Rushed (The Rushed Series) Read online

  Gina Robinson

  Gina Robinson

  SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

  Copyright © 2014 by Gina Robinson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Gina Robinson

  http://www.ginarobinson.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Rushed/Gina Robinson. — 1st ed.

  A girl who has everything. A guy who has everything to lose.

  Some things can't be…

  RUSHED

  Alexis

  Like there has ever been any doubt which sorority my family expects me to pledge. I'm a third-generation legacy. On the first day of rush, I realize I'm in trouble. I'm not like the other girls in the house. But as long as my parents control my college funds, resisting is futile. Until Zach, the live-in houseboy, who's quite possibly the hottest guy I will ever meet, serves me a cupcake and flashes me a sympathetic look. With one enigmatic smile, he flips my heart and my world upside down. My parents will cut me off if they even suspect I'm interested in a house guy. But I can't stay away from him. And so I pledge the house for all the wrong reasons.

  Zach

  Living in a sorority? I get flipped a load of crap about being a live-in servant, the help. Easy access to the hottest girls on campus? Not with the unbreakable rule—get caught with one of the girls and you're fired. Immediately. Lose this job and I can't afford college. I sure as hell can't ask my parents for help. They wish I'd never been born. Considering what I did, I don't blame them. I've learned to think of the girls like sisters. Until Alexis pledges the house. Now sister is the last thing on my mind.

  Chapter One

  Alexis

  My mom called it rushing. The university called it recruitment. I just called it hell. Dressed in a short, bright sundress and ridiculously high platform pumps, I stood in the hot August sunshine in front of the Delta Delta Psi house. I was surrounded by my Rho Gam group of nervous, excited girls all hoping for the chance at instant popularity. Was I the only one who wished she were anyplace but here? And not out of fear, but genuine desire not to become a Double Deltsie?

  The Greek system was supposed to be about finding a house where you fit in. About choice. About joining a group of likeminded girls who would become your sisters. Not about being forced into a certain house because of family pressure. A house where you were sure you would feel like a misfit.

  Delta Delta Psi, with its tall, stately, columned white house and manicured lawn, was the top sorority on campus and ridiculously crazy hard to get into. The Double Deltsies, as they were popularly known, were the hottest, richest, blondest, hardest-partying house on campus. They led the Greek system with the most homecoming queens, cheerleaders, and heiresses. They got astronomically top scores on GreekRank.com. So high, even sniping trolls from lesser houses couldn't bring it down.

  Get into the Double Deltsies, and not only did you have drop-dead gorgeous sisters for life, you had connections that could not be bought. And access to the hottest frat guys at the university. The guys who would inherit their parents' fortunes and businesses. Guys who, if my dad's friends were any indication, would become the fat old dipshits of the future.

  I was blond enough, skinny enough, dressed well enough in the right designer brand of clothes, and passably well off enough to be a Double Deltsie. I certainly didn't feel gorgeous enough. But that didn't matter. Because I held the trump card. I was a third-generation legacy. The only way I had a prayer of not getting into the house was if I intentionally blew the recruitment process or didn't preference their house.

  Tempting. Very tempting. And a totally stupid, futile show of defiance. My parents held the purse strings and were paying for college. Which meant I toed the line. Even if I sabotaged my interviews and the Delta Delta Psis didn't invite me back after the first round, my parents would raise hell and get me in. They had the connections to do it.

  I would be a Double Deltsie even if I dropped out of recruitment week. Probably even if I dropped out of college. That's how serious my parents were about this "opportunity of a lifetime," as they called it. And upholding the family Double Deltsie tradition.

  The morning sun was parching. It was already past eighty in the shade. The breeze did little except feebly rattle the leaves overhead, like the heat had exhausted it, too. Our Rho Gamma, Molly, the sorority girl assigned to shepherd my group around, looked uncomfortable as we waited for our appointment. We weren't supposed to know which house she was from. But we'd pretty much figured out she was from one of the lowliest houses on campus. The misfit house, the house that took anyone. No one wanted to be there except social outcasts desperate to be Greek at any cost.

  I felt for Molly. She was tall and big-boned with fine, mousy brown hair and eyes that were set too close together. Soft at the middle. Dressed in the obligatory Rho Gam T-shirt for the first day of house visits. And awkwardly sweet and conscientious to the point of trying too hard. At least she attempted to coach us and give us good advice and encouragement. Some of the snootier Rho Gams didn't.

  But she was out of her element here and a liability as far as getting into the Double Deltsie house. Or any good house, really. She'd tried to take me on as someone she wanted to impress. So she hung by my side as often as possible, trying to be my friend in a way that reeked of desperation.

  The house she was rumored to be from was trying to up its prestige by getting a higher caliber of pledges. They needed a good pledge class or they would fall further in the rankings. Their alums would cut off their support, and without them, the house would close. I was apparently in their crosshairs.

