Palm South University: Season 3 Box Set

by Kandi Steiner

  He shakes his head with a grin. “You can call me Brandon, if you’d like,” he adds quickly.

  “Brandon,” I say, trying it out with a nod. But then I crack out a laugh. “Feels kind of weird.”

  A shadow passes over his dark eyes. “I’m sure the more you say it, the more comfortable it will feel.”

  And there it is again. The look. The piercing gaze that strips me of any reply other than an open mouth as he throws the car in drive.

  I keep my hand tucked under my thighs the entire drive to the auto racing venue, mostly looking out the window as we breeze through town. Wale’s Ambition album beats through the speakers, Mr. Church — er, Brandon — rapping along, thumbing to the beat of the bass on his steering wheel.

  Every now and then, he casts a glance in my direction, but neither of us makes conversation. When we pull into the parking lot, he doesn’t find a spot, but drives through the back alley and up to a locked gate instead.

  I frown, scanning the empty race track inside. “Are they open today?”

  “Sort of,” Brandon answers, nodding to a young man inside the gate as he removes the locks and motions for Brandon to drive forward.

  We pull in slowly, right onto the massive track, and Brandon puts the car in park just before the white and black checkered painted block on the track. He steps out first, smiling at my dumbfounded expression as he rounds the car to open my door.

  “I don’t understand,” I say as I take his hand and step out. “Why is no one else here?”

  “Ah, Mr. Church!” a voice calls from our right. I turn to find an older man with dark hair, peppered with gray, jogging toward us. He’s dressed in khaki pants and a navy blue polo, his skin a deep shade of olive and smile bright under his mustache. “So thrilled to have you back. Always a pleasure.”

  Brandon meets his extended hand with a firm shake. “Pleasure’s all mine, Rodalfo. This is Ashlei Daniels,” he adds, motioning to me. Rodalfo takes my hand and lifts it to his lips for a kiss. “She’ll be riding shotgun today.”

  “Welcome, Ashlei,” he says, squeezing my hand once more before releasing it. “I would say you are a lucky lady to ride beside Mr. Church in such a beautiful car, but perhaps it is Mr. Church who is the lucky one.”

  Rodalfo winks as a blush sweeps my cheeks, and I’m not sure if it’s that blush or Rodalfo’s comments responsible for the smile on Brandon’s face.

  “Well, the track is cleared for the entire day, so she’s all yours for as long as you want her. I’ll have the boys run out helmets, if you’d like?”

  “Please,” Brandon answers, and Rodalfo jogs off again, leaving us alone.

  “I didn’t realize those tickets were so powerful,” I say, crossing my arms and waiting for an explanation.

  Brandon just shrugs. “Let’s just say they know me here.”

  “So, why pay ten thousand dollars for the tickets, then?” I press.

  He smiles, bullet gray Ray Bans lifting on his cheeks with the expression. “I wasn’t bidding on the tickets.”

  I falter, surprised by his boldness. It’s the first time he’s admitted that he wanted this date with me. After six weeks of silence, I don’t know how to even begin to respond.

  But with his next comment, I don’t have to.

  “It was for charity, remember?” He grins even wider, taking two helmets from the same young man who opened the gate for us and handing me the smaller one. “Hope you’re ready for a ride, Miss Daniels.”

  I can’t help but smile back, shaking my head before pulling the helmet on. “Show me what you got, Brandon.”

  He bellows out a laugh, leading me back to the car.

  As we both strap in, I adjust my helmet tighter, nerves hitting me at the realization that we’re about to be speeding around the track. “Is it safe to drive your car? Don’t they have like… extra seatbelts and padding in the ones they race here?”

  Brandon ignites the engine, raising a brow in my direction. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Should I?”

  The words shoot out before I can stop them, and Brandon watches me, debating the answer. “I think that’s something you have to decide for yourself.”

  And with that, he faces forward, revving the engine as the lights change colors in front of us. My breath hitches when they turn green and I don’t have time to exhale before I’m flattened against the seat.

