Legacy: A New Adult College Romance (Palm South University Book 4) Read online

  I hold that girl all night long like she’s my entire world.

  And that’s when I realize she is.

  THIS MOTHERFUCKER IS CRAZY.

  That’s the first thing that pops into my head when I descend the stairs and see Kip waiting for me at the bottom of them — in his pajamas.

  Here I am in high heels that already make my arches ache, and a black dress so tight I won’t be able to eat more than a piece of cheese without busting out of it, and this motherfucker is in flannel sleep pants.

  Flannel sleep pants that hang on his hips in a way that shouldn’t even be legal, but that’s beside the point.

  I should have said no to this date. I didn’t really have a choice — not with Erin giving me the death eye when he asked me in front of our entire chapter — but I should have found a way. Because I knew, I knew after last weekend that I was in trouble.

  After the tournament, I went back to Kip’s house and let him make me breakfast. Okay, fine. No big deal. It’s just pancakes and bacon, right?

  Wrong. So wrong.

  Blame it on the high from winning the tournament, or maybe on the late-night hour, but something shifted during that breakfast-slash-dinner. Kip watched me in a different way, a mixture of respect and longing, and I tried desperately to keep my feelings at bay.

  He’s just a boy, I’d tried to tell myself. There are plenty of others like him.

  But that’s where I’d had to laugh at myself, because I knew it wasn’t true. I’ve dated around PSU. Hell, I’ve even dipped my toes into other university’s fishing pool, thanks to Spring Break ventures. And one thing I knew for sure, especially after he made me breakfast and walked on the beach with me as the sun rose, was that there were not plenty of others out there like Kip.

  I’m pretty sure there aren’t any. Period.

  I watch his face as I make my way down the stairs, eyes tracing over the slight stubble on his chin, fixating on those damn glasses that make my knees do wobbly things. He looked so different in the morning light as the sun rose over the coast, and even though I was sure he wanted to take me home to try to get some, he didn’t.

  We talked.

  About our family, our background, our goals. And, for the first time ever, I found someone other than my parents and Bear who seemed genuinely interested in my poker life.

  He offered to help me, to get me prepped for the tournament, and that little offer did fluttery things to my stomach, the same way his stupid glasses do wobbly things to my knees. Not even my sisters had ever offered to help me with poker. Sure, they’ve supported me from afar, but even that has been slim.

  Kip saw what I wanted, what I desired, and he wanted to help me achieve it.

  This motherfucker is breaking down my body — more importantly, my mind — and it is not okay.

  “Um, hi?” I ask, one eyebrow cocking up at his appearance when I hit the last step.

  His blond hair is ruffled more than usual, a lazy, sleepy smirk resting on his face. It’s that same face he had when he propositioned me for a date in front of my entire sorority. It’s also the same stupid face keeping me awake late at night when I should be sleeping and not thinking about Kip motherfucking Jackson.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “I told you to stay in your sweats,” he says easily, referring to my half-ass attempt to bail on our date earlier. I tried to avoid it at all costs — especially after the week of torture I’d had since the last time we’d hung out. Class, I could survive. Seeing him around Greek Row? No big deal. But knowing it would be just the two of us tonight? Doing very date-like things?

  Nope. SOS. Cannot deal.

  My original plan was to just avoid giving him the little date he’d “won” altogether. I thought maybe he’d drop it, maybe he’d forget. I thought maybe Erin would forget, too, with how much she has on her plate this semester.

  But then, Kip showed up at our chapter and rapped — yes, rapped his plea to take me out. In front of everyone. In front of Erin.

  I had no choice but to say yes, and I’ve been dreading this night ever since I agreed to it. I even completely ditched last night, but he wouldn’t let it go.

  We rescheduled for tonight, and even still, I tried to bail earlier, to reschedule. I said I was tired. I said I wanted to stay in my sweats, and he told me that was fine. He told me to stay in my PJs.

  Of course, I was kidding.

