Page 9 of Frat House Fling

“Okay,” I said, trying to keep the doubt out of my voice. “All three of them?”

“That’s the one for food,” Grant said, pointing to the one nearest us. “The other two are mostly used to stock drinks.”

“Drinks?” I had an image of a fridge full of water bottles and soda.

“Beer,” Grant clarified. “We are a fraternity, after all.”

“Right.”

“After you clean out the fridge, you’ll restock the other two. There are cases downstairs and to the right.” He jerked his head in the direction of two doors on the other side of the kitchen. One looked like it led outside, and the other one must have led to the basement.

“Okay.” Was I supposed to go down there now? No, Bennett had said to clean the fridge first. I walked over to it, feeling self-conscious as the two of them watched me. But I felt a little better when I opened the door of the fridge. No rank smells greeted me. The glass shelves weren’t covered in spills. And there wasn’t much food. Suddenly, I remembered something they’d said at the interview yesterday. “Am I supposed to go to the grocery store, too?”

“You can do that tomorrow,” Bennett said.

“But what about dinner tonight?”

“We already have plans. But tomorrow you’ll go to the store and cook dinner for us.” Bennett clapped his hands together as if done with the conversation. “Do a good job, Hailey.”

I almost saidyes, sirbefore I realized how absurd that was. Yes, he was technically my boss, but he was also a guy only a few years older than me, and a fellow student. “Will do,” I said instead.

Bennett strode out and Grant followed behind. When he reached the door, he paused while Bennett continued on ahead.

“Help yourself to whatever you want in the fridge,” Grant said. It sounded like an afterthought, like he wasn’t used to thinking about other people’s needs. And why would he? He’d probably had maids and cooks his whole life. But still, I was grateful for the offer. If I had to pay for my own food this summer, that would cut into the amount I could save up. And if I couldn’t save enough to afford housing in the fall semester, this would all be for nothing.

It took me less than an hour to clean the fridge. Not much in the freezer was expired, but most of the food in the fridge was old. I threw most of it out and scrubbed the shelves. The smell of bleach filled the air. Then I put back the condiments and other unexpired things.

I took a short breather and filled a glass with chilled ice water from the refrigerator door. When I was a kid, I’d always thought those were so cool—like having your own drinking fountain in your home.

Then I pulled open the stainless-steel door of the second fridge.

Yep, this one was definitely for drinks. There were a dozen or so bottles on different shelves, organized by type There were only two or three of each kind, so I could see why it needed to be restocked. But lugging bottles of beer up and down the stairs didn’t sound like a very fun task to me, so I stalled by cleaning a spot on the back wall of the fridge where something had spilled. I had to get on all fours and duck my head to see it clearly. It was hard to reach, so it took me two or three minutes to get it all.

And in that time, two people entered the kitchen. I discovered this fact when I pulled my head out and sat back on my heels. Something large loomed over me, and I yelped. My hand, the one holding the rag, flew to my chest and I felt the cold spread of dirty water on my shirt.

“Sorry,” Grant said with a smirk. He was on the right, Bennett was on the left. They were both peering down at me, and from this angle, they looked about ten feet tall instead of their usual six and change.

“I was just getting a stain,” I mumbled, dropping the hand with the cleaning rag down to my side. I wondered how long they’d been staring at me. I didn’t even want to think about the only parts of me that had been visible when I’d had my head in the fridge.

“So we saw,” Grant said, still smirking. It wasn’t hard to imagine his blue eyes glued to my ass, and I shifted uncomfortably. I wished I weren’t practically kneeling at their feet, but neither one of them stepped back, and the fridge door was to my back.

Bennett didn’t have a smug look on his face like his cousin. He just stared at me impassively.

“I cleaned the other fridge,” I said, still uncomfortable. “And, um, I was just about to go downstairs and get the beer.” I shifted forward, trying to find a way to get to my feet. After a long moment, Bennett stepped back, but not Grant. He leaned down, his head a foot away from mine, and plucked a brown bottle off of the top shelf.

Then he held out a hand for me.

“I’m fine,” I said, but he didn’t budge.

Taking his hand seemed the lesser of two evils compared to continuing to kneel at his feet, but it also felt a little like a power play on his part—as if he wouldn’t let me move until I did what he wanted.

Reluctantly, I put my hand in his, feeling his long fingers close around mine. He tugged me easily to my feet, but didn’t stop there. He held on just a second too long, pulling a little too hard, and I crashed into his chest, my free hand pressing against his stomach as I tried to steady myself.

It was just a second, maybe more, but I could feel the heat from his skin under his shirt. I could feel the hard, defined abs there.

Just like he clearly wanted me to.

I stepped back hastily and closed the refrigerator door, putting several feet between us. My hair was messed up and I could feel the wet spot on my shirt from the rag, but I didn’t care. I was just glad not to be at their feet anymore.

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