, savoring the feel of her warmth around me, but before long she’s demanding harder, faster, more — and I deliver on all accounts. She comes first, her breath clouding the mirror, her eyes wide open and staring at me. It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve
ever seen to watch her fall apart so unabashedly. I follow right after, cursing under my breath at the electric release only she can bring.

  For a moment I stay inside her, resting my chest against her back, my arms around her, our breaths leveling out. When I finally pull out, Shawna stands, shimmying her dress down and adjusting the top in the mirror.

  Moving her hair off her neck, I press my lips to her salty skin. “So, Key West?”

  She grins. “Valiant effort, but it’s still a no.” She spins in my arms, kissing me once before smacking my ass playfully. “Now get dressed and take me to this art festival.”

  I laugh, because what else is there to do? Shawna is unlike any other girl I’ve ever known, and even though she drives me mad, I wouldn’t have her any other way.

  Well, let me rephrase that: I wouldn’t have her any other way characteristically.

  There are countless ways I’d have her. Take her. Own her.

  And we’re just getting started.

  IT’S EIGHT O’CLOCK ON FRIDAY MORNING, and I have yet to sleep. The downtown casino has had back to back tournaments, and I’m raking up enough to pay off the rest of spring semester and hopefully to pay my entry fee for a larger tournament this summer. I’m on the leaderboard right now, but an opponent delivered a nice little blow to my mental stability this morning in the form of a printed out blog article.

  Skyler Thorne: Poker’s Hottest New Player

  At first, it sounded flattering — and, some of it is — but most of it details my physical features, complete with a center photo of me in the small red bikini I was wearing on the beach with Jess and Cassie. Of the entire article, only one tiny paragraph mentions my skills at the table.

  Entering the code for the Omega Chi house into the keypad, I let myself through the front door and make my way back to Clinton’s bedroom.

  “I brought bagels,” I say, louder than I expected, as I kick his door closed behind me. “Coffee, too.”

  Clinton peeks at me through his heavy eyelids before reaching for his phone, noting the time. When he sees the look on my face, I sigh, setting the bag of bagels and coffee on his bedside table and retrieving the article from my pocket. I unfold it and drop it on his chest.

  Squinting, he reads the headline, but his eyes widen at the slew of photos. I don’t even think he reads more than the first paragraph. Sighing, he crumples it, tosses it across his room, and scoots over, lifting the covers. “Come here.”

  I crawl in, snuggling close to him as he tucks the covers around us. “They’re such assholes.”

  “I know,” he says, his voice groggy as he kisses my forehead. “Did you talk to President Whittington about the paparazzi on campus yet?”

  “Yeah, but so far everything they’ve taken of me has been off campus, technically. He assured me that if they tried anything on school grounds, he would step in and take legal action against them. But off campus, I need to watch out for myself.”

  “I swear, if it ever happens when I’m around I’ll pummel their asses.”

  I smile, resting my head on his chest. “Tell me about your life so I can stop thinking about mine for a while.”

  Clinton blows out a breath, his fingers lazily tracing circles on my shoulder. “Well, I’ve been steadily banging someone since my birthday.”

  “The random-birthday-kiss girl?”

  “Indeed.”

  I nod. “Huh. That’s kind of a big deal for you.”

  “Tell me about it.” He reaches over me for the coffee I brought him. It’s probably a good thing I don’t drink coffee, otherwise I’d be even more wired than I am already. “She’s cool, though. Different.”

  “Is she coming to Key West?”

  He frowns. “No. I tried to convince her, but she’s not having it.”

  I sigh. “Is it awful of me to feel like maybe I made a mistake inviting Adam?”

  “Uh oh. Trouble in paradise?”

  My stomach aches and I curl my legs into my body. “No, we’re amazing — perfect, even. He’s so sweet, funny, charming. We always have a great time when we’re together.”

  “But?”

  “But… I just feel like we maybe jumped into the whole boyfriend and girlfriend thing too fast. I never expected it to become as serious as it has. And I feel like Adam is really starting to feel things — real things. But he needs to be focusing on becoming president. Alpha Sigma needs him as president. And me, I feel like I’m on the precipice of something with my poker career — like there’s something big coming. And every time I’m at a tournament, I feel bad for not spending time with him.”

  Clinton is quiet for a moment, sipping his coffee, his arm still around me. “I don’t know, Skyler. Maybe the timing just isn’t right for you guys right now. I think Adam is a cool guy, but — if I’m being honest — I’ve always felt like you two were meant to just hook up and hang out. It became more serious than a lot of us expected. And not that that’s a bad thing or means anything, but if you feel it, too… well, maybe there’s some truth to it.”

