Breathless

BREATHLESS

The
Breathless Series Book #1

BAD
BOY FRAT

By
Claire Adams

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright
© 2015 Claire Adams

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Chapter
One

Every minute as we got closer and closer to the
campus, I got more and more excited. My mom and dad in the front seat were
talking quietly to each other, but I wasn’t paying any attention to them at
all. I was too busy staring out the window, my heart pounding in my chest. I
was moving into the dorms that day, starting my first year at college; it was
the college of my choice—not my parents’ choice. I was more than ready to
unload all of my stuff from the car and let my parents go back home. I wanted
to start making friends right away. The only doubt I had was whether my
roommates would be any good. I hadn’t known anyone who was going to the same
school as me, so when it came time for room assignments, I hadn’t had anyone to
put on my list of preferred roommates.

All of my friends had gone for big-name colleges. Of
course, my parents had insisted on sending me to a top-tier private high
school, so it wasn’t any surprise to me when my friends started getting their
acceptance letters from Harvard, Duke, and Yale. I had never wanted to go to
any of those huge schools; I had applied to Brown because my parents wouldn’t
let me get away with only applying to small, regional colleges. I had chosen
one upstate—far enough away from my parents to avoid having to see them
constantly, enough to feel like I was getting away from home, but not so far
away that if I ran into trouble, I wouldn’t be able to get in touch with anyone
or go home easily.

As we pulled onto campus, I caught sight of my mom
making a displeased face. “I don’t know why you didn’t take the acceptance to
Brown,” she said, looking over the back of the seat at me. “I think you would
be so much happier there, Becky.” Mom gestured to the campus all around us.

“I like this school,” I told her firmly. It was an
argument that we’d had more than a few times since I’d gotten my acceptance
letter. “It’s small, I won’t be overwhelmed by a million people all around me…
besides,
it
has a really good English program.” My dad
shifted in his seat, his hands moving on the wheel.

“I don’t know how I feel about you making up your mind
already; I think you should take a few classes and make up your mind only when
you absolutely have to.” Dad glanced at me through the rearview mirror. I
grinned.

“Well, if I change my mind, I have plenty of time to
make good,” I said. I didn’t want to have to argue with either of my parents
again, not while we were moving in, not while I was so excited to be starting
my new life.

My dad found his way across the campus from the
entrance closest to the Interstate, following the brightly-colored signs that
were obviously not permanent. I drank it all in, ready to love my new
home-away-from-home. I was going to college; I wouldn’t have a stupid uniform
anymore, I would be able to choose who I hung out with and who I dated—it was
freedom. Pure, unadulterated freedom. I was eighteen, which wasn’t old enough
to drink, but considering what I had heard about college, that didn’t
matter—and it hadn’t even mattered when I had been under eighteen. There had
been plenty of parties at the high school I’d gone to and plenty of parents who
were happy to look the other way when their darling children wanted to get
smashed with their friends, as long as no one tried to drive afterwards.

“Becky, sweetie, are you
really
sure this is where you want to go?” I turned to look at my
mom, who was staring out through the passenger side window with a look of
distaste on her face. Glancing in the direction she was looking at, I saw a
group of girls, all of them in bright white tee shirts, drenched to the skin,
being chased by a bunch of boys with water guns. They were laughing, throwing
water balloons blindly over their shoulders at the oncoming boys.

“Lighten up, Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Wet
t-shirt contests happen at every college and it doesn’t even look like this is
a contest…even Brown has them, I’m sure.” Dad laughed
,,
and I thought to myself that at least for the moment I had him on my side.

He pulled into the loop next to the dorm building I was
going to be in; it was packed with cars, absolutely crawling with freshmen and
their parents, unloading boxes and crates. I had absolutely pored over the list
of recommended and required supplies when it came with my orientation packet a
few weeks after I sent my acceptance back to the college. One good thing about
my parents’ wealth was that they were absolutely insistent that everything I
had be new, including the computer that I would be working with. My parents had
gotten everything for my dorm room, and I had thought to myself more than once
that I would probably be the most relentlessly accessorized freshman in the
dorm.

Earlier that day, the housekeeper, my parents, and
I—with some help from the landscapers—loaded up the car with everything my parents
thought I would need to have. Mom had bought me just about everything that
could possibly make an extra-long twin bed comfortable: a heated mattress pad,
a thick, comfy down alternative comforter, huge pillows, a duvet, a few sets of
sheets and pillow cases that I picked out to go with what she had decided was
my “color palette.” She had also purchased prints of all the paintings I loved
and all kinds of decorative touches. I knew my mom wanted my room to look
“civilized,” and I went along with it—it was nice, and I knew my room would be
comfortable, but it seemed a bit much, particularly when I knew that most of
the other kids in the dorms with me would be making furniture out of cinder
blocks and shipping pallets.