  But this. Mother. Fucker.

  “Go change,” he instructs.

  “What? But we’re going on a date.”

  “Your point? Go change, damnit, or we’re going to be late.”

  “For what, a slumber party?”

  Kip’s eyes narrow, though a playful smirk plays at the corner of his lips. He steps toward me, and before I even register that I should take a step back, his hands find the small of my back.

  “You know I like it when you’re feisty,” he husks. “So unless you want me to do very non-friend-zone things to you, I suggest you go change. And quickly.”

  All the blood drains from my cheeks. I feel it like cold, icy water slicking down my spine.

  This. This is what I knew I couldn’t handle, what I knew I needed to avoid. I can’t handle him looking at me like this — like he wants to lick every inch of skin I have exposed in the little black dress I’m wearing, and then some.

  “You said hands to yourself,” I remind him, referring to our texts, to the promise he made me that even though this was a date, he wouldn’t try to be more than friends. I tried to set up boundaries between us, to give us some sort of line to stay behind when it came to being around one another. I had to try something, anything not to test the little resistance I had when it came to him. “You promised.”

  “Then don’t make me break my word,” he muses, releasing me.

  Fire.

  Hot, burning, dangerous fire — that’s what Kip Jackson is.

  Erin wants me to lure him in, to get him to fall for me so she can pick up the pieces when I break him. I’m trying to save him. I’m trying to warn him, to keep my distance so we can stay just friends, so I can prove to Erin that her plan has no merit.

  I can’t break someone’s heart if they don’t give it to me, right?

  But standing at the bottom of those stairs, all I see is fire. Fire I’m about to jump into like it’s a deep pool of water, instead. He wants me, and I want him, and there is no fucking way any of this will end well.

  For a moment, I debate my options. Could I fake a stroke? Run upstairs and lock myself inside my room for the entire semester? Nothing sticks as I grasp for straws, and Kip just waits, that stupid smirk on his face as I have a complete panic attack under a cool façade.

  Finally, I huff, frustrated as I climb back up the stairs and change into sweats. I throw my hair up in a messy bun, too, before trotting back downstairs to join Kip.

  Then, we’re in a cab on our way to whatever place he has planned for our date, and all I can think about is Erin.

  “If you want to be president, you have to make sacrifices.”

  I love her, and I do want to be president — but can I really do this? Can I really get close to Kip — close enough to hurt him — without also hurting myself in the process?

  I know the answer to that question, and I feel more uncertainty bubbling up like acid in my stomach with each mile we drive away from campus as more questions pop in to take its place.

  Erin has a plan, and once she has her heart set on something, there’s no deterring her. There’s no reasoning with her, either.

  But… what if I can’t follow through with my end of the deal?

  Something tells me I’ll find out the answer to that question soon enough.

  And I probably won’t like what I find.

  As we wait for our check at Bella’s, the cute little Italian place off campus, my knee bounces. To Kip, it probably looks like I’m nervous, like I’m still concerned with the fact that we’re in our pajamas at a nice restaurant, like I’m scared we mig
ht run into someone I know.

  But really, I’m wishing he would just stop talking.

  Not because I don’t love the sound of his voice, the smooth baritone of it, or because what he’s saying is stupid or immature or rude. No, quite the opposite, actually.

  Every time he opens that beautiful mouth of his, I want to listen. I want to believe the words he’s saying, like that he thinks I look exquisite with no makeup on and my hair up in a bird’s nest of a bun. Or that he sees me as a girl meant to stand out when all I’ve ever wanted to do at PSU is blend in.

  Bella’s is quaint, half indoors and half out, close enough to the beach to smell the salt on the breeze. I trace the hanging white lights twinkling against the night sky as Kip continues staring at me.

  “Why are you watching me like that?” I ask him after a moment, noticing his gaze on my skin.

  “I can’t look at you?”

  “Not like that, you can’t.”

