I snuck Clinton inside. We made out. He ripped my dress off. There was some sort of talk about stopping that neither of us listened to. And we had sex.
We totally, totally had sex.
“Did we?”
I nod. “Uh, yep.”
Clinton’s brows furrow and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, shit.”
All at once, I spring into action, gathering his clothes off the floor and shoving them toward him before pulling on a pair of shorts and sleep shirt to cover my still-naked body. “You have to get out of here. Mom Cindy is going freak out if she finds you here.” I shake my head, cracking my door open just enough to peek down the hall before turning back to Clinton. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this happened.”
“Relax,” he says groggily, pulling on his last dress shoe. He left the belt off his slacks and his white dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top. With his tie and jacket in one hand, he moves toward the door where I’m still standing. “It’s fine. We had a few drinks and then had a little fun. No harm, no foul, right?”
My heart is beating rapidly against my rib cage and I can’t seem to find enough breath even though I know I’m inhaling and exhaling over and over again. Skyler would probably kill me if she found out this happened. And the other girls would totally judge. It’s Clinton we’re talking about here. Plus, I’m trying to move up in the sorority – I can’t do that if word gets out that I’m sneaking boys into the house.
“Bear… we can’t…”
“I know. I won’t say anything.”
“Like, no one can find out.”
“Erin, it’s fine,” he assures me again. Holding up two fingers, he cocks a brow. “No one hears a peep about it. Scout’s honor. Okay?”
I nod. “Okay. I won’t tell anyone either.”
At that, Clinton smirks. “Obviously.”
Placing his free hand on the door handle, Clinton glances back at the bed and it’s as if he remembers what happened, too, because he smiles a little broader and throws me a wink before disappearing down the hall. Forcing the door shut behind him, I press my back against it and let out a mixture of a moan and a sigh, shaking my head.
That did not just happen.
I can feel myself hyperventilating. I don’t have control of this situation. I clearly didn’t have control of anything last night. I need something I can exercise power over and fast. Right now I’m spinning, losing balance, and this is not me. This is not Erin Xander.
The last time I let myself lose control of my emotions and actions was the summer before my senior year of high school. It was the summer I visited my grandparents in Kansas and in a way, I found myself in those short two months – but I also lost myself, too. I shiver, the blue eyes of a boy I haven’t thought about in a long time sneaking up on me out of nowhere. I vowed after that shit show that I would always have a plan and more than that – I would always stick to said plan.
Hooking up with Clinton was not in my plan.
Quickly, I cross the room and rip my laptop from its power cord before falling back onto my bed. Before I can process it, I’m feverishly typing out my essay for my Recruitment Chair application. I was hesitant about applying, since usually executive positions are reserved for seniors, but I’m too impatient to wait around for the presidency and I don’t want a small chair position. I want to lead. I want authority.
More than that, I need it.
As if my morning couldn’t get any worse, my phone rings and my mom’s picturesque face fills the screen. Though her hair is dark unlike my own, I definitely inherited my high cheek bones and chocolate eyes from her. I pray every day that I don’t inherit anything else – especially characteristically.
She’s ensuring my arrival for Thanksgiving, no doubt, especially since they’re hosting their annual dinner at the country club. Just the thought of making small talk with my parents’ friends and listening to Mom and Dad’s incessant pleas for me to find a suitable man make me want to crawl under my bed and die. If only they knew about last night…
I laugh out loud at that and silence my phone at the same time. I can call her back later, and she will definitely never know about last night. I can’t even imagine the lecture I’d get if she ever did find out.
What is Bear’s major? Football? Beer? Mind-blowing Sex?
Shit. Did I really just think that?
Typing faster, I set my focus back to the task at hand – on something I have control over. I can’t help what my parents feel about me or take back my actions from last night, but I can take over what will happen when I get back from Thanksgiving.
I’ll be elected Recruitment Chair, ace my finals, party with my sisters and then take off for a European Christmas trip with Kelsey. I had a little too much fun last night, but now it’s back to business.
