Stepbrother Wow! (Bad Boy Frat #1)

STEPBROTHER
WOW

The
Stepbrother Romance 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
1

“
Yo
, Donnie—what do you
think she’s packing? Cs, Ds?” I rolled my eyes at the question from Alex, as
the camera panned over the line of cheerleaders on the sidelines of a
Dolphins-Jets game.

“Cs.
Not full enough for Ds,” I replied, sparing Donnie the trouble. It amused the
hell out of me that none of the boys in Phi Kappa Alpha had managed to decode
bra sizes and what they meant. All they knew was that C and D were “big.” It
was funny—to me at least—when I could poke holes in their stories about making
it with a girl with “Total double Ds, man,” by pointing out that I knew for a
fact
that whichever girl they were referring to was a C-cup
or in some cases even a B.

While the
handful of guys on the couch
with me were
watching the game, they were also talking about the
upcoming party. Phi Kappa Alpha had a reputation to maintain, and they were
only too aware of it; they never wanted to have a party that was too much of a
repeat of a previous one—at least not one that had happened in the same school
year. The rest of the members of the frat were
either in
classes, out
with girlfriends, or on a beer and supplies run. A couple
of the guys in the living room with me were upperclassmen, seniors in the frat;
a couple of them were rushes, and a few had graduated to full frat membership.
They were working their way up the ranks in status and eager to prove that they
were just as capable of planning a
rager
as anyone in
the upper echelons of the fraternity.

“Hula theme is overplayed,” Fred, one of the
seniors, was saying. “We need something no one’s done yet, something that’ll
stand out.” I shrugged as the rest of the guys called out ideas—a Disney party
to encourage girls to show up in slutty princess outfits, or a hip-hop party, a
kid-themed party with bounce castles set up on the front lawn
.
 
They came up with a couple dozen ideas
in total, some of which were creative but not exactly realistic, some
completely horrible, and some mediocre or overused by other frats, hoping to
cash in on Phi Kappa’s popularity.

“I have a great idea, hear me out,” Jeremy said from
a few feet away from me. I glanced in his direction; it was thanks to him that
I was on the couch in the middle of a frat in the first place. “We could throw—a
Communist Party!” His suggestion was met with scattered boos around the room.
“Seriously, hear me out on this.”

“Don’t bring that freshman World History bullshit in
here,” Rodney called out.

“It’s
cause
he’s fucking
that Eastern Block chick, Svetlana or whatever her name is.”

“Dude, she’s hot though, can you blame him?”

“Seriously guys,” Jeremy said, shouting to drown out
their comments. “Here’s how you could do it: make everyone come dressed in red,
right?” Fred nodded, raising a hand to silence the others talking over their
brother. “Have vodka and rum drinks, make everyone bring something—like a mixer
or something like that—but they can’t drink what they brought, they have to
drink what someone else brought.” Slowly the tide of opinion was changing,
going in favor of Jeremy’s idea. “You could have Cuban sandwiches, whatever
they eat in Russia.”

I laughed. “Have everyone get in a line when they
arrive, give them a slice of bread,” I called out. The people who had already
decided in favor of Jeremy’s idea shouted approval.

“Right!
Right! And like, you could have commie-themed punch or something, something
Cold War.”

“Give people a ration card for
their drinks,” one of the history buffs suggested.
“Of course, girls get an extra three or four punches on their cards…” I rolled
my eyes as everyone around me started hooting their agreement with that idea.

“How many punches does Mia get?” the guy sitting
next to me, Robbie, asked.

“Same as a guy,” Rodney said.

“Give her two cards—one for a guy and one for a
girl. See which one she fills up first.” Everyone in the frat knew I was a
girl, of course; but they’d adopted me as one of their own. If it weren’t for
the restrictions on membership, they’d have taken me on as a pledge—and one of
the seniors had suggested I join the sister sorority so I could work with them
and hang out with them in an official capacity. But the idea of living in a
house with fifty girls, synching up my period with them or having to go get my
nails done every other week just didn’t appeal to me. So I’d become the
unofficial mascot of the Phi Kappa Alpha frat, always there and one of the
guys, but not an official member. It was better than hanging in my
dorm, that
was for sure.

Ideas started flying; the handful of history geeks
in the group were all about Jeremy’s
idea,
and it was
fun and amusing enough that everyone else jumped on it too. Fred, the senior
member of the group, proclaimed that he’d bring it to the other leaders and
they’d vote on it, but he was personally sold.

“If this gets off the ground, Jeremy, I’m putting
you in charge of the punch. Come up with something good we can tie in to the
theme.” Jeremy nodded.

Taking my eyes off of the screen for a moment, I
could see he was pleased, more than he was showing; he was trying to work his
way up into some kind of authority in the frat, and if he could take credit for
a raging party idea, he’d be on his way to getting elected by his brothers to
one of the lower authority positions when elections came up next semester.

