Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
As I gathered the last two plates, Theo got up, gave me a quick smile, and then went out into the front lounge area.
“Get me one of my beers, Hailey,” Grant said. It wasn’t a request, but his entitlement was usually easier to take than Bennett’s grumpiness.
I returned with his bottle at the same time Theo showed up with his own. He also had three undersized wine glasses. He sat down and poured an amber liquid into the glasses, and I realized it was some kind of after-dinner drink. There was a name for that kind of thing, but I couldn’t remember it.
I gave Grant his beer and then turned to leave, but Bennett stopped me. “Wait.”
I turned around, trying to look ready and eager to serve, but Bennett took his time, drinking from the little glass and then wiping his mouth with his napkin. Finally, he spoke again. “We’re hosting a party on Friday.”
Uh-oh. I’d heard all kinds of bad things about their parties.
“You’re expected to help out.”
When he didn’t elaborate, I bit my lip, thinking things through. “What will I do? Prepare snacks?” I had no idea how many students came to that kind of thing.
Bennett rolled his eyes, as if a second grader had said she wanted to fly a commercial airliner. “We have food brought in from a caterer in town. There’ll be over a hundred people here on Friday—you can barely manage to feed four.”
The insult hurt, after how hard I’d tried tonight, but I kept my face neutral. Ian, however, shot Bennett a nasty look.
“You’ll clean up spills, fetch things when needed, and tend the bar,” Bennett continued.
The word fetch was another insult, but another issue was more pressing. “I, uh, don’t know anything about bartending.”
“That’s obvious. You have nearly a week. I suggest you learn.”
“And we can help,” Theo added. Bennett didn’t seem to like that—one of his frat brothers offering to help the staff probably offended his sensibilities, but I appreciated Theo’s offer.
“All right. Anything else?” I wished I could have taken back that last part, but it was too late.
“Go clean the kitchen now. Tomorrow, focus on our rooms and the bathrooms upstairs.” He turned to Grant and started a conversation. Clearly, I was dismissed.
It was a relief to get away from them, but my shoulders slumped as I re-entered the kitchen. A huge mess awaited me. Grant had called me Cinderella when I cleaned his room the other day. It was beginning to feel like that was true. Except I was pretty sure that no handsome prince awaited me. Nor that I could get a pumpkin to sprout wheels and replace my car.
With a sigh, I dove in. Tomorrow was Sunday—it had probably been foolish of me to think I’d get a day to myself. That meant I’d be up late tonight studying. I sighed as I went over to the sink and started rinsing dishes. Oh well. Who needed sleep? More time studying meant less time trying not to roll off of twin sheets sliding around on a king-size mattress.
When I got back to my room, I wasn’t quite as exhausted as I thought I’d be. So it was time to hit the books. My class wasn’t going very well. Professor Whitmore was great, but there was so much reading. When I could, I preferred to do the readings twice. Once to get the gist of the material and the second time to take notes. But I rarely had the time for that kind of thing.
I worked at my desk until well after one o’clock. By that time, I was beat. I shut off my laptop and closed my book. Then my phone buzzed.
No one I knew would be texting me at this time of the night—unless Bennett or Grant decided they wanted a glass of water or a bedtime story.
I thumbed my phone on and stared at the message that popped up.
Why are you up so late?
I frowned, examining the number the message had been sent from. It wasn’t a local area code. I’d never even heard of it before. Was it spam?
But the sender knew I was up. That meant it was someone who’d seen the light under my door or the light in my window from outside.
Who is this? Maybe one of the guys had a second phone number that I didn’t recognize.
A fellow night owl.
That didn’t narrow it down. We were on a university campus. Lots of people were up late. Is this Theo? I texted.
You can call me Night Owl. That wasn’t confirmation or denial. What should I call you?
How about my name? I should’ve ended the conversation and climbed into bed, but for some reason, I didn’t. Maybe curiosity? Maybe stupidity. Who knew. If it turned out I was chatting with a Nigerian Prince, I’d be kicking myself. Not that I had much money to steal.