  He just grins, finishing off the last of the wine in his glass before standing and smoothing his hands over his wrinkled tank top. My eyes flick to his flannel pants again, to the delicious way they hug his hips, but then my eyes shoot up to his.

  “What are you doing?”

  This isn’t good. This is not good. Kip has that look, that same mischievous look he had before he jumped on the bar and won me at the auction. The same look he had before he rapped to my entire sorority.

  “Ella Mae,” he says, his voice deep with a fake southern drawl.

  Or is that midwestern?

  Honestly, I have no fucking clue and I can’t really think straight enough to figure it out because in the next instant, his hand grabs mine, and all I can do is stare at that point of contact.

  “I know we’ve only been together for ‘bout a year now, but I feel like you’re my whole world.”

  I don’t know how he’s not laughing — especially with what I’m sure is a quite hysterical expression on my face. I’m watching him like he just sprouted a second head, or like he’s talking in some fake accent super loudly while everyone around us watches.

  Oh, wait, that’s actually happening.

  “I wanna drive our RV all over ‘Merica and see everything with you. I can’t imagine sharin’ my pork rinds with anyone else. And, well, I guess what I’m sayin’ is…”

  Kip drops down to one knee, fishing a piece of trash out of his pocket. When he presents it to me like a prized pig, I realize he’s twisted a piece of straw wrapper into a sort of ring.

  Oh, my God.

  I’ll kill him.

  “Will you marry me?”

  The entire restaurant is wrapped around that little finger of his, some of them squealing or gasping or offering a collective chorus of “awww” that makes my skin crawl. Me? I’m too busy trying to figure out if I can somehow strangle Kip with my eyes somehow.

  “I know it’s just a straw wrapper,” he continues. “Heck, I never have been able to give you the finer things in life. But I promise to buy you a real nice ring when we can afford it. I’ll buy you whatever ring you want! Just please, make me the happiest man this side of the Mississippi River and say yes.”

  It’s hard to say how long I sit there, staring at his stupid, adorable face while everyone around me encourages me to say yes. I think very seriously about throwing something at him, or standing up and just walking right out, leaving him to sit there on his knee like a dumb ass alone in a room of strangers.

  But then, I realize something that makes my stomach curl in on itself like a snake.

  I want to laugh.

  This is fun. It’s fun-ny. And what’s worse? I haven’t had fun since Erin told me about her little plan, since my semester got flipped upside down in an instant.

  The last time I smiled — truly smiled — and felt giddy like this was when I realized Kip and I were in the same class, right before Erin’s emergency meeting.

  I blink, and a flash of Kip grinning down at me before he licked a line of salt up my abdomen hits me out of nowhere.

  All I can do is smile.

  I slap a hand over my mouth, forcing fake tears in my eyes as I throw all the warnings out the window. “Oh, gosh, Tommy. I wouldn’t spend my life with anyone else. Yes, a thousand times, yes!”

  I bolt out of my chair, flinging myself into his lap as I throw my arms around his neck and pull him close. The restaurant erupts into applause and whistles, and Kip smirks, his lips brushing my shoulder as we hold each other.

  “Nicely played, Ella Mae,” he whispers.

  I dig my knuckle into his rib before he yanks me to stand with him, facing the restaurant with a cocky grin.

  “Kiss! Kiss!”

  The chant starts somewhere in the back, but soon enough, it’s all I hear as everyone in the restaurant joins in. I feel the blush on my cheeks before I even turn to Kip, sure that he’ll wave everyone off and we’ll gracefully exit. But when his aqua eyes find mine, they drink me in like a healing elixir, and his smile is genuine as he reaches for me, dipping me back in a dramatic fashion to more cheers.

  His lips seek mine without a moment of hesitation, both of us caught up in the fake proposal. But the moment we connect, the second we kiss, every ounce of fakeness, or pretending, fades away in a flash, leaving us submerged in the thick, cool grips of reality.

