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

by Kandi Steiner

And boy, do I love it.

  I work tirelessly every day and night, sometimes into the weekends — much to Brandon’s dismay — and even on the most stressful days, I feel so alive, so in love, that I don’t mind.

  The only things that fuel me just as much as working are loving Brandon and pole dancing.

  It amazes me still how easily the transition was with Brandon, from fighting and breaking up, to not talking for months, to fucking and dating like nothing had changed at all. The little games we played in the spring were maddening, but I’d go through them all again if that’s what it took to have him. The truth is that Brandon’s just as full of pride as I am, and it took playing those games to break him down and get him to realize he still loved me — even if he was mad at me.

  And he had a right to be.

  It isn’t always easy. Even now, the pain I caused him surfaces and I have to smooth his worries about me possibly betraying his trust again. I never would, not in a million years, and I have no problem continually proving that to him.

  But for the most part, the summer was pure magic for us — and I’ve never been happier or more in love.

  And as much as I love work, and love him, there’s a special kind of love I hold for this place — my pole studio — where I can get out of my head and fully into my body, where I can challenge myself and continually be humbled and find a way to rise again.

  “That combo is fucking sick,” Leona says when both my feet are on the hardwood floor again. She’s a younger student, a perky, curvy little thing with pixie short hair and more tattoos on her pale skin than anyone I’ve ever known in my life.

  I bend over and grab my knees, panting, chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. “Thanks,” I say with a smile.

  “Seriously, how the hell do you bend like that? And the Iron X… I’ll never be able to do that.” She shakes her head, wrapping both hands around her own pole and staring up at it like it’s both the only thing she’s ever loved, and her biggest enemy.

  It kind of fits, to be honest.

  “You will,” I assure her. “Trust me. I’ve been doing this for four years now, off and on, and everything I can do now felt impossible to me at one point or another. Just keep working,” I say. “I promise, you’re stronger than you realize.”

  Leona smiles and nods at me in thanks, and then she’s climbing up the pole again, working a layback combo I remember being a bitch to conquer myself when I was in my intermediate stage.

  Leona is just one of the students I’ve come to love at the studio. From taking classes and attending almost every open pole practice, the girls here have become like family. Now that I’ve started to compete again, I’ve even roomed with some of them at competitions and conventions, and I’ve been both challenged and inspired by every single woman here.

  “Has Karen convinced you to come on as a teacher yet?” one of the other girls chimes in from the back. “Because I’m dying to take a class with you.”

  I smirk, grabbing my water bottle from the cubbies on the far wall and taking a big swig. “Not yet, but she’s getting close.”

  That earns a few gasps and excited claps from the room.

  “Oh, my God, please, Lei!”

  “I NEED to learn from you.”

  “Can you do a dance class? Your flow is insane!”

  I laugh and hold up my hands to calm them all. “I’m still thinking on it. My big girl job is pretty demanding, and this is where I come to release. I don’t want to lose that.”

  Silence falls over them before Leona says, “That’s fair. But if you ever do decide to teach, I’ll be the first one to sign up.”

  There’s a chorus of agreement that makes me flush, and then the girls are all back to climbing and practicing their tricks.

  I grab the bottle of Dry Hands out of my bag and squeeze a small amount in one palm, rubbing my hands together with my eyes on the pole as I debate what I want to work next. I’m nice and warm, and after nailing that last combo, all I can think about is that I’m ready to work my nemesis.

  Bird of Paradise.

  The twisty move is an absolute freak of nature, and one that my body hasn’t particularly loved since I started training it over the summer.

  It’s an outside leg hang variation where you wrap your inside arm around the front of your inside leg, that’s extended toward your face, by the way, and wrap your outside arm around the pole to grab that inside hand. Then, when you’ve got that bitch of a back breaking twist achieved, you release the outside leg and extend it back in a split, balancing everything while you hold on in this anatomy-defying pose.

  All while upside down.

  And spinning.

  No big deal…

  I first saw the move at a competition back when I competed for Leslie’s studio, and I remember how loud the crowd cheered when the girl did it, how much my jaw dropped, how furious my little voice was in my head.

  I have to do that move!

  I didn’t realize how much went into it, how flexibility and strength training had to combine for it to be achieved.

  But I’ve been working tirelessly at it for almost a year now, and particularly hard over the summer.

  Maybe today’s the day…

  I clap my hands together one last time, making sure the Dry Hands is sticky and ready to go, and then I launch myself at the pole.

  Gripping tight, I power climb up, using only my hands and bicep muscles, legs swinging out behind me. When I’m up three climbs, I hold a pencil pose, body in line with the pole, and then tuck the chrome into my armpit and lift my legs up and over my head.

  Chopper.

  Leg hang.

  For a while, I lie back and enjoy the brief rest. I remember a time when a leg hang was so painful, I thought my inner thigh was on fire. But now, it’s a breather, a chance to let my body relax before I go for the next move.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Slowly, I grab for the pole and maneuver my shoulder into position — one that’s extremely bendy and difficult, even with being warm. I take my time, and when I feel confident, I swing my inside leg around and grab hold with my inside hand.