  For the first five seconds, I completely freak out.

  Internally, that is, because I can’t manage a breath, let alone a scream as we race from zero to over one-hundred miles per hour in less time than it takes to spell my name. It’s almost painful as the laws of physics work against us, crushing my bones into the seat, my body seemingly left on the starting line instead of inside the car.

  When we round the first corner of the track, we decelerate just long enough for me to catch my breath.

  And then, I laugh.

  Not a cute giggle or a soft chuckle, but a full-on, head-thrown-back, tears-in-my-eyes laugh. Adrenaline rushes through me at the speed of light, crashing with my nerves to ignite an uncontrollable sense of euphoria.

  Brandon glances at me quickly before smiling, too, and punches the gas again. I wrap my hands around the chest strap of my seatbelt, trying to focus on the track as we fly down it. The bleachers on the sidelines blur together as we pass, almost like we’re traveling through time and space. It’s the most exhilarating experience I’ve ever had.

  And I’ve done cocaine, so that’s saying something.

  I can’t stop laughing, and I don’t — not until I lose track of how many laps we’ve done and Brandon slows us to a stop at the starting line again.

  “That was incredible!” I scream, even though I don’t have to anymore. My ears are ringing, everything still muted. I tear my helmet off and shake my hair out, smiling wide at Brandon as he removes his, too.

  “Have fun?”

  “Are you kidding?! Let’s go again!”

  He laughs, removing his sunglasses to wipe them clean with his shirt. Then he lifts his chocolate eyes to mine. “Wanna drive?”

  It was hard to get me off the track after that.

  We spent the entire afternoon and well into the evening taking turns driving, competing on who could get to one-hundred the fastest or who had the fastest zero-to-sixty or lap time. I couldn’t believe he trusted me enough to let me drive his car, especially at such high speeds, but he didn’t seem to be even the slightest bit worried.

  When my stomach was growling loud enough for him to hear it, I begrudgingly said goodbye to Rodalfo and his crew, and we grabbed a quick bite at a café nearby before heading back to campus.

  We shared casual conversation over dinner, mostly about my pole dancing since he’d been curious since I’d mentioned it. I left out all the drama, of course, but it was nice to talk to someone about one of my passions. It made me realize how much I missed it, and now I find myself wanting to look up local classes again, even if just for weekend workouts.

  But the drive back to campus was quiet, leaving my brain room to run over the long list of thoughts I’ve been avoiding all day — like why the CEO of a successful event agency wanted to take his intern on a date, or what this means, or what we do next. Was it even really a date? Did he really just donate to charity as a nice gesture? And if it was something more… does he expect something now? It doesn’t make sense, why a powerful, sexy-as-hell man like him would risk his reputation and more to get me in bed.

  And that’s all it could possibly be, right?

  I’m a full ten years younger than he is. Other than my body, I’m not sure what else I could offer him that another, older, more mature woman couldn’t.

  I shake the thoughts from my head as Brandon pulls around to the back of the sorority house, finding a parking spot under a large tree covered in Spanish moss before cutting the engine. When the silence envelopes us, the nerves that had disappeared on the race track are back again, and I sit on my hands to keep from wringin
g them together.

  “Thank you for joining me today,” he says, voice low and steady as he eyes me from the driver seat.

  “Thanks for letting me drive,” I reply with a laugh. “It was fun.”

  I swallow as his eyes rake over me, all the way down to where my hands are tucked under my thighs before they find mine again. “I make you nervous.”

  Blowing out a breath, I shake my head. “You confuse me.”

  “How so?”

  My stomach turns, hands forming fists between the seat and my skin. “The auction, not talking to me for over a month, the lead event planner position… and now today? I just…” My voice fades as I glance at him through my lashes. “What are we doing, Mr. Church?”

  He inhales a stiff breath at his last name rolling off my lips, lips that his eyes are on now. “I don’t know what I was thinking sending Mykayla to the auction. I came to my senses that weekend and decided ignoring you was best for both of us.”

