Read Online Pulse (Contemporary new adult/college romance) (Club Grit Trilogy) by Brooke Jaxsen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brooke Jaxsen
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headlocks and pile drivers like you’d see in a montage, but there was ice and shade tossed left and right. What the fuck was going on?
“I’ve got to go,” said Becca and she left with her bags in tow. It was weird but I’d catch up with her later, I was sure of it.
“That was...different. What was that about?” I asked Samantha, but she changed the topic. She was my big so if she said that DeAndre was fine, that was all that mattered, right?
Right?
Right.
Chapter Six, #OutWithTheGirls:
A S KIM SETTLED IN HER USUAL VIP STATION TO WATCH THE FRESHMAN SISTERS, DeAndre and I hit the dance floor. Now was not the time to bump elbows and learn Kim’s secrets while taking selfies with my smartphone to upload to Instagram for guaranteed hundreds of likes in hours. Now was a time of action, the time to impress her.
After Becca had left, Sam had given me a pep talk.
I was young.
I was nineteen.
I was gorgeous.
I was Emma Nelson.
And I was a sister of Omega Mu Fucking Gamma.
This lifestyle? This was what I was entitled to, this was my birthright of sorts, and this was the life that I’d need to get used to living if I wanted to nab myself a rich successful guy, or a guy who had that kind of guy for a father. A guy like DeAndre.
Club Grit was off the fucking walls. Summer was approaching and because Club Grit couldn’t go to the beach, the beach had to come to Club Grit. All the bottle service girls were wearing grass skirts, coconut bras, leis, and platform bamboo styled heels. Of course, I was more focused on what the bouncers were wearing, but it was the normal uniform as usual. Of course, they weren’t supposed to stick out, they didn’t have bottles they made forty percent commission off of to sell. They were busy watching from the shadows, but I was the one watching the shadows.
Forget Red Rooms of Pain, I loved this paradise. It was Fifty Shades of Blue, and of Green, and Yellow, all across the walls as if I was in Miami, the spotlights twirling like a raver kid had gotten ahold of the lights and was high as fuck.
Like me.
I had popped enough uppers in the limo to feel them taking effect already, as well as some ecstasy, and I was ready to party. I needed to get on the dance floor, but I also needed to take in everything. All the sights, the smell of coconut and pineapple drinks, the feel of the soft carpet that was supposed to be like sand that my shoes practically sank into, they were all mine to experience, to enjoy.
Hanging from the ceilings were large scrolls showing waves with surfers inside and all though the scrolls were of pictures, unmoving, the way they moved in the air of the club, billowing and swaying, made it look like the surfers were really moving. The red carpet had been replaced by one that was an appropriately sandy color, and part of me wished my outfit was more tropical, but it didn’t matter because I was still dressed to kill.
Or at least maim.
I was glad I’d gotten to know DeAndre better over text and Facebook IMs, as well as a bit in the limo on the way to Club Grit. Every time we talked about something, it was like we had the same mind! He liked all the things I liked and hated all the things I hated. It was awesome. We liked the same music, the same movies, all that good stuff, and I thought maybe he’d be the one I’d not only take home, but start to date. Who needed that what’s his name, Skylar?—who was I kidding, I couldn’t forget that name if I tried (and I was trying, trust me)—, when I had a hot athletic frat boy on my arm, the kind of guy that could grind with me in front of my sorority sisters and make them jealous instead of make a fool of himself like so many guys our age.
Rebounds had their perks.
But, as I danced with DeAndre, something else clicked.
Skylar did something stupid on our coffee date. He told me what he hated.
The only thing that Skylar hated more than the pounding music of the nightclub was the girls.
Although he knew that they
“I’ve got to go,” said Becca and she left with her bags in tow. It was weird but I’d catch up with her later, I was sure of it.
“That was...different. What was that about?” I asked Samantha, but she changed the topic. She was my big so if she said that DeAndre was fine, that was all that mattered, right?
Right?
Right.
Chapter Six, #OutWithTheGirls:
A S KIM SETTLED IN HER USUAL VIP STATION TO WATCH THE FRESHMAN SISTERS, DeAndre and I hit the dance floor. Now was not the time to bump elbows and learn Kim’s secrets while taking selfies with my smartphone to upload to Instagram for guaranteed hundreds of likes in hours. Now was a time of action, the time to impress her.
After Becca had left, Sam had given me a pep talk.
I was young.
I was nineteen.
I was gorgeous.
I was Emma Nelson.
And I was a sister of Omega Mu Fucking Gamma.
This lifestyle? This was what I was entitled to, this was my birthright of sorts, and this was the life that I’d need to get used to living if I wanted to nab myself a rich successful guy, or a guy who had that kind of guy for a father. A guy like DeAndre.
Club Grit was off the fucking walls. Summer was approaching and because Club Grit couldn’t go to the beach, the beach had to come to Club Grit. All the bottle service girls were wearing grass skirts, coconut bras, leis, and platform bamboo styled heels. Of course, I was more focused on what the bouncers were wearing, but it was the normal uniform as usual. Of course, they weren’t supposed to stick out, they didn’t have bottles they made forty percent commission off of to sell. They were busy watching from the shadows, but I was the one watching the shadows.
Forget Red Rooms of Pain, I loved this paradise. It was Fifty Shades of Blue, and of Green, and Yellow, all across the walls as if I was in Miami, the spotlights twirling like a raver kid had gotten ahold of the lights and was high as fuck.
Like me.
I had popped enough uppers in the limo to feel them taking effect already, as well as some ecstasy, and I was ready to party. I needed to get on the dance floor, but I also needed to take in everything. All the sights, the smell of coconut and pineapple drinks, the feel of the soft carpet that was supposed to be like sand that my shoes practically sank into, they were all mine to experience, to enjoy.
Hanging from the ceilings were large scrolls showing waves with surfers inside and all though the scrolls were of pictures, unmoving, the way they moved in the air of the club, billowing and swaying, made it look like the surfers were really moving. The red carpet had been replaced by one that was an appropriately sandy color, and part of me wished my outfit was more tropical, but it didn’t matter because I was still dressed to kill.
Or at least maim.
I was glad I’d gotten to know DeAndre better over text and Facebook IMs, as well as a bit in the limo on the way to Club Grit. Every time we talked about something, it was like we had the same mind! He liked all the things I liked and hated all the things I hated. It was awesome. We liked the same music, the same movies, all that good stuff, and I thought maybe he’d be the one I’d not only take home, but start to date. Who needed that what’s his name, Skylar?—who was I kidding, I couldn’t forget that name if I tried (and I was trying, trust me)—, when I had a hot athletic frat boy on my arm, the kind of guy that could grind with me in front of my sorority sisters and make them jealous instead of make a fool of himself like so many guys our age.
Rebounds had their perks.
But, as I danced with DeAndre, something else clicked.
Skylar did something stupid on our coffee date. He told me what he hated.
The only thing that Skylar hated more than the pounding music of the nightclub was the girls.
Although he knew that they
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