Page 8 of Frat House Fling

“Of course.” Now that I had a place to stay, I was more determined than ever not to screw this up.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked pointedly.

I looked down at my shirt. It was fine, no stains on it from cleaning. My jean shorts weren’t long, but they weren’t short, either. Was he objecting to them? It was summer, after all. “Is there something wrong with this?”

Bennett arched an eyebrow, and my face flushed as an image of that French maid costume yesterday flooded my mind. But when his mouth opened, I jumped in hastily. “These are old clothes,” I said. “It won’t matter if they get dirty while I’m cleaning.”

He stared me down for a few moments longer, and I knew my cheeks were pink, if not outright red. We both knew he didn’t give a crap about my clothes being ruined. Bennett was dressed casually—alight green button-down shirt with a collar and white shorts—but the clothes looked to be of good quality. His clothing probably cost more than my textbooks last year, and those had been astronomically high.

Finally, he gave me a curt nod. “Let’s go.”

Bennett strode out of the room, and I followed, feeling like I’d dodged a bullet. But what could I have done if he’d made me change into something he deemed more appropriate? I needed this job, and I needed a space to stay. Both of those things likely depended on staying on Bennett’s good side—if he even had one.

With his long legs, he was already halfway to the stairwell by the time I got the door closed behind me. It felt strange not to lock up after myself, but this wasn’t a hotel or an apartment. Hopefully the fraternity brothers knew how to respect people’s privacy.

Yeah, that was what frat boys were known for—respectful attitudes. I shook my head as I jogged to keep up with him. He flew down the stairs, and I was almost dizzy when we arrived at the first floor.

Grant was in the big room, a bottle of beer in his hand. He lifted the bottle toward me like some kind of boozy greeting. “Did you finish my room yet?”

“I’ll be going in your room?” I asked uneasily.

“Yes, mine and everyone else’s. They’re part of the house you’ve been hired to clean.”

“It’s a big house.”

Bennett cocked his head to the side, his blue eyes colder than his cousin’s. “So?”

I looked away, trying to think quickly. I needed this job, so I couldn’t challenge him. Either of them. Then again, if they had a completely unrealistic idea of what I could accomplish in a day, that might lead to me losing the job, too.

“Would it be okay if, on every other day, I just focus on cleaning the common areas? And then on opposite days, tackle the bedrooms?”

“Sounds good to me,” Grant said.

“As long as everything gets done,” Bennett said, somewhat sternly, as if I’d asked if I could take a three-hour nap each day.

The sense of unease settled in my stomach. These were rich, privileged young men. How on earth would they know what it took to keep a house like this clean? Even I didn’t know, since it was so big, but I was pretty sure I had a better guess than them. “For the individual rooms, what does that entail?”

Bennett frowned again, as if I was trying to get away with something. “Dusting, vacuuming, emptying trash. General cleaning.”

I nodded, and tried to purse my lips together, but a question slipped out. “But aren’t there like twenty bedrooms?”

“But only a handful are occupied this summer. Focus on them first,” Grant advised. His long legs dangled off the counter as he looked me over. Everything about him screamed rich kid with too much time on his hands, but he was a student. He had to do more than just lounge around all day. Maybe.

“Okay, I’ll do that. Can someone point those rooms out to me?”

Bennett looked irritated, as if I should just know, but Grant nodded. “Sure. No one’s staying on the first floor this summer. Grant and I have suites up on the third floor. That leaves four guys staying on the second floor—plus you.”

That still didn’t tell me where exactly the rooms were, but Grant was still being more helpful than his cousin.

As if on cue, Bennett took over the conversation again. “And, of course, you’ll be cooking dinner for us.”

My heart sank. I’d almost forgotten about that. Maybe I’d purposefully forgotten? My cooking skills weren’t the greatest. “Just dinners, right?”

Bennett studied me a moment and then nodded. “We usually eat on campus or at restaurants in town for lunch.”

“And we’re usually too hungover in the morning to worry about breakfast.” Grant laughed at his own quip and shot me a wink.

“So today, you can start in the kitchen. The grocery delivery won’t be until Friday, but you can go through the refrigerator and get rid of anything spoiled and clean the shelves.”

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