  “What changed?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs hard in his throat as he leans in closer, hand reaching forward until his fingertips brush my jaw. I freeze at the touch, his skin like a shock to my entire system, zipping a hot line of wire straight down between my clenched thighs.

  “I discovered you’re impossible to ignore.”

  His lips find mine in a frenzy, hot and wet and demanding as I struggle to catch my breath. But my hands are already fisting in his hair, pulling him closer. I moan into his kiss, crawling over the middle console to straddle him as his hands wrap around my ribs. When I roll my hips, friction sparking between us, we both groan and Brandon sucks my lip between his teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood.

  Kissing him is intoxicating, like the strongest shot of tequila injected straight into a blood vein. My head spins with every touch of his skin on mine, blurring right and wrong together, no and yes as one. But when his hands yank at my body suit, unclasping the buttons that fasten it below my shorts and pulling the fabric free, I clasp my own over his wrists to stop him.

  I break our kiss, our foreheads still pressed together, heavy breaths escaping our parted lips and fogging up the windows as his hands grip the freshly exposed skin of my hips.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur, reaching blindly over the console for my purse and flinging his door open before crawling out of his lap. My body aches at the loss of his touch as soon as I’m free of him, but I focus on placing one foot in front of the other, blocking out everything else. He doesn’t chase me and I don’t look back, my heart pounding mercilessly in my ears as I race inside the house.

  I push through the back kitchen door, shutting it quickly and pressing my back against it before sliding down to the ground. Pinching my eyes shut, I shake my head, still caught up in the feel of him while my brain battles to remind me why what I just did was a very, very bad move.

  But he kissed me first.

  I sigh, burying my face in my hands.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  “SOUNDS LIKE MY LITTLE BROTHER,” I say to Mac’s mom with a laugh, adjusting the phone between my opposite shoulder and ear as I lay out the rest of my costume on my bed. She just finished telling me how he had two girls fighting over who he’d take to homecoming, so he told them whoever could kiss better would be the lucky lady on his arm.

  Little bastard got two, steaming hot kisses from girls trying to prove something, and then invited them both to go, anyway.

  And they agreed.

  “He’s something,” she agrees with a chuckle of her own.

  “Thank you again, Mrs. Harrison, for taking Clayton in and treating him like your own. I don’t…” I pause, trying to find the words. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to tell you what it means to me. To us.”

  “He’s a good kid,” she says easily. “Easy to love, and easy to care for. We wouldn’t want him anywhere else but with us.”

  I smile, chest tightening, and distantly I wonder if my mom ever thinks about him — about any of us. I wonder where she is. The only reason I even know she’s alive at all is because her and Carleton check in on his kids from time to time, long enough to send money or ask for it — depending on which side of the gambling ring they’re on that day.

  “What about you?” Mac’s mom asks. “How is school?”

  I rummage through my bathroom drawer for my suite mate’s tanning oil, tossing it on the bed. “It’s school. Classes are tough this semester, but luckily our fraternity is on probation, so I have more time to study.”

  She clucks her tongue. “I’m sure you’re still finding ways to get in trouble.”

  “Dressing up as David Hasselhoff circa 1989 as we speak.”

  “Oh, God.” She snorts. “Do I even want to know?”

  “Skyler and I are dressing up as the Baywatch cast for a Halloween boat party today.”

  “That sounds like so much fun!” She sighs. “I’m really happy you have Skyler. And what she did for Clayton… I know he’ll never forget it. She’s a great friend, Clinton.”

  I frown, tossing my black Omega Chi sunglasses on the bed with the rest of my costume. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, my…she didn’t tell you?” She sighs again, murmuring softly. “Humble on top of everything else.”

  “Tell me what?”

  There’s a pause, and for some reason my blood pressure ticks up a notch, like I’m about to hear something I don’t want to, my body preparing me for bad news before my brain even thinks it’s necessary.