He’d been my ticket into the group. I turned my
attention back onto the game, shouting with the rest of the guys when a bad
call was made or a particularly good strategy played off but really thinking
about my first week at college. I’d made my plans right away; all through high
school I’d been one of the guys, and I had no intention of changing that now
that I was, as my mom said, a “grown woman”. I kept a sharp eye out for the
kind of event I wanted—and kept my ear to the ground for gossip about
who
I could fit in with. I’d heard about the Phi Kappa Alpha
guys within the first day; they were known around campus as the “bad boy”
frat—and I knew I wanted to at least be friends with some of them.

When I’d heard about the afternoon basketball game,
on my second day of orientation, I’d made sure to remember the time. During
orientation week there weren’t any classes, so apart from going to seminars
about safe sex or the different clubs on campus, my schedule was free. I put on
my raggedy gym shorts and tee shirt and ran out to the courts while everyone
was gathering; there were enough people there for two teams—just enough,
including me. I was the only girl who wanted to play.
The
rest of them all crowded on the other side of the fence, filling up the benches
to watch the guys.
One of the guys, an upperclassman and orientation
leader, scoffed at me insisting that I really did want to play. “This isn’t
high school JV,” he told me. “You play with
us,
you’re
going to break a nail.” I rolled my eyes.

“I broke three fingers falling down a slope on my
snowboard last year, didn’t stop me from playing volleyball.” The guy shrugged,
and his friend, another of the orientation leaders, picked me for his team.

Really, all I had hoped for was to make a few
friends; some of the guys were good-looking enough, but I wasn’t looking
specifically for someone to go out
with
. I wanted guys
I could hang out and watch the game with, who I could play a quick pickup game
with
. Not someone to make sheep eyes at me and tell me I was
beautiful. So I played my heart out, hip-checking anyone who got in my way,
ducking under the taller guys’ blocks and not even stopping when someone’s
guard tripped me up and I face-planted on the coated-asphalt court. By the end
of it, one of the guys on my team had lifted me up onto his shoulders,
proclaiming me the undisputed VIP of the game, which we’d won by one
point—though it wasn’t scored by me, I’d knocked over the guy who was blocking
my teammate.

Jeremy talked to me after the game. “I’m a member of
Phi Kappa Alpha, you heard of us?” I had nodded; I didn’t want to seem too
eager, but I was definitely interested in getting to know some of the guys from
a frat with such a bad reputation. “We’re throwing a party tomorrow night, you
should come out.” I was only too willing. Jeremy gave me his number and told me
to text him before I got to the frat house—he would vouch for me at the door.
I’d left after that to get cleaned up and ready for dinner at the dining hall,
but I was pleased with my success. At least, I thought, I’d have a chance to
get to know some people who were on my level.

I showed up a few minutes after the party started,
and texted Jeremy
like
he told me to. When I hit the
door, he was waiting there for me. “Who’s the tasty dish?” the pledge at the
door asked. Jeremy laughed.

“This is Mia Johns. She helped me and some other
guys slaughter in the game yesterday.” The pledge raised an eyebrow, looking me
up and down. I didn’t dress up like a girly-girl, but I knew I was looking
good; I’m average height and slim, with blonde hair down to the middle of my
back and blue eyes I inherited from my dad. I was wearing a low-cut tee shirt
and jeans with an unzipped hoodie, but I’d taken the trouble to put on a little
bit of makeup; I didn’t want to look like a total slob.

“Ah, come on, you’re pulling my dick,” the pledge
had said, shaking his head at me.

“Show him your knee,” Jeremy suggested. I tugged my
pants up and showed the bruise and scrape I had taken in my face-plant,
shrugging it off. It was starting to purple up nicely—and it was obviously the
kind of injury that you could only get from going hard at something, not the
kind of ditzy injury a girl would get running into her bed frame or falling off
of the couch. The pledge handed me a red cup of keg beer and Jeremy led me
around the frat, introducing me to any of his brothers we ran into. “This is
Mia Johns,” Jeremy told each of them. One of the guys had been at the game the
previous day, and remembered me.

“Ah, yeah, you’re the demon child from the court!”
He told me to pace myself and handed me another cup full of punch. I laughed.
I’d been drinking at parties since I was fifteen; I knew how to handle my
alcohol. I did pace myself, but as Jeremy kept a tally of my drinks for the
night, holding onto my cups as I emptied them, his frat brothers had gained
more and more respect for me.

I finished up the night talking hockey stats with
one of the upper leadership members of the frat, holding my own on the subject
of the Calgary Flames while he tried to argue that the Canucks were clearly the
better team. By the next day I was an established unofficial member of the
group, with a spot on the couch open to me whenever I came by. Nobody treated
me like one of the bunnies who came over, which I was glad for; I didn’t want
to be friends with the guys because I wanted to screw them all—I wanted to be
friends with the guys because it was just easier than dealing with girls, most
of whom didn’t seem to have the slightest bit of interest in the things I liked
to do. They talked the same way around me as they did around each other,
shooting the shit about this team or that team, talking about the girls they’d
hooked up with, comparing bodies and poking fun at the crazies.