  Sighing, I sit up in the bed, pulling my knees to my chest. “I don’t want to make any decisions right now. I think the reporter stuff is just getting to my head. I need to think for a while.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Have you heard from your mom?”

  Clinton clears his throat. “No. But I did talk to Clayton. I’m flying him down for family weekend.”

  “That’s awesome, Bear! I can’t wait to meet him!”

  Clinton rolls his eyes. “Oh God, he’s going to love you. I’m sorry in advance for the inappropriate comments he’s guaranteed to make. Kid just started going through puberty and can’t help himself.”

  I laugh. “So, don’t hate me, but I won’t be at the Fratalina Wine Mixer tomorrow.”

  “What?!”

  I cringe. “I know, I’m sorry. This tournament isn’t over until Sunday.”

  “Damnit, Skyler. It’s the fucking Fratalina Wine Mixer!” he screams, exaggerating the words like the guys in Step Brothers where the event idea originated from. It’s one of the best parties during spring semester and I’m more bummed than I admit to miss it.

  “I’ll make up for it. Promise. I’m not doing anything poker related at all during Spring Break.”

  “Fine. I’m making you do a beer bong as soon as we get there.”

  Laughing, I extend my hand and he shakes it firmly. “Deal.”

  My smile stays intact as I stare at my best friend who I can always count on — no matter the situation. There aren’t many people in this world I can be completely honest with. Tugging the covers with me, I bury myself in his chest and squeeze him tight. He abandons his coffee on the table and wraps both arms around me, pulling me in as close as he can.

  “Bear hugs really are the best,” I say with a sigh.

  “Good thing you have them available whenever you need them.”

  “Always?”

  He smiles, giving me a noogie as I squirm against his firm grip.

  “Always.”

  IT’S TIMES LIKE THESE when I wish my life had a soundtrack.

  I totally need a bad ass rock chick ballad playing right now as I strut up to the Omega Chi Beta house, bottle of Maker’s in hand, looking completely unlike the normal me but in the best way possible.

  When I was younger, I used to love to play dress up — it’s part of the reason I enjoyed theatre so much when I did it in high school. For a while, you get to step out of your skin and be anyone you want to be. Tonight, I’m a too-hot-to-touch vixen with a mission to prove everyone wrong.

  And there’s something incredibly powerful about letting yourself be everything you’re not.

  My black, strappy heels click on the sidewalk as I take my last step before pushing my way through the door, but then it’s too loud to hear my steps anymore. The house is packed, music blaring, students crammed in every open space. Hoisting the bottle of whiskey over my head, I snake my way through the crowd searching for the girls. Th
e weird thing is, people don’t ignore me this time. In fact, it’s almost like the sea is parting as I maneuver through the crowd. Those who know who I am are staring, mouth open, while those who don’t assess me with a mixture of curiosity and desire.

  I smile.

  When I spot Ashlei and Bo dancing, I adjust my path and clear my throat just as I reach them, popping a hip and holding out the bottle. “Who’s up for a shot?”

  It’s Ashlei who reacts first — jaw dropping, eyes bulging. “Oh. My God.”

  Bo is still somewhat dancing, but she halts when she realizes it’s me. “Holy shit. Roomie?!”

  I give a little twirl, letting their eyes run over my exposed skin. I wasn’t naïve enough to think I could pull this off with anything in my own closet, so I let Jess dress me before she finally gave in and went to the doctor. Even with a red, runny nose — the girl has style. I watch as Bo takes in my carefully teased hair and dramatic makeup, complete with smoky eye, winged eyeliner and bright red lips. Ashlei focuses more on the outfit — painted on black jeans ripped from the knee to the upper thigh, black sweetheart crop top and my personal favorite touch — sick black leather jacket. Black on black on black.

  “Holy fuck. I kind of want to lick you. Can I lick you?” Bo asks and Ashlei smacks her arm, almost as if she wishes she was the one Bo wanted to lick. Weird. “What?! Look at her!”

  “I am. Jesus, Cassie. What’s the occasion?”

  Confidence is not a virtue I possess, but it’s almost like it came along with the heels and makeup tonight. I know it’ll be gone again in the morning, but I’m rocking it tonight.

  Cocking a brow, I smile wider. “It’s the fucking Fratalina Wine Mixer, am I right?!”

  They both throw their fists in the air and cheer.