She shakes her head. “It’s a later report for me today, since I don’t have to do the orientation that all the new interns will have to do. I’m going to hang out with Erin for a bit and then I’ll head downtown.”
“I’ll probably come back to the house between classes, so I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Sounds good! See ya later, Legs,” she teases, swatting my ass as she skips out of mine and Jess’s room. My Little does the same thing, and I laugh, waving them both off before I make my way downstairs.
I’m running late as I hobble-speedwalk across campus to my first class — Writing for Television. Once again, I have an eclectic mix of classes this semester, my feeble attempt to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life after college.
If I’m being honest with myself, all I really thought about over break was the American Poker Club Tournament. I officially announced my entrance, and even though I haven’t fully paid the fee to enter yet, the poker blogs and magazines are already eating it up. I’ll be one of the few females in the tournament, and by far the youngest.
But for once — at least, for now — they’re all talking about how I’m one to beat, not just a hot girl who plays cards, but an actual contender.
It’s a step in the right direction, however small.
So, as much as I do want to figure out what my next steps are after college, all I’ve been able to think about is poker.
Well, at least, until the new transfer showed up.
I met Kip Jackson last night at fraternity rush, and about an hour after making fun of his glasses and his name, he was sucking tequila out of my belly button and licking lime juice from my lips.
I smile, biting my lower lip at the memory of that kiss. I’m no stranger to the buzz of a first kiss, of a first night with a guy, but this was different — it was more. The moment our lips met, I swear I felt a million bolts of electricity course through me in a smooth, vibrant wave. I’m not even sure how long we made out before he pulled away, but I know it was long enough for me to decide he is absolutely my new target for this semester.
I’ll have Kip Jackson wrapped around my finger soon enough.
I ended up texting him late last night, thanks to Adam forking over his new pledge’s number, but we haven’t really talked since then. The ball is in his court. If he wants a date, he’ll ask for it.
He better.
I skip into class right after the professor, who tosses his belongings down on his desk and starts writing on the whiteboard. Scanning the classroom, I try to find a place in the back, but sigh when I see all the seats are taken. I’m used to taking classes with at least one sorority sister, having someone to walk into class with and sit with all semester, not to mention, a study buddy. But with this class, I’m on my own.
At least, that’s what I think — until I spot Kip a few rows back.
God, he’s even sexier than I remember. I decided after I met him that it’s not his hair, which is a soft, rugged blond styled messy and casual like I love. And I don’t think it’s necessarily his lean, toned arms or easy, confident smile that sets him apart, either.
No — it’s his eyes. Definitely his eyes. They’re an electric blue, ocean-like just like mine, and they’re framed by black, plastic frames that make them impossible to ignore. Except, he’s not wearing those glasses today. Instead, those eyes stand out all on their own, twinkling under the fluorescent light as he watches me from his desk.
I glance at his full lips, that memory of them being pressed against my own sparking to life again. Smirking, I make my way up the steps and slide into the open seat next to him.
“Where’s mine?” I ask, eyeing the coffee cup at the corner of his desk.
He follows my gaze to the cup before giving me a smirk of his own. “Sorry, they didn’t have tequila. I checked.”
“Damn them,” I exasperate. “I need to run for Student Council so I can change that.”
I don’t have time to flirt as much as I’d like, but Kip is still smiling at me when the professor claps his hands together and starts in on his lecture.
I feel a little uneasy being in a classroom full of writers, almost like a poser in some way. The first question Dr. O’Neal asks is, “Why do we write?” It only takes a couple of people being shot down with their attempts at responding to that question for me to know that I have no chance of offering any kind of worthy answer.
Kip watches me as I fidget with my pencil, silently begging the professor to move on from this and back to the syllabus. For some reason, I’m completely petrified that he’ll decide to call on someone from the class roster or just spot my discomfort and shine it under a spotlight.
It’s an unfounded anxiety, I realize, but I can’t quiet it.