And, this time, no straying from the plan.
THANKSGIVING IS BY FAR my favorite holiday. For most families, it means turkey dinner, football, and Black Friday shopping. For mine, it means homemade pizza, craft beer, and poker.
Absolute perfection.
Having Clinton with me this year makes it even more special. I was slightly terrified on our drive up, realizing he was going to be walking into a completely different atmosphere than the one at Palm South, but then I realized it’s Clinton – he’s the last one I have to worry about judging me. If anything, it seems like Clinton came from a similar situation – if not a worse one.
I may have never had money or nice things growing up, but I always knew my family loved me.
I’m not sure Clinton can say the same.
That thought wrecks me as I watch him working in the kitchen with my mom. I can tell it’s his first time making a homemade pizza because he’s having trouble with the dough just like I did the first time I made it. I can’t help but chuckle at his determined scowl as his large fingers work against the sticky concoction, not really making any progress at all until Mom jumps in to help. He just grunts and takes a long swig of his IPA.
My parents’ house is small but homey, and I think I love it even more for that. There are family photos on every wall and not one shelf or coffee table is clear of clutter. Mail, magazines, and other odds and ends cover the dining room table and car keys and wallets sit alongside vases and knick-knacks on the mantel. The forest green and cream white colored accents in the living room don’t really match any of the furniture and the kitchen is an explosion of tonight’s dinner ingredients and dishes. The fridge is hidden by mismatched magnets and takeout menus and not one plate matches another in the cabinet. I love my home, and I love Clinton being in it even more.
“He seems like a great guy,” Dad says, placing his rough hands on my shoulders and squeezing. He’s a tall, lean man with light blonde hair slowly graying at the ends. The wrinkles on his face tell the world that he’s had to work hard in his life but the smile he always has plastered on says he’s enjoyed every last minute. He gave me my favorite feature – my ocean blue eyes. “I can tell he cares about you.”
“It’s not like that, Dad,” I clarify, patting his hand with my own. “We’re just friends. But he is really special to me.”
“I see that.” Dad plants a kiss on the top of my head and adjusts his glasses just as Clinton removes his hands where he’s just kneaded out the dough. He curses as it folds back in on itself and Dad chuckles. “Let’s go help them or we’re never going to eat.”
After dinner, Mom and my older brother, Skott, start setting the table up for our poker game. Skott is seven years older than me and lives in Alaska. He works for a wildlife preservation society and the fact that he even got the time to come home for the holiday is amazing. With his long, disheveled brown hair and newly sprouted beard, he looks nothing like what I remember. Then again, I haven’t seen him other than the occasional video chat in almost two years. His blue eyes are still the same, though – they match mine and Dad’s. When he ruffles my hair as I pull the last dirty dish from the table, I smile and stick out my tongue at him
before brushing past.
“Your family is amazing,” Clinton says as he dries another dish. I start scrubbing the one I just retrieved and smile.
“Yeah, they are. Definitely far from the other families of Palm South though, huh?”
Clinton shares my smile, shaking his head. “That’s an understatement. I can definitely say I’d rather be here playing poker with your family than playing golf with one of my brothers’.”
“Or drinking tea.”
“Or browsing the newest BMW line.”
I hand him the last dish to dry and whip out my best attempt at a rich southern accent, which kind of sounds more like a hick because I have no idea what I’m doing. “Or sitting around talking about how perfect our houses are.”
Clinton laughs, but mimics me, his accent more European. “Or comparing trust funds like dicks.”
My mom walks in just as he finished the sentence and she blushes, her dark chocolate hair falling in her face a bit as she hands us a dish I must have missed. “It’s okay, Bear. No need to prove to us how big your… trust fund is.”