  I'd heard some of the girls make unkind comments about Molly. Most of them were unhappy about being assigned to her group.

  I was already tainted with the scent of Double Deltsie-ness as far as Molly was concerned. That's why she was after me for her house. At the same time, she was skittish and wary when I was pleasant to her, doubting my motives and wondering if I was just trying to make fun of her. And ridiculously pleased with herself at the same time.

  The door to the house opened and the homecoming queen from last fall, now the chapter president, opened the door to welcome us in. Looking at her, and how perfect and pretty she was, I thought that if it wasn't for being a legacy, there was no way I had a prayer at this house. I had to fight my insecurities.

  A line from my AP Lit class, from Dante's Inferno, came to me: "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate" or "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

  Yes, I was in the ninth circle of hell, trapped by my parents' vision of what was right for me.

  I walked in the middle of my recruitment group into the house that was decorated with banners and balloons. Past the cheering, chanting Double Deltsies as they showed their exuberance for our visit.

  Next to me, my new friend Emily gave me a small smile. Emily was the right kind of girl to get into a decent sorority—friendly, smart, pretty, knew how to dress. She was a brunette, which counted against her as far as being a Double Deltsie. But that was easily remedied. I gave her a shot at getting a bid from the Double Deltsie,
but it was a long one. More likely she'd end up at a comfortably middle-of-the-road house. Which was where I wanted to be.

  I envied her. She was going to have the right kind of Greek experience and probably make real friends for life.

  "What do you think of your future home?" Em whispered to me as we looked around. She knew about my legacy status.

  The formal sitting and living rooms were the nicest and best kept of any of the houses we'd visited. Everything was immaculate and smelled of perfume and flowers. Bouquets of dahlias and late summer blooms sat on the console table and end tables. Unlike the other houses, it was air-conditioned and welcomingly cool.

  I rolled my eyes. "I don't belong here."

  Emily laughed. "Sure you do. Keep your chin up."

  Then we were paired off for our interviews with a girl from the house. Emily got her partner first and disappeared into the study room. I was the last girl left standing when my name was finally called. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt the chapter president staring at me and taking my measure as the crowd thinned.

  Generally, it was a good thing to catch the attention of the president. It meant you were under serious consideration, that the house loved you. I had the feeling this winnowing from the herd was intentional. That the president wanted to see the legacy that was being forced on her. Was I worthy? Or would she have to find a way to neutralize my stench on the house reputation?

  I smiled at her with the smile I'd been coached by my mom to use during rush. I pretended to be pleased and flattered by her attention. Confident and shy at the same time. Reverent. Respectful. Excited. It was a good thing I was a good actress. I had a moment of panic that she would be interviewing me. But at the last minute, she waved a hand and a girl named Morgan stepped up to lead me away.

  "You have a beautiful house," I said to Morgan just loud enough for the president to hear, too. Always lead with flattery.

  "We like it." Morgan led me to the living room and a comfortable sofa. Clearly, I was being given VIP treatment. "How has your experience been so far?"

  "Awesome!" I smiled back at her, hoping it didn't look forced. "I love the campus and the feeling of camaraderie among the girls I've met." At other houses.

  Morgan smiled back at me and listened with what looked like rapt attention. But I knew her kind of girl—confident to the point of stuck-up. A total viper. I had been paired with the premier house interrogator. The snake sent to swallow potential pledges whole.

  Lucky me.

  I was parched. I had to clear my throat several times as I gushed about recruitment. My dress stuck to my damp back and thighs as I sat straight and poised on the sofa with perfect posture. I suppressed a shiver as the air conditioner kicked on.

  Some of the houses served refreshments and had a casual, friendly vibe. Not this house. A pitcher of ice water, beading with condensation, sat on the coffee table in front of us. Morgan made no move to offer me any. And I was too stubborn to ask for some. Something told me that if I poured myself a glass I would fail an important test. So, of course, I was tempted. I wanted water and I wanted to fail. But I resisted.

  Morgan was totally pleasant and kept the conversation going almost effortlessly. Which made me wary—when would she strike? Yes, we were supposed to like our interviewers. For now. Until they axed us after acting like our best friend for half an hour.

  I did think that we connected. I tried, anyway.

  We chatted about almost nothing at all, just made small talk about home and majors and family. This is the way recruitment went. You talked and talked so the house could get to know you. But really, it was just one person's opinion that was going to make or break you in the first round. Just this one girl I had to impress.

  She would act like all the rest—friendly, like she could be my new best friend. And then she'd use subterfuge and innocuous questions to find out whether I was Double Deltsie material or not.

  "Why do you want to be part of the Greek system?" Morgan leaned forward like she really wanted to know.

  "The sense of community! I love the sense of community." I repeated what my mom had told me to say. "Not just for now, but for life. I'm an only child. The idea of a sisterhood is simply thrilling. Sisters I've never had, hundreds of them!" My voice was full of exclamation points, my mother's exclamation points and inflection.

