Greek: A New Adult College Romance (Palm South University Book 7)

by Kandi Steiner

  Of course, half of those Halloweens, I was with another guy. The first time, Adam was with Skyler and I was with Clay. Then, there was Grayson. Truthfully, we’ve only really had one together.

  And this year, we’ll be on opposite sides of the country.

  “What about you over there, mopey pants?” Jess asks Ashlei — who has been quiet all day long. She’s just dragged along behind us, eyes dull, hands not even bothering to reach for a single article of clothing.

  “A mummy,” she deadpans, making a dramatic gesture to her slung-up arm.

  Skyler chuckles, looping her arm through Ashlei’s healthy one. “You know, we could probably make that hot. Just wrap a thin layer of gauze around your titties, a tiny skirt around your waist… show of that lean tummy of yours.”

  “It won’t be lean for long with all this sitting around I’m doing.”

  The joke falls flat when Ashlei delivers it, because it doesn’t have bite or any semblance of sarcasm. It’s just… sad. Pitiful. The way she has been ever since the accident.

  “I’m sorry, Lei,” I say softly, reaching out to squeeze her wrist. “I hate this for you. Do you have any update when you start PT?”

  “Not until I’m cleared from wearing this thing,” she says, again gesturing to the sling. “And that won’t be for another six weeks or so.”

  “It could be less,” Skyler tries.

  “I don’t want to get my hopes up,” Ashlei responds. “I can’t afford to.”

  The girls and I share glances, knowing our friend is in a rough patch and there’s not much we can do but just be there for her.

  Sometimes, things are so dark and bleary, the last thing you need is someone telling you it’ll be alright or to look on the bright side. Sometimes, you just need someone to lie down in the darkness with you and remind you you’re not alone.

  Jess wraps her up in a careful hug. “We’ll make you the hottest mummy yet. And if you want to call off Halloween altogether and watch scary movies on the couch with some junk food and wine? I got you.”

  “Me, too,” Skyler says. “Honestly, I don’t have any plans other than make sure our new pledges don’t get into too much trouble.”

  “I told Tera I’d take her to Ralph’s, but I can totally cancel,” I say.

  “No, you can’t,” Skyler throws at me. “Big-Little Reveal is soon, and you’re not the only one with eyes on Tera.”

  “Besides, every KKB sister has to experience Halloween at Ralph’s,” Jess chimes in.

  I sigh. “I know, and I’m excited to take her and show her the ropes. Really, I am. It’s just…”

  “It’s just that Adam won’t be there,” Ashlei finishes for me, and when our eyes meet, a soft nod is all I can give as a response.

  “How has it been going with him gone?” Jess asks.

  “Fine, I guess,” I say, stopping at a rack with neon colors. I hold up a pair of hot pink fishnets, and before I can even ask, Skyler grabs them from my hands and throws them in our cart.

  “Fine never actually means fine,” Ashlei assesses.

  “Well, it was fine. At first. I mean, we had the summer together, and then when he got sent to Boulder, we would text and call and video chat all the time. But lately… I don’t know. He’s been busier, and I keep seeing him tagged in pictures with all these girls. I know it’s part of the job — he’s helping the brothers throw events, working with other executive members in the fraternities and sororities, but…”

  “But he has a whole life without you,” Jess finishes, her eyes understanding. “That was the hardest part for me with Jarrett.”

  “Yes,” I agree, rubbing a velvet jacket between my fingertips as my gaze loses focus. “He just feels… distant. He always has to go. He always has something to do. And there’s this girl he keeps mentioning, Chandler. They met when he helped her with a girl in her sorority who was entirely too drunk, and now they’re kind of like… I don’t know, mentors for each other? He’s been helping her out and she’s returning the favor. It sounds friendly, but…”

  “It’s natural to feel jealous and intimidated and scared,” Jess tells me, squeezing my arm. “But listen to me — Adam is all yours. I mean, you’re wearing his letters. That might as well be an engagement ring around your neck.”