Luckily, I don’t have to, because when Mr. Sexy Four Eyes opens his mouth to give his answer, I’m in a complete trance along with the rest of the class and the professor.
“I guess I can’t speak for everyone in here,” he starts, like he’s unsure, though everything about the way he’s sitting and speaking screams confidence. His shoulders are back, head high, easy smile in place as he drapes one ankle over the opposite knee. “But I write for a purpose — a purpose that changes each time. Sometimes it’s to evoke laughter, sometimes to make people think, sometimes to bring a feeling to life like romance or pain, and always — no matter what the topic — to entertain.”
The professor smiles, pointing his marker at Kip with approval before he drones on about something else. I don’t even hear it, because I’m too busy staring at Kip’s mouth again.
“You kind of have this all figured out, don’t you?” I tease.
“I like to think I know what my passions are, yes,” he answers, his aqua eyes skirting to mine.
“Passion can be a dangerous thing.”
He smiles, turning his attention back to Dr. O’Neal. “What’s life without a little danger?”
And just like that, our little game of cat and mouse is back on.
After class, the professor asks Kip to stay back, so I wait for him outside of the Visual Arts Building. I can’t help myself — he’s just too delicious not to play with. When he emerges from the double doors, he grins at the sight of me, tucking his hands into the pockets of his hunter green shorts.
“You really are stalking me.”
I shrug, still leaning casually against the brick of the building. “You should be so lucky, Four Eyes. Speaking of which, where are your specks today?”
“Contacts,” he says. “I’m heading to the gym after my last class today, and they don’t fare well with sweat.”
The image of him sweating, the muscles in his arms bulging as he bench presses more than I weigh makes me chew my cheek.
How long until I can get him in bed with me?
“You’re weird,” I assess after a moment, because he is — he is truly a strange creature, one I’ve never experienced at Palm South University. Usually, the guys here fit easily into a box: Jock, Nerd, Frat Daddy, Rock Star Wannabe, Loser, etc. But Kip?
He doesn’t fit in. He stands out.
And he owns that shit like a boss.
“You like it,” he challenges, to which I just roll my eyes, turning on my heel for Greek Row.
“Skyler!” he calls out after me, and I smile, hiding it before I turn back to face him. “How do you take your coffee? For next week.”
“Trying to be a gentleman now?”
He shrugs, and even though it’s kind of a lame game to play, I can’t resist the chance to toy with him more.
“I only like one thing on the Starbucks menu. You seem to have everything else figured out, let’s see if you can guess what it is.”
I turn just as another smile threatens to break on my face, and he calls out behind me again.
“Will I see you before then?”
I only offer him a glance over my shoulder, batting my long lashes with a soft shrug.
Who knows, Kip Jackson — maybe you’ll see me before t
hen, maybe you won’t.
I’m still floating on the Kip Cloud when I make it back to the sorority house, thankful I survived the trek in my wedges. But before I have the time to kick the God-forsaken shoes off my feet, Jess grabs my arm, dragging me through the house.
“Ex just texted us and said to meet in her room ASAP. Sounds important.”
“Crisis with Spring Break planning?”
Jess tries not to laugh, but fails. “I’m sure it’s something equally as serious, knowing your Big.”
I smile, grateful that I’m still at the point in my life where Spring Break is my biggest worry. At least, for now. It won’t be long before all I’ll be able to think about is the poker tournament, and how much is riding on it.
I love PSU, and I’m next in line to be president of Kappa Kappa Beta.
But in order for that to happen, I have to be able to stay at Palm South.
And in order for that to happen, I have to win this tournament.
No pressure.
WHAT THE HELL IS this feeling?
That’s all I can think while I wait for the girls to get to my room.
My chest is prickly, like the air inside my lungs is electric, sending little waves of static through every breath. I can’t stop smiling, and there’s almost a little… dance? Skip? In every step I take. I know I’ve felt this feeling before, yet it’s foreign and confusing, like my body forgot how to feel it and thus is having a hard time computing.