Dad parked the car and shut off the engine, and I
threw myself out of the backseat, barely managing to get the seatbelt off
before I shoved the door open and thrust my legs out of it. One of the
staff—obvious in his color-coded t-shirt and khakis—came over and greeted my
parents. “Welcome, welcome! Did you guys have a decent drive here?” He got my
name from Dad as Mom and I went to the trunk to get it open.

The RA shook Dad’s hand and came over to me. “Here is
your room key, Becky. Just as a heads up, the dorms are going to be open for
today and tomorrow—the day after that you should have your ID card, and you’ll
have to use the card reader like everyone else.” I nodded that I understood and
took my dorm and room keys from the guy; I barely even noticed his name.

“How are the dorms set up?” Mom was looking around and
I saw what I recognized as her “suspicious face.”
Oh God, she’s going to start an argument with someone else.
“I
mean, I’m an old fashioned woman; I want to make sure that my daughter is going
to be safe.” The RA laughed.

“Of course, absolutely. I totally get where you’re
coming from.” I picked up a basket full of stuff and gestured for Dad to follow
me into the dorm building while the RA talked to Mom about the format of the
dorms. I honestly didn’t care how the dorms were set up; obviously they
wouldn’t have me rooming with a guy—which I knew was Mom’s fear. Whether I got
along with my roommates or not, they would all be girls. I knew, too, that the
rules for the freshman dorms were way stricter than the rules for the upperclassman
dorms and also the rules for the various frats and sororities on campus. I had
my itinerary; I knew there was going to be an orientation meeting with the RA
for my floor later on where they’d give me not only the rules of the dorm
itself, but also the rules for my floor.

“This doesn’t look too shabby,” Dad told me as we
walked through the double doors from the courtyard. The college had been around
for a while, and the dorm building we were heading into was one of the oldest
ones on campus. The brick exterior was cozy-looking and warm, while the
interior had apparently been gutted and refurbished at some point in the last
twenty years; there was a lingering fresh paint smell in the lobby and the
floors were linoleum, but at least a nice enough pattern that it didn’t look
cheap. The chairs and couch in the lobby looked like refurbished old
pieces—good enough for the kind of wear and tear that a bunch of rowdy
teenagers would put on it.

We carried our loads up to the fifth floor where my
room was. The hallways were carpet instead of linoleum, much quieter than the
lobby. People were streaming in and out constantly, moving like heavy traffic,
and I smiled at everyone who greeted me—especially as we got closer and closer
to my room. These were the people I would probably be spending all my time
with, and I wanted to make a good impression. I wanted to make friends as
quickly as possible.

My parents had had the option, when I signed up for
the school, to pay a little bit more for this dorm versus the other Girls
Freshman dorm. The benefit to that was that I had a tiny little bedroom to
myself, with a common area that I shared, along with a split bathroom. One of
the other Girls Freshman dorms was a more classic design—with two shared
bedrooms complete with bunks, a floor shower, and half-bathroom. I was glad my
parents had at least acted fast enough for me to get into the better dorm, even
if they didn’t agree with my choice of college. While I was all about having
the college experience, having at least a little bit of space to myself was
definitely a good idea.

The common area of the dorm room had some basic
furniture in it: a couch, a couple of chairs, a solid-looking coffee table and
an entertainment center. The floors were tough, but the carpet was still fairly
soft—and I could see that it was the kind that was designed to be easy to
clean. Everything was absolutely clean, and neat, and I looked around with a
happy smile. My key fit into one of the two doors in the room just fine—the
orientation paperwork had said that it was possible that I’d have trouble with
the tight locks, but the key turned and the next thing I knew, I was looking
into a small, empty room. “Why don’t we get everything up here in a nice, neat
pile, and then you and your mom can start sort out what goes where?” I laughed
at Dad and nodded my agreement. We both knew that he meant Mom was going to set
everything up the way she thought was best—and I’d let her do it.

Mom caught up with us finally, and we started the
process of getting all of my brand-new stuff up to my room while she chatted
with Dad about her overall much better impressions of the college after talking
to the RA. I was surprised that we were able to get everything up to my room in
only a few trips—especially considering how much Mom had decided was
“absolutely necessary” for my survival. I rolled my eyes to myself, carefully
turned away from both of my parents, as Mom started ordering Dad and I around,
telling us where to put things, how to hang the window treatments, and where
the art prints should be.

Fortunately for me, just as I was beginning to lose my
patience, my new roommate arrived. “Oh! You must be Becky!” she said, coming
into the room. She was a short, curvy brunette, with big, green eyes I couldn’t
help but envy.