  I finger the necklace as she says the words, heart thrumming at the memory of the day he gave it to me.

  “Don’t make the mistake I did and make a bigger deal out of something than it is. Trust him. He loves you. Okay?”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  “Speaking of that… what’s going on with the boys?” Ashlei asks Jess.

  She sighs, throwing her hands up. “God if I know. Taking the summer away from both of them didn’t help anything — I think I was just trying to avoid it. But Kade came over and we’ve been talking so much, and I had such an amazing time with him at the A Sig karaoke event.”

  “Oh, we know,” Skyler says with a smirk.

  Jess flicks her arm. “But now Jarett wants his turn.”

  “Are you going to give it to him?” I ask.

  Jess stops at a rack and leans into it, the clothes and hangers groaning with the weight of her. “I know it sounds fucked up but… I have to. I have to see him. I have to talk to him and ask questions that have been eating me up. I have to see if what we had is still there.” She pauses. “He was my first real love. He was my first real heartbreak, too. And I… I don’t think I can let him go.”

  “Ever?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. All I know right now is that I have plans with him on Halloween, so we’ll see what happens.”

  “Well, now I’m definitely not asking for a girls’ night,” Ashlei says.

  “I’d bail on him for you,” Jess promises.

  Ashlei smiles, kissing her cheek. “I know. But this drama is too good for me to pass up on. It’d be like missing a week of my favorite TV show.”

  Jess flicks her off, and with a soft laugh, we all start perusing the clothes racks again.

  Skyler avoids the Kip question when it comes up, and Ashlei falls back into her silent, glazed state of being.

  The KKB girls aren’t in the best shape right now.

  But at least we have each other.

  “I FUCKING HATE YOU,” Giselle says from the floor where I’m standing over her. Sweat covers her neck, her chest, drips off her hairline and into her eyes.

  “Kick your legs up like you mean it,” I challenge.

  She grits her teeth, and then with a grunt, she sends her legs up, straight and together, her core firing up before I grab her sneakers and throw her legs back down toward the ground. It takes a focused breath from her not to let them hit the ground, and then she pushes them back up to me.

  Again, and again, and again.

  I finally call it, and she flops out like a fish, chest panting as I grab a towel and hand it to her. “Get some water,” I say, doing the same. “I think we’re done for today.”

  “You think?” she pants, groaning a bit as she sits up to grab her water bottle. She takes a long swig, shaking her head. “When I asked you to be my personal trainer, I imagined jumping jacks and high knees and some pushups. I didn’t picture a full hour of unimaginable torture.”

  I chuckle. “You’re already stronger than last week, and remember — you asked for this.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she says, extending a hand up for mine. “I only do it so I can stare at you without a shirt on.”

  I grab her hand and help her stand, laughing off the comment. When she’s up, I don’t miss the guys on the benches behind her letting their eyes wander every inch.

  She’s wearing tiny black workout shorts, similar to those a volleyball player might wear, and a matching black sports bra. It’s strappy in the back, but otherwise plain. But it’s not the outfit that draws everyone’s attention — it’s the body wearing it.

  I knew Giselle was fit. I could tell even under her suits she wore in the office. But seeing her rippled
midriff, her toned arms, her muscular legs with nothing covering them? There’s no doubt in my mind that while I may be pushing her or challenging her with different exercises than she’s used to, she’s no stranger to hard work in the gym.

  After toweling off her face, she lets the white cloth hang around her neck, squirting a healthy amount of water in her mouth. “You’re really good at this, Clinton.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, I mean it. Really good. I’ve worked with other trainers, and they’re not like this. They don’t check in, they don’t offer nutrition guidance — at least, not past what I can easily research myself online. I feel so much stronger ever since you calculated my macros, since you taught me how to give my body the proper nutrition it needs.”

  “You were starving yourself before. It doesn’t surprise me that you were tired all the time.”

  She shrugs. “I thought caloric and fat deficiency was the key. Thanks for teaching me otherwise.” She pauses, assessing me. “How many other clients do you have?”