Is this… excitement? Hope? Both?
I smile, shaking my head against my own giddiness.
Calm down, Erin.
But how can I?
Kip Jackson is at Palm South University.
Kip Jackson — my first love, perhaps the only boy I’ve ever loved. Kip Jackson — the one I’ve wanted to lean on ever since we broke up, the one who always rushes back to my mind when the emotions get to be too much.
I lost him, and I’ve never forgiven myself for it. He’s the best guy I’ve ever dated, and yet, I thought he was destined to be the one who got away.
But now, I finally have my second chance.
Because Kip Jackson is at Palm South University.
Ashlei and Cassie fly through my door first, Cassie hopping up on my bed as Ashlei tries as delicately as she can to sit in my bean bag chair.
“What’s going on, Ex?” she asks, but I just pull up my desk chair to form a semi-circle.
“Let’s wait until the other girls get here.”
As if on cue, Jess pounces through my door next, taking the spot on my bed next to Cassie. Skyler is the last to join us, and she shuts my door behind her, kicking off her wedges before plopping down on the floor to complete our circle.
In a dress.
“Ew, put your snatch away, Little,” I tease.
Jess throws a pillow at Skyler from where she sits on the bed, and my Little glances down at her exposed thong as a blush shades her cheeks.
“Did you just call my treasure box a snatch?”
“Did you just call it a treasure box?” Cassie counters.
“Would you prefer I say vagasaurus? That’s my personal favorite nickname,” Skyler says matter-of-factly, tucking the pillow Jess threw into her lap to shield her underwear from view.
The girls all chuckle, though Jess looks appalled.
“Do you really call it that?” she asks Skyler.
“Among many other things, yes.”
“Like what?” Jess pokes, her brows still pinched together in a mixture of curiosity and disgust.
“I don’t know… hoohah, muffin, pink canoe.”
“Juice box, kitty, hot pocket,” Cassie adds.
Ashlei sits up a little straighter, running her hands over her tight pencil skirt before chiming in. “Tampon tamer, magic bean, cubby hole. I heard someone call it a finger hut once. My personal favorite is vajayjay.”
“Oh! That’s another one I use frequently, Lei. Nice.”
Skyler practically air-high-fives Ashlei from across the room, and what started off as a fun joke suddenly starts to annoy me. The skin on my neck tingles, and my left leg bounces where it rests over my right one.
Don’t they realize we have more important things to discuss?
“I seriously have never used any of these,” Jess says. “I say vagina. Or occasionally I get a little Jersey Shore and say co-cah.”
“Or cho-cha like Missy Elliot?” Skyler asks.
“Yes!” Jess and Cassie say in unison, and then everyone explodes into another fit of laughter — me included.
“Can we stop talking about penis fly traps for like two seconds?” I finally say, but I can’t deny that it feels good to laugh.
When was the last time I did?
“This is serious!” I add for good measure, but my straight face cracks into another smile which just makes all the girls laugh harder. Snatching a handful of highlighters off my desk, I peg each one of them with a different color to a chorus of more laughter.
Finally, Jess wipes tears from her eyes, settling the room. “Okay, Ex, what’s going on?”
I exhale long and slow, folding my hands in my lap and sitting up straighter. Time to get down to business.
“Did I ever tell you guys about the summer before my senior year of high school?”
My Grand-Little stops digging around for snacks in my bedside table long enough to answer. “Isn’t that the summer you spent with your grandparents?”
“Yes. It was the summer I wanted to find myself, that I wanted to sort of break free from everything I thought I was.”
I close my eyes briefly, smiling a little at the memory of that summer — the Kansas wheat fields, the hot sun, the constant breeze that ruffled Kip’s blond hair. I can still feel the way his calloused hands fit in mine after long days on harvest, can still smell the country air as we passed long nights on a blanket under the stars behind my grandparents’ house.