  One of Kip’s hands is splayed across my lower back, holding me flush against him as our lips fuse together as one. I breathe him in deep, chills racing from the point where our mouths meet all the way down to my ankles. It’s just like before, like our kiss the first night we met, except this time, the electricity is amplified like it’s designed to kill.

  Perhaps, I think as Kip grips me a little tighter, it is.

  I nearly pass out, not another breath passing through me until Kip tilts me up again, the world coming back into focus. Someone snaps a picture, and that flash blinds me as much as the kiss. I just stand there, watching Kip with flushed cheeks as he pays our bill and grabs my hand, pulling me through the crowd and back into the Florida night.

  The air is a little chilled when it touches my hot cheeks, and it’s like that pinch of cold yanks me back to reality with enough force to knock my next breath out of reach. I don’t say a word as we wait for the cab Kip called for us, and once we’re inside it, I go off on him, fighting against every urge I have to laugh and feigning annoyance, instead.

  I have to be annoyed, because otherwise, I’ll be forced to acknowledge the other feelings resting below that pretense.

  Like want.

  And need.

  And the cold realization that I’m in big, big trouble.

  FOR THE FIRST TIME since I was raped, I’m drunk.

  I’ve avoided alcohol like most college students avoid homework, knowing all too well what can happen when I lose control of my body, of my mind. I’ve had absolutely no desire to even have a drink, let alone several.

  Until tonight.

  I knew I shouldn’t have followed Kip and Skyler. I knew I shouldn’t have creeped on their date like some kind of psycho. But, then again, I’ve known since the moment this harebrained scheme formed in my head that I was tiptoeing on the line between I’m okay and I’m completely insane, but it didn’t stop me.

  Maybe I really am going crazy, but I can’t find the will to care — let alone stop.

  And so, I’d broken my dry spell, no longer able to survive the night sober after I watched them fake kiss at Bella’s Italian Restaurant.

  If I told my mom what I was doing, she’d likely pull me out of school and drag me kicking and screaming back home. But it was her who told me to channel my emotions, to put them to use, to find what makes me happy and cling onto that.

  Well, Kip makes me happy. At least, he did, when we were younger, and I know he will again.

  I just have to get to him.

  And Skyler is supposed to be helping me do that.

  I shift on the couch in our sorority common room, my stomach rolling as I finish off the last of the tequil
a I poured in a small tea cup, just in case anyone walked in. My thoughts swim in my intoxicated mind, fuzzy and unclear, and I try to pick them out of the murky water as they pass.

  It’s after two now, and Skyler should be rolling in any minute.

  I know, because I watched them from afar as she and Kip said goodnight. I listened to him ask her to stay, to her saying she couldn’t, all the while fighting off the urge to upchuck my dinner on the beach.

  Sighing, I run the tip of my index finger along the lip of my tea cup, eyes on the small bit of liquid left in a ring around the bottom. Skyler was trying to keep her distance from Kip — that much I could tell with how she responded to his fake proposal at dinner. It was adorable, absolutely swoon-worthy for any girl trying to resist his charm. But Skyler had played it like a pro, only joining in at the very end to join his charade.

  That hadn’t been hard to watch.

  In fact, not even that first kiss had been. I watched him dip her back in a dramatic fashion, watched his hands grip the small of her back as they kissed for the crowd, and though it stung, I knew it was all part of the show.

  But then, I followed them to the beach, to the pier, and everything from that point on became a torturous affair.

  I never would have labeled myself as a masochist before tonight, but that’s the only word suitable for what I’d inflicted. I’d followed them around, watching from afar as Kip tried unsuccessfully to win Skyler a giant teddy bear before she finally became the one to pull it off. I tried to breathe normally as I watched them float up to the sky in a bucket on the Ferris wheel, tried to ignore the jealousy flaring in me as they laughed at the top, and I tried not to pass out altogether when I saw their lips still locked together as they floated toward the bottom again. Skyler had broken their kiss first, jumping off Kip’s lap and running her hands through her messy hair, but I knew as much as she did in that moment that she was in trouble.