Dad and Skott crack up at that and I can’t help but join them. Even though his dark skin doesn’t show it, I swear Clinton is blushing as he apologizes to my mom. She pats him on the arm and then we all gather around the table as Dad divvies out the chips and explains the blinds. Clinton watches poker and plays at the casino with me sometimes, so luckily we don’t have to teach him how to play the game itself.
“Ready for me to take all your money, sis?” Skott asks as Dad deals the first hand.
“Keep dreaming,” I tease.
The rest of the night is a mixture of laughter and good conversation, both of which I appreciate. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to let loose without thinking about what guys are around or what my sisters might be thinking. I can tell Clinton is enjoying himself, too, and I know he needs the break from life just as much as I do. Neither of us have even really been on our phones, other than me responding to Adam’s texts and Clinton following up with his mom – who still hasn’t reached out to him since semi-formal.
I take everyone’s money by the end of the evening. Dad and Mom aren’t surprised in the slightest but Skott fought me until the end. He’s still a little bitter when he knuckles my head and slinks down the hall to his old bedroom. Clinton and I opt to sit on my front porch for a while, talking a bit but mostly just enjoying the nice November weather and listening to the soft buzz of insects.
When we go back to campus, it’ll be finals and elections and then we’ll all disperse for Christmas break. It’s kind of nice to just take a moment to enjoy life without all the rush that goes along with being in college.
Too bad it’s short lived.
I’M QUIET ON THE RIDE HOME Sunday, though my thoughts are loud in my head. After the first hour passes, Clinton finally breaks the silence.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking so hard about?” When I don’t answer immediately, he sighs. “Skyler, what’s going on? Did Adam say something? Everything was fine, we were having a great weekend. What changed?”
“Shit,” I groan, sliding my hands down to the bottom of the steering wheel and stretching my back out against the scratchy seat. Since everything is so close to campus at Palm South, I always leave my car at home and take cabs or buses around the university, so I rented a car for the drive home and back. The small economic car isn’t nearly as comfortable as my old beat up Pontiac, though. “My parents are in trouble, Bear.”
“What do you mean? They seemed fine to me.”
“I found a letter from the bank in the stack of mail my mom gave me. She must have gotten theirs mixed in with mine. It was a warning letter.” I sigh. “They’re about to lose the house.”
Clinton blanches. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
He looks out the window for a short moment before shaking his head. “Damn it, Skyler. You shouldn’t have given me that money. Your family needs it just as much as mine does. And at least yours isn’t using it for fucking pills.”
“Don’t, Bear,” I warn. “I gave you that because I care about you and I wanted that situation to be squashed. I wouldn’t take it back now even if you tried, and you know it.” Sighing, I brace myself for what I’m about to say next. “I just need to figure out a new plan.”
Clinton cocks a brow, curious. “You say that like you already have one.”
“I do. Well, kind of.”
“What do you mean?”
I sigh again. “There’s a huge tournament over Christmas break in Atlantic City. It’s not like what I usually play, Bear.” I pause, shaking my head at the audacity I have for even thinking I have a chance at this. “The pros will be there. There’s a lot of money at stake and I’ll be lucky if I can even hang on until the final table.”
“Skyler, you sell yourself too short.” Clinton reaches his large, rough hand across the console and squeezes my knee. “You’re good at this. Really fucking good. You don’t enter larger tournaments because you get in the way of yourself.” He lifts his hand to tap the side of my head. “It’s all up here. You psych yourself out.”
“But this isn’t just a tournament. It’ll be on television. People will be watching. People have been practicing all year for this.”
Clinton smiles. “Well, then I guess you better not get used to no one knowing your name because after you win this thing, everyone will.”
I have no idea why, but my eyes fill with water that I don’t blink away. I don’t want the tears. I just let them sit there, blurring my vision a bit as I glance at Clinton. “You really think I can do this?”
“I know you can.” I let out a large breath and he continues. “In fact, when we get back to campus, we’re going straight to my room and signing you up.”
“Maybe I should sleep on it.”
Clinton shakes his head. “No chance. We’re signing you up and then we’re booking our flights.”