  Morgan's smile grew more real as she listened.

  "I also love the commitment to philanthropy and community service that the Greek system embodies. In high school I was president of the Key Club…" I went through my practiced talking points, saying all the right things like the good girl I was. Like the girl who would not disappoint her overly proud parents, no matter how much she wanted to.

  I had just finished my get-into-the-best-sorority dissertation when a movement near the entrance to the living room caught my attention. I looked up. My breath caught and I had to fight to keep my mouth from popping open into an open gape of lust. The most gorgeous guy I had ever seen stood in the doorway, carrying a tray of tiny cupcakes. He was over six feet and broad shouldered, with dark, wavy hair and snapping blue eyes. He wore black slacks, dress shoes, and a white dress shirt with a bowtie at the collar. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing perfectly sculpted forearms and the hint of a tattoo on the inside of his arm. He was dressed, I realized, like a waiter. Or a piece of beefcake.

  "Like what you see?" Morgan asked.

  The real test had begun.

  "What is a guy doing here?" During recruitment, the girls were forbidden from talking to a guy at all—no phoning or texting or IMing or Instagramming or emailing. No contact. You could get kicked out of recruitment for violating the rule.

  What was this, a trick?

  "That's just Zach," she whispered to me. There was an undertone to her voice I couldn't quite put my finger on. "He's just one of our live-in houseboys." The way she said it could have been a put-down, but wasn't. It was more like pride. "There are three more like him. Equally hot."

  Definitely pride. She was bragging now. "We're the only house on campus with live-in houseboys." Her smile grew from devious to wicked. "They serve our every need." The innuendo in her voice was thick. And, if it wasn't my imagination, filled with longing.

  Morgan waved Zach over with a flick of her wrist. "I bet you're thirsty." She picked up the pitcher of water and a clear plastic cup from a stack next to it. "And hungry."

  I was keenly aware of Zach as he crossed the room and stopped in front of me with his tray of pink cupcakes. Up close, I got a whiff of his cologne. He evidently knew the rules about the girls being unable to speak to guys during recruitment. He didn't utter a word, but he was clearly studying me beneath the mask he put on. His eyes were sharp and intelligent and sparkled with a trace of rebellion and protest that was hinted at by the way he'd rolled up his sleeves.

  A kindred spirit, I thought as my awareness of him only heightened. He doesn't want to be here any more than I do. He's trapped, too.

  I don't know why I found that so exciting, but I did. Since I'd arrived on campus, it had been a constant feast for the eyes—I'd never seen so many totally hot guys in one place before. But what I felt now was something different than mere appreciation. This was that feeling you get only a handful of times, if you're lucky. That adrenaline rush of attraction that is inexplicable, unexpected, and so thrilling it makes you jittery and nervous. Like you don't want to blow it. It's that feeling you get when you read a book you can't put down.

  There are a lot of good-looking men around. But only so many that totally thrill you with just a look. My head warned me to proceed cautiously. My heart pounded out of control. This was attraction at first sight at its finest.

  I hoped Morgan misread the goosebumps on my arms as the result of the overactive air-conditioning, not a reaction to Zach. It took all my willpower, but I resisted anything but a benign smile.

  I was dying to hear his voice. My skin prickled with awareness of him. If that voice matched the rest of him, I
would have to melt into the sofa right there.

  Morgan snapped her fingers. The rebellious look in his eye intensified. I wondered if Morgan knew how much he resented her. From the hungry way she looked at him, I guessed not.

  He offered me a tea napkin and held the tray out for me to pick a cupcake, holding my gaze with his just long enough to be indecent and just short enough to avoid detection by Morgan. His reaction to me confused me. I felt misjudged by him and wanted to correct him. I'm not like them! I wouldn't act like a princess to your servant.

  I would have screamed it if I could.

  I had the strong feeling that if I refused this cupcake offering, I would be snubbing the house. And most particularly, Morgan. I had the feeling she would be a formidable enemy, one I had no desire to make.

  I took a napkin embossed with the Delta Delta Psi logo, narrowly avoiding a brush with his fingers. Even still I felt the heat radiating from him. I could have sat there all day deciding between chocolate and pink lemonade cupcakes just so he wouldn't leave. But I also didn't want him to think I was lording his servitude over him. I grabbed a cupcake with a swirl of pink frosting and a gorgeous gum paste pink rose, the house flower, on top, looking into his eyes as I did.

  And then the real dilemma set in. I had to show him I wasn't a stuck-up bitch. But if I even said something as benignly polite as thank you, I was in violation of the rules. If I said nothing, I was rude to this enigma of a guy.

  Something about him made me fight to come up with a solution. Beneath his calm exterior pulsed a strong sense of pride. The look in his eyes challenged me to either defy Morgan or snub him. The last thing I wanted to do was insult this guy. Suddenly, the Double Deltsie house was looking a lot better than it had five minutes ago. All because of him.