“I had just ended a two-year relationship,” I continue. “And I was in a strange place.” My voice fades as I realize how tough I thought that time in my life had been…
If only I would have known what was still to happen to me in the future.
I shake my head. “Well, I met a boy that summer…”
“Oh!” Ashlei says, snapping her fingers. “I remember the story! He was the Army brat, right?”
“He wasn’t a brat, you brat,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her as I fight back a smile. “But yes, he did live on the base by my grandparents’ house. He was amazing — everything I needed that summer. We spent practically every night together and as cliché as it sounds, I fell in love with him.” I smile. “Well, as in love as I could be at that age. It was the perfect summer romance.”
I’m still kind of lost in my memory when Skyler’s voice breaks through the fog.
“Not that this isn’t romantic and touching, but is there a reason you’re telling us this?”
Standing, I let the warm light within me beam through. “You are not going to believe this,” I say. “The boy I met that summer? He’s here… like here, as in he’s a student at Palm South!”
“What?” Ashlei pops up. “Isn’t that impossible? We know pretty much everyone on this campus.”
“Not the new students,” I point out, waiting for them to catch on. When they don’t, I sigh. “He’s a transfer!”
My chest prickles with those damn bolts of electricity again, and I press a hand to the center of it, smiling.
“He just moved here. I heard Adam talking about his new pledges this morning outside of the Greek library and I just kind of casually asked about him — where he was from, what he was like — it’s definitely him, girls!”
Ashlei’s face lights up, but the room is quiet for me having just dropped such exciting news. Provided, I was possibly being a little dramatic about the whole thing, but it’s been so long since I’ve been excited about — well, anything — that I kind of expected a little more gusto in the reaction to my news.
For some reas
on, Jess and Cassie are watching Skyler, who looks like she’s about to throw up.
“What?” Ashlei asks before I can. “Why are you guys acting so weird?”
“Nothing,” Skyler says quickly. “We know him. Well, we met him. Last night.”
“At rush?!” I ask excitedly. My stomach flips at the thought of seeing him again, of just casually running into him with the girls.
“Oh my God, Kip? Is that you? How’s it going? Oh, have you met our president, Erin Xanders? Oh, you HAVE?”
Skyler nods. “Yep. He was nice.”
“That’s one way to put it, Sky,” Jess adds, snickering. She nudges Cassie, like there’s some sort of inside joke under those words, but Cassie just coughs uncomfortably.
What the hell?
“Okay, what the hell happened, Little?” I ask, turning on Skyler.
She groans, face flopping into the pillow in her lap. Her next words are muffled through it. “Nothing. We played foosball.”
“And he lost, so she made him take a shot of tequila…” Jess says.
My anxiety eases a little. So they met, and maybe they flirted a bit. Doesn’t surprise me that my Little had the new kid taking a shot of tequila to welcome him to PSU.
But then Jess continues, and my stomach sinks with her words.
“…Off her body.”
The first thought through my head is school your features. If I learned anything from my mother over last summer, it was that ninety-five percent of a woman’s power comes from how well she responds to potentially emotional situations. Think like a man, she’d put it — though I like to think it’s more thinking like a woman — a strong, logical woman not ruled by her emotions.
So, even though the thought of Kip running his tongue over my Little’s stomach makes me want to punch her in the nose and then run off crying, I simply take a breath, and start thinking.
“Oh,” I say first, as calmly as I can. I need something to do with my hands, so I walk toward my closet, running my fingers over the different Lily Pulitzer dresses inside. “Well, that’s okay. I mean, you didn’t know. How could you?”
And though those words shake as they leave my lips, they’re true. Skyler wouldn’t hurt me, and she definitely wouldn’t have a guy I’m still obsessed over take a body shot off her.
Legacy: A New Adult College Romance (Palm South University Book 4) Page 3
