Living at the Frat House - A College Romance

The other guy who spoke before—not Jack—smiles kindly. “We’re grateful for whatever you do, honestly.” More murmurs.

I really need to learn everyone’s names. Especially if I’m going to be living here.

“Your stuff is upstairs,” Jack says. “The room across from Malcolm. We all know you know where that is.”

I can’t fight the blush. “Thanks…and thanks for the welcome. I’ll just go start unpacking then I guess.”

“Hold on,” Jack says, stepping in front of me before I can make it to the stairs. “Malcolm went to class, but he left a housewarming gift for you, and he wanted us to give it to you.”

I glance at the other guys, and most of them are grinning. “Okay.”

Jack picks up a bag and hands it to me. Reaching inside, I pull out a plastic sleeve, and I immediately recognize it as a Halloween costume. A French maid Halloween costume. That’s…weird. But okay.

“Time to clean,” Jack says. “In that.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of cleaning without wearing a maid costume, but thanks.”

Jack looks around at the guys, but they don’t say anything. “But Malcolm is the boss, and he’s the one that left it for you. Initiation. You know. We had to tailor it just for you.”

I’ve never heard about any kind of initiation for Granite House, but then again, given that they lost their fraternity status they probably wouldn’t advertise it. Even if they still had it, hazing wasn’t a thing you really talked about. And this is exactly a thing that Malcolm would do. He would tease me about it but love to see me prancing around in an outfit like this. I would think that he would be here to see it.

I swallow, and look Jack in the eyes. “Any other instructions that Malcolm left?”

“Just that you needed to do it, or that your living arrangements here would be reconsidered. Or more than that, your enrollment.”

Nobody says anything to contradict him. They’re waiting to see what I’ll do. I don’t know what the rules are here as far as the initiation. Would I really have to leave if I don’t do it? Malcolm is in class for another half an hour, so I can’t ask.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the guys look at me and shoot off a text message. Great. Probably inviting more friends over to witness this humiliation. There’s absolutely no way that this could go wrong. Ever.

“In that case,” I say, “I’ll be back.”

I just thought that Malcolm made me feel safe, and it’s true that he does. And it’s because of that that I’ll do this. He wouldn’t do it without a reason, even with the surprise. And I’m sure that as soon as he gets home he’ll tell me why.

The room I enter across from his is a mess. The furniture is everywhere, drawers scattered and taken out of the dresser, the mattress is off the bed frame. My boxes are stacked neatly in a corner, but that’s the only part of the room that’s neat. Thankfully I don’t think it will take too long to put in order. But I’m not going to do that in a maid costume, and that’s the only thing I have to worry about right now.

I drop my book bag on the floor, and pull the stupid slutty maid costume out of the bag. I’ll just get it over with. Let them have their fun and then retreat. I’m sure they all had to do something equally embarrassing, and then I’ll just be one of the guys.

My gut pings with doubt at that, but I don’t have a choice.

The skirt is so short that it barely covers my ass, and the neckline plunges down revealing part of my bra. But I’m not taking off the bra. This isn’t Halloween.

I leave my high-top sneakers on—I’m certainly not changing into high heels for this, and being barefoot makes it seem even more strange. Taking a deep breath, I head back down the stairs, and every eye is on me when I come down. I keep my head high and my back straight. “Where are your cleaning supplies?” I ask.

“Under the sink in the kitchen,” one of the guys says.

“Thanks.”

It’s oddly silent, but finally someone starts some music and at the very least the atmosphere feels a little more normal. A few of the guys float to the kitchen behind me to watch—Jack included—but more of them don’t.

There’s a whistle when I bend down to get the cleaning stuff, but I ignore it. I will get through this without reacting. Without the embarrassment they’re hoping to wring from me. I’ll do it with dignity, take the hazing, and that’s that.

But god, this kitchen does actually need to be cleaned. I decide to start with the stove, because I’m not sure I want to know how long ago that was deep cleaned. I spray it down, and actually decide to let it sit for a while and soak and move to the sink and start to scrubbing.