  This part is always sketchy, inching my shoulder under the pole more and more, centimeter by centimeter, my hands reaching for each other to lock behind my shin and hold me in place. I breathe through it, eyes closed so I won’t get too dizzy.

  And finally, my fingers touch.

  A few more breaths and I’ve got my hands locked together, though my shoulders are screaming.

  “You’ve got this, Lei!” someone shouts, and a few other girls cheer me on as I go for the last part to clench the move.

  Squeeze everything tight.

  Breathe.

  Relax.

  And when I feel ready, I unhook my outside leg and send it back behind me, straight and extended, toes pointed.

  Bird of Paradise: unlocked.

  The girls roar their approval, and for a moment, I’m smiling and internally freaking out that I actually fucking did it.

  But the next, I slip, just an inch, just enough for all the joy to drain from my face, for my heart to race into my throat, and for me to realize I’m not secure.

  Shit.

  It’s not easy to come out of this move, and I don’t have enough time to think about how to do it properly, to save myself from slipping all the way down. I try to bring my outside leg back in to hook, but it’s too late.

  I can’t squeeze hard enough.

  I can’t re-grip the pole.

  And in the next second, I’m free falling — desperate hands grasping for chrome that I never quite find.

  Cheers turn to gasps, and I hit the floor with a nasty snap, rip, crack. There’s a brief shot of the most agonizing pain I’ve ever felt in my life.

  And then everything goes dark.

  THE SUN IS HIGH and blinding as I walk University Hill, taking in the crisp Colorado air with each breath. September at Palm South always meant pool parties and sweating every
walk to class, but here? The days are pleasantly warm, the evenings cool, fall constantly whispering in your ear that it’s well on its way.

  I’ve got my hands tucked into the pockets of my light jacket, one branded with the Alpha Sigma letters and given to me when I joined the national staff as a Field Executive. The summer in Boston was a crash-course of learning — not necessarily the fraternity rituals or standards, which I already knew well — but rather how I would take my knowledge and experience from the last four years and apply them in my new role.

  A role they did everything they could to prepare me for, but I’m not stupid enough to think it’ll be so easy.

  In their eyes, Field Executives are welcome with open arms, but if I know anything about fraternities, it’s that having someone from nationals visit is hardly ever a good thing — and I wouldn’t be anyone’s favorite guest of honor.

  Every chapter I visit, every group of guys I seek to mentor will need me for some reason, whether they want to admit it or not.

  And the group here in Boulder definitely falls under the not category.

  There are a few brothers sprawled on the grass when I reach the A Sig house, a monstrous Neo-classical beast that puts every house at Palm South to shame. Aspen University is older than Palm South, more prestigious, and has four times the amount of students. They also have more money, and their “Greek Row” is spread out all over The Hill, giant mansions with letters proudly fixed to the front like Easter eggs you can’t help but hunt as you walk.

  The brothers I pass by give me nods of hello, most of them friendly, most of them glad I’m there. The past two years of recruitment haven’t gone so well, and though I was able to help them get a better turnout this year, my work had only just begun.

  Through Rush Week, I’d become close with a lot of the brothers — the president and recruitment chair, the philanthropic chair, who I was most excited to work with, and a number of brothers of various ages. The new pledges knew me as if I was the House Director, and I intended to earn everyone’s trust by the time I left — and to leave them in better shape than I found them.

  Oddly enough, the current brothers aren’t the issue.

  It’s the alumni presiding over the chapter that take the cake.

  It’s standard to have older brothers governing each Alpha Sigma chapter. After all, leaving a national organization in the hands of a bunch of rowdy college kids wouldn’t work out in anyone’s favor. Still, the goal of the alumni members is simply to ensure order. They may be present at chapter meetings to make sure everything is done correctly, may sign off on philanthropic or social events, and may step in to take care of punishment should one of the brothers, or all of them, need it.

  But it’s the current brothers who run exec, who make decisions, who hold their brothers accountable and make a name for the chapter on campus.

  Or at least, it’s supposed to be.

  I pull my shoulders back as I walk through the front door of the house, preparing myself for the meeting ahead. I can’t help but smile at the various pods of brothers as I pass through the house — some playing video games, some studying, some in the backyard playing beer pong. On the surface, everything looks right, looks in place, looks successful.

  But this chapter has slowly gained the reputation for being dull and old school, for not performing in athletics, scholarship, or social activities, and for just being lackluster, in general.

  And it didn’t take me long to figure out that the alumni were the reason for most of it.

  That’s why I called this meeting, and though I know it won’t be easy, I pray the guys will hear me out and make changes to better our presence on the Aspen University campus.

  I take my time setting up the meeting room, setting the donuts I picked up from the popular spot on The Hill right in the center of the boardroom table. There are four alumni chapter advisors who preside over this particular chapter, and one by one, they all file in.

  There aren’t technically supposed to be titles among them, but when I met them the first time, they introduced themselves as Shawn, Secretary, Derek, Treasurer, Jared, Vice President, and Corey, President.

  Corey was, so far, the biggest pain in my ass.