  “Just a few. I can’t take on too many — not right now, anyway. I need to stay focused on my real job.”

  “What if this was your real job?”

  I blanch at her question, toweling off my neck before I take a seat on one of the benches. When I don’t answer, Giselle crooks a smile and plops down next to me.

  “Think about it. You understand fitness. You understand nutrition. You know how they work together. You get joy out of helping others, right?”

  I nod a little more with each statement.

  “And you have a degree in graphic design, with experience in client management and a little HTML knowledge, too. I mean, you could literally run your own business.” She pauses. “If you wanted to.”

  I lift my brows, turning to face her. “I never thought of that.”

  “Well, now you have,” she says with a smile. Her eyes are warm, almost playful as she watches me. She opens her mouth to say something else, but before she can, my phone rings, the sound making both of us jolt a little.

  “Hey, babe,” I answer. “Finishing up training with Giselle. Can I call you right back?”

  “Of course. I’ve got about forty-five minutes before my next class.”

  “Give me ten.”

  When I hang up, I know there’s a goofy grin on my face, and Giselle pokes her finger right where I know my cheek indents a bit when I smile like that.

  “Whew, you are smitten, aren’t you?” she teases.

  I blow out a breath. “You have no idea.”

  “She must be something.”

  “She is,” I say, showing Giselle the picture on my background. “And let’s just say the road here wasn’t an easy one.”

  Giselle whistles, taking my phone and studying Erin. “She’s gorgeous. I’d say you’re a lucky guy, but since I know you, I think the luck is mutual between you both.”

  “Thanks,” I say with a shrug, taking my phone and tucking it away again. “But trust me — I’m very much the lucky one.”

  Giselle doesn’t say anything but smiles and looks at her watch. “Alright, I guess I should get going. Dinner meeting with a client,” she adds with an eye roll. “But let’s touch base about the next month — because I’m officially hiring you as my trainer and nutritionist.”

  “You already paid me.”

  “Well, I’m going to pay you more.”

  I grab my neck. “Well, thank you, I guess. I’ll make a plan for the next four weeks. Just so you know, I’m doing a little traveling at the beginning of November.”

  “Oh? Where to?”

  “Just going home for the weekend. Pittsburgh,” I clarify when I see her frown of confusion. “Erin’s never been, and I want to show her around where I grew up.”

  “Erin is the girlfriend, I presume?”

  I nod. “It’s just for the weekend, though, so it shouldn’t affect our training.”

  Giselle frowns, standing when I do. “You’re flying all that way just for a weekend?”

  “No paid time off yet,” I say with a shrug.

  Giselle’s mouth tugs to the side, then she waves her hand in the air like she’s batting away a fly. “Take a longer weekend, maybe a Wednesday to Sunday.”

  I frown. “But I—”

  “Don’t worry about it, I’ll work it out with Henry.”

  Henry my boss, she means.

  “You’ve been working your ass off and you deserve it.”

  My head is spinning a little — first from the idea she put in my head about my own company, and now from this. “Um… I guess if you’re sure.”

  “I am. And remember what I said about the confidence thing?” She smacks my ass with her towel. It’s playful, along with the grin on her face, but I admit it makes me a little uncomfortable. “Stop acting like you’re surprised when I tell you how great you are. It’s kind of annoying.”

  I smirk, but don’t have anything to say in response.

  “See you at the office,” she says, and then she grabs her water bottle and struts away toward the locker rooms.

  Every guy she walks by has to fight not to watch.

  Ninety percent of them lose.

  My thoughts are still whirring when I pack up my own gym bag and head out of the gym. I pull my phone out to call Erin back, and that’s when I see the text from Skyler.

  I know you have plans on Halloween, but are you free the night after?

  I could really use a Bear Hug.

  My chest aches. Skyler and I haven’t had the chance to hang out much, what with her in her last semester as president and finishing up school, and me working and focusing on my new relationship with Erin.

  I’ve got a big one with your name on it, I type back.