“Our?”
He nods. “Yep. Our. I’m going to be there the first time the poker world wakes up and realizes who Skyler Fucking Thorne is.”
At that, I laugh and blink, granting my tears access to roll down my cheeks in two symmetrical rivers. After a few moments of silence, my heart surges and I reach across to grab his hand. “Thank you.”
He just squeezes it in response and then reaches forward, raising the volume on the radio. We goof around, sing, and joke about absolutely nothing that makes sense the rest of the way home.
And I silently thank whatever God is listening for sending me Clinton Pennington.
AH, I LOVE BREAKFAST IN BED.
Or should I say, Jarrett loves breakfast in bed. I just love serving it.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan, arching my back and grinding my pelvis against his god-like tongue. “Right there. Yes.” I drag out the word, my breaths ragged and intense.
Jarrett just smiles against my tender flesh and continues moving his magical fingers inside me, hitting the spot I need him to touch most. The rough stubble on his face provides just enough friction to drive me mad, and combined with his skilled alternating motions somewhere between sucking and licking, I’m ready to combust any second.
“Come here,” I pant, grabbing at the bare skin of his shoulders to coax him up to me. I’m ready for him to be inside me. I need it. Now.
“You come first.”
“I want you to fuck me.”
He moves his fingers faster and sucks my clit, causing me to cry out his name. “And I will. But first, you’re going to come just like this.”
Realizing there’s no use in arguing, I relax against the sheets and move my hands to cover his gripping my hips. He squeezes harder, his tongue flicking up some sort of magical combination I’m pretty sure they don’t even teach at Hogwarts before he sends me flying into ecstasy.
I ride out the orgasm, bucking my hips up to meet his mouth with each wave until I’m spent. When I finish, Jarrett kisses and bites his way up every inch
of my body until he meets my mouth, letting me taste myself on his tongue. “You’d do well to listen to me and not argue when I’m trying to pleasure you.”
“Oh shut up and fuck me,” I moan. He’s all too happy to oblige. Flipping me over and pressing my face into his soft goose down comforter, he takes all of six seconds to fill me from behind. My entire body is flat against the bed and my legs are still squeezed tight together as he straddles my ass and pounds into me hard. In this position, I swear I feel him all the way up to my ribcage.
He doesn’t come in this position though.
Or the next one. Or the next one after that. No, Jarrett takes his time fucking me all morning, switching positions when I know he’s close just so he can ride out another ten minutes. When we’re both slick with sweat, our legs aching, our mounting climaxes ridiculously uncomfortable – that’s when he lets me come again and releases with me.
“Goddamn, Jess,” he whispers, dropping his forehead against mine. I wait for him to continue, to say something else, but apparently those two words are all he needed to convey what he meant – just my name and the most offensive curse word in the English language.
Oddly, I’m flattered.
He removes himself gently, kissing my lips once more before peeling off the condom and retreating to the bathroom. For a moment I just watch his tight ass waltz away, trailing my eyes along the lines of the tattoos covering both his arms. He rubs his hand over his bald head and half closes the door, blocking my view. Sighing, I spread out in the sheets and flex my muscles, wincing as they ache in protest. Jarrett chuckles from the doorframe a moment later.
“You need a banana and some water.”
I quirk my brow at the phallic fruit reference, but decide not to comment on it. “I’m thinking more along the lines of bacon and a mimosa.”
“You have class in a half hour.”
I shrug. “And? I’ll sober up before our test tonight, professor. Promise.” I wink and he shakes his head. It’s the week after Thanksgiving and already finals have kicked in. Dr. Maynard decided to give us our last test tonight before finals week officially starts next week so we don’t feel overwhelmed. It doesn’t matter, though. We’re college kids – we wait until the last minute and then overdose on Adderall and Red Bull until we get the job done. It’s what we do.
Palm South University: Season 1 Box Set (Palm South University #1) Page 17