  As they sit down and mutter among themselves, I find myself wishing Cassie were here. I would give anything to have had her in my arms before this meeting, to be kissing her senseless before running out the door, to know I had her just down the block when the meeting’s over.

  As it is, I’ll have to settle for texts, phone calls, and the occasional video chat.

  Memories of our last video chat bring a whole new slew of thoughts to mind, but I clear my throat and tamper them down, saving that energy for later.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for joining me,” I start, and that quiets the room.

  Corey, the president, and Jared, the VP, both watch me with bored, suspicious glares, but the other two offer smiles and their full attention. I could tell after the first twenty minutes with them that they’re divided, but with the two snarly ones being the oldest and regarded as the highest roles, they seem to make all the rules.

  My plan is to change that.

  “I’ll try to make this as brief as possible, as I know you all have jobs and lives to get back to.”

  I make sure I say that last part firmly, because I want to remind them that they are not, in fact, frat brothers anymore.

  “As you know, recruitment went well, all things considered, but having a great pledge class won’t erase the hard work ahead of us. I have put together a plan that attacks three main categories of focus this semester: athletics, scholarship, and social activity,” I explain, watching the room as the guys read over the binders I’ve put together in front of them. “I think we should focus on athletics and social activity first and foremost, with scholarship and philanthropy being introduced but more heavily focused on in the next semester.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Corey says instantly. “Why wouldn’t it be scholarship and philanthropy first? What, are we trying to be the party boys now?”

  “No,” I assure him. “However, these are kids. Think back to when you were eighteen, nineteen, even twenty. Did you care about your grades or giving to the community as much as you did about partying with your brothers, making out with girls, and winning championships?”

  Shawn snorts. “God, no.”

  Corey glares at him, then says, “Maybe this is how things were run in Florida, Adam, but we have more prestigious goals here.”

  “That may be,” I say, not giving him the satisfaction of thinking I give a rat’s ass about what he thinks of me or my chapter. “But these brothers need a win. They need to throw a great party, as weird as that sounds. A safe party, but a rager, nonetheless. And they need to feel like they’re gaining popularity, like they stand a chance at being known on The Hill.”

  “I agree,” Derek says. “But honestly, I don’t see how these goals are achievable.” He reads from the list. “Win the IM football championship, create a new annual Alpha Sigma event with high Greek Life attendance, host a social at a new and exciting venue?” He shakes his head. “We need actual athletes. And money.”

  “You’ve got more talent here than you give yourself credit for. I’ve been watching the guys, and I think if we talk to the Athletics Chair, we can get them to gather the new pledges as well as the older brothers together and get a good team going. We have two weeks until the sign-up date, three weeks until the first game.”

  “And what about this fancy new event?” Corey asks. “Who’s going to come up with that?”

  “The brothers, of course,” I say without blinking. “This is their chapter. They’re young and creative, give them a shot to come up with some ideas that we can sign off on. That’s our role, after all,” I remind them.

  There’s a pregnant pause before Jared sighs and drops his binder to the table. “I think this is a terrible idea.”

  “Listen, guys, I know it’s hard to step out of the co
mfort zone, to throw all our eggs into baskets we can’t even see yet. But I’ve been trained,” I say, trying to earn their trust. “Give me a chance to prove I know what I’m doing. And if you still feel like I’m a nutcase by the end of the semester, I’ll write to nationals myself and ask them to place me elsewhere.”

  “I don’t know why they sent you in the first place,” Corey mutters, which earns him an eye roll from Shawn that I smirk at.

  “Let me talk with the Athletics Chair,” I say calmly. “We became fast friends over Rush Week. And at our next chapter, I’ll introduce the event, get the brothers excited and thinking.”

  “I guess we don’t really have a choice,” Jared says.

  I smile and nod, letting them know the meeting is over.

  Because no — they don’t have a choice.

  I saw Ricky, the Athletics Chair, playing beer pong in the backyard on my way up to the meeting, so I stop to talk to him on my way out the door. As I expected, he’s pumped about the challenge, and a few brothers in the yard are already chomping at the bit to help him put the team together.

  I clap him on the back and leave them to it, then check my watch, deciding I should head to the Student Union to fill out paperwork and get a date reserved for our on-campus event.

  On the way, I text Cassie, and I’m so locked into our conversation that I don’t notice the poor girl crossing my path until I run her over, literally knocking her over and leaving her sprawled out on the lawn below me.

  “Shit, I’m so sorry,” I say, hurriedly putting my phone away before I reach down a hand to help her up.

  The girl has long, thick, messy black hair and tattoos lining both her arms. When she looks up at me, I’m knocked silent by shocking blue-green eyes outlined by dark charcoal and lashes. Her dusty-pink lips curve into a smile at the sight of me, and she lets me take her hand and pull her up.

  She’s wearing a tight, crop t-shirt with some band name I don’t recognize, and I swear on my life her tits are bigger than any I’ve ever seen in person. Pair that with her slim waist, thick hips, and ripped-up black jeans, and she’s in a whole league of her own. My eyes flick to her combat boots that I’m hoping she doesn’t want to stomp me with, but she just dusts herself off with a chuckle once she’s fully upright, arching a brow at me.