  Her only response is a heart emoji, and I make a mental note to pick up burritos from her favorite spot off campus on my way to see her.

  Once the text is sent, I call Erin back, and count down the hours until she’s in my arms again.

  THIS MIGHT BE MY most boring Halloween costume to date.

  Blame it on the fact that it’s my first Halloween out of college, or that I’m exhausted from work and didn’t have time or creative energy to think of something better, or perhaps that I have no idea what I’m walking into tonight — or what I want to walk into — but this year, I’m a classic witch.

  My long, blonde hair is curled and flowing over my shoulders, the highlights fresh and bright under the black pointy hat on my head. My makeup is dark and fierce — smokey eyeshadow, long, fake lashes, black glittery lips. The dress I picked for my witchy vibe is an old black sequin one that I wore on New Year’s Eve one year. I shredded the bottom of it, ripping it in triangle strips of different shapes, sizes, and lengths, and I ripped holes in the midriff and chest area for good measure. Wide fishnet leggings and pointy-toed high-heeled boots finish the look — along with a broomstick I paid some kid two condo doors down to spray paint and glitterfy.

  And while I didn’t aim for sexy, as I usually do, I think I landed there, anyway.

  It’s classic and simple, but the darkness of it matches my mood completely.

  I’m fixing my lipstick when my phone lights up with a text from Kade.

  Have fun tonight.

  My stomach tightens at the words because I know he’s not saying them genuinely. I know there’s a bit of jealousy underlining them, a bit of worry, a bit of unmanageable rage at the fact that he has to share.

  I wonder how he doesn’t already hate me — how they both don’t. Ever since Jarrett confessed he still had feelings for me, the two of them haven’t so much as talked, let alone been in the same room.

  I’ve driven brothers apart, and what’s worse are the head games I know I’m submitting them to.

  I should just let them both go. I should tell them that they’re better off without me, that they’ll both move on and find someone better. Because I don’t see a single way this can end where someone won’t get hurt.

  And yet, I can’t let
them go.

  I groan, typing back a response before I slump down in the barstool at the kitchen island. “I’m the fucking worst,” I mutter to myself.

  My phone rings again, and this time, it’s Herb downstairs.

  Jarrett’s here.

  I tell Herb not to send him up, that I’ll be right down, and then I stand as tall as I can in front of the full-length mirror by the front door.

  “Okay, bitch. This is the night. You figure out what the hell you’re doing and either choose Jarrett or cut him loose. No hanky-panky, okay?” I say to myself, making a peace sign and drawing a line between my eyes and the girl’s in the mirror. “It hasn’t even been a month since you fucked Kade. Don’t be a whore.”

  I swear, I see the girl in the mirror wink before I turn for the door.

  My palms are slick on the elevator ride down to the lobby, and when the doors slide open and I see Jarrett standing in the middle of the marble floor, my mouth goes dry.

  His back is to me, lean and muscular, his hands sitting easily in his pockets. His head is smooth and freshly shaved, and he must sense me, because he turns — ever so slowly — until his dark eyes lock on mine.

  He’s wearing an all-black outfit, just like me.

  And he looks like every sin I’m trying not to commit.

  A black tunic is tapered at his waist with a belt, the chest of it ripped open to show the muscles and tattoos underneath. He’s shoved the sleeves up to just below his elbows, showing off his tanned, toned forearms and the ink that covers them, too. His beard is neat and trimmed, salt and pepper gray touching the dark brown of it, and the leather pants he’s wearing are something out of a GQ photoshoot — fitted, but that slouchy kind of casual that makes your mouth water on sight.

  He smirks when my eyes make it back to his, no doubt loving the fact that I just ogled him and almost had the elevator doors shut on me in the process. I step fully out, standing tall as I stride over to him in my heels, and that’s when I see the tastefully painted blood dripping from one side of his mouth.

  “Vampire,” I muse, arching a brow when I notice he’s wearing blood-red contacts. “I’ll be honest, I thought you’d show up as a beach bar bartender.”