  “Clayton was in a rough place before your visit. My husband and I… well, we help him all that we can, and of course, you send him money every chance you get. And you worked the whole summer. But football is expensive, and he was going to have to make some tough decisions.”

  “He didn’t tell me any of this,” I shoot back. “Does he need money? I can… I’ll get a job. I’ll sell some stuff.”

  “You don’t have to,” she says quickly. “Skyler cut him a check, Clinton. She told him to chase his dreams and enjoy his high school years because she didn’t get the chance to.”

  She keeps talking, telling me how much it was for, how they’re holding the money and only giving him what he needs when he needs it. She tells me how Clayton is also looking for a job after football season ends, but I can’t hear any of it over the ringing in my ears.

  Skyler gave my little brother money, without telling me, without asking me if it was okay.

  “Like I said,” Mrs. Harrison says, snapping my attention back to her. “She’s a great friend.”

  “Yeah,” I clip. “I have to go. Please, tell Clayton to call me tomorrow.”

  “I will…” she says hesitantly, and before she can ask any questions, I end the call, gripping the phone hard in my fist.

  I debate throwing it, but focus my rage on the person responsible instead of an inanimate object.

  Everything is a blur as I walk to the Kappa Kappa Beta house, nostrils flaring the entire way. A small, quiet part of me tells me I’m probably overreacting, but the larger, screaming part reminds me that what Skyler did isn’t okay. Maybe she had good intentions and just wanted to help, but Clayton is my brother, and my responsibility. I can take care of him without her help, and she knew I’d be upset by her helping, which is exactly why she didn’t tell me.

  I pound on the front door when I reach the house, working my clenched fists together as I wait for someone to answer. A girl I don’t recognize, likely a new member, opens the door with wide eyes.

  “Skyler. Now.”

  “Oh, I think she’s getting ready for the Halloween party. Could you maybe—”

  “NOW!” I roar, and she yelps, skittering off with the door open behind her.

  A few other sisters pass concerned looks my way as they walk by, but eventually Skyler emerges, half-dressed in her Baywatch gear. She has her red one-piece on and half a face of makeup, her hair in a clip like she’d only begun to work on it.

  Her brows pinch together when she sees me and she step
s onto the porch with me, pulling the door closed behind her. “Bear? What’s going on?”

  “You gave Clayton three-thousand dollars?”

  The words spit from my mouth like venom, and Skyler’s face drains of color.

  “Bear… listen, I just wanted to—”

  “Help? Well, you should have fucking came to me first. He’s my fucking brother and I can take care of him.”

  “I know you can. I never said you couldn’t.”

  “Well, that’s what you fucking implied by going behind my back like that.”

  She winces. “Come on, you know it wasn’t like that.”

  “Wasn’t it?” I challenge. “God, Skyler, you’re so fucking selfish you can’t even see it when you’re in the wrong. There’s a reason you didn’t tell me, and it’s because you knew I’d be pissed. And now that you’re caught, all you can do is defend yourself. An apology wasn’t even on your radar, was it?”

  Skyler swallows, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

  “You call yourself my best friend, but best friends don’t do this to each other.” I shake my head, looking at the girl I thought I knew for what feels like the first time. “You should have come to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she quivers, but I just hold my hands up to stop her.

  “It’s too late for that now. Have fun at the party.”

  Without another look in her direction, I storm off the porch, feeling more alone than ever before.

  I AM WAY TOO SOBER to be balancing a huge wreath of fake fruit on my head.

  The costumes Jess came up with for us turned out to be perfect, each of us able to pick out swim suits that complement our figures along with colors that look best on us. My tan is contrasted next to my bright yellow one-piece with a deep v-neck that goes all the way down to just between my hips, showing a little cleavage and my flat stomach. The arches of the fabric on the legs are high, too, giving my thighs and butt some action.

  Although most people have no idea what we were going for and keep calling us “the Fanta girls,” we look hot, and that’s what matters most at a college Halloween party.