LILY

"Shit!"

I stared up in horror as the can of paint fell. It slipped from the ladder in slow motion, rotating end over end as a big swath of the pale blue color — the one I'd taken more than an hour to pick out — licked forth like a giant tongue.

"SHIT!"

I jumped back, twisting to get out of the way. The can hit the floor in an explosion of blue, just as I realized my right foot felt… well, wet.

I'd just stepped in the roller tray for the white paint too.

"Shit shit shit shit shit!"

The burst of sudden laughter from behind me was the last thing I expected to hear. It caused me to whirl, whipping another thin line from the overloaded brush in my hand. Paint splattered over two more walls… which of course just happened to be the ones I'd already painted.

I opened my mouth…

"Shit?" a deep but cheerful voice suggested. There was more laughter, this time accompanied by a bright smile. "Sorry. That's just a lot of shit."

The stranger standing in my doorway was as tall as he was broad. His big shoulders ended where his sleeves did, revealing two very tan and well-developed arms that were holding a large box.

He glanced down curiously. "Why are you barefoot?'

I'd taken my shoes off to spare them the mess. Now I had paint all over my foot, my shorts, my shirt… my arms and legs… everywhere but the wall where it needed to be, apparently.

"Who the hell are you?"

He bent at the knees, setting the box on the floor without breaking his smile. "I'm Brandon," he said, reaching out one hand. When I didn't shake it right away, he lowered it to his side. "I'm here for my room."

I was totally dumbfounded. "Your room?"

"Yes."

I couldn't help but snicker, even as I stepped out of the paint tray. "Well I think you've got the wrong house, Brandon."

"You sure?" he asked

"Look around. The real question is are you sure?"

Brandon's eyes moved slowly around the interior of the old Victorian house. He reached behind him and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. It was a very nice pocket, attached to a very nice a**. That part I tried not to notice, but it was a little difficult.

"430 Blydenburg," he read. "That's here, right?"

"Maybe."

"The old Delta Delta Thoras house?"

"Yeahhh…" I admitted slowly. "A long time ago maybe." My eyes narrowed. "And?"

"Well that's it then," he said, holding out the piece of paper. "This is the place. I've been assigned here for the rest of the semester."

I sighed and swiped the paper from his hand. Our fingers touched, and I left him unapologetically with a fresh line of blue paint.

"What is this?" I said, reading the document.

"Dean's orders," Brandon shrugged. "Our Chapter got closed down over the break, and we were told to come here."

Chapter. Closed down…

Mentally I snapped my fingers. Of course!

"Ah," I said. "You're from Omega Alpha."

"Yup."

"Shut down for alcohol hazing. Disbanded. Thrown off campus."

"Yes, yes, and yes," Brandon said. "But also, no. We got railroaded. We didn't haze anyone."

I reached for the towel I was using as a paint rag. "That's not what I read."

"That kid you read about got drunk at some other party," he said defensively. "He passed out on our lawn and we called him an ambulance."

"That kid was a freshman, with more alcohol in his system than the town drunk tank. He nearly died."

"Again," Brandon reiterated. "Not us."

I sighed as I wiped my hands clean. I sure wasn't there to argue with him. I wasn't there to babysit him either.

"Well Brandon, it seems somebody's made a mistake. You can't live here because the house isn't ready. Not even close."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm still fixing it up, and the University gave me another six months to finish the job."

He looked confused as I handed the paper back to him. "You? A girl?"

"Yeah," I laughed. "Me. A girl." I used a single finger to tap my perfect t*t*, playfully. "See?"

He blushed and nodded. Folded the paper back into his pocket.

"Go tell them you need another place. In fact, tell them they—"

I stopped dead as another two guys walked up behind him. Two boys, really. College students, like Brandon. Maybe twenty, or twenty one.

"Hi," one of them said. He was equally as tall, with soft blonde hair that framed a very handsome face. "I'm Colin, and this asshole next to me is Hunter." Hunter elbowed him so hard he almost dropped his box. "We're here for our rooms."

My eyes found Brandon's again and he gave me an apologetic shrug.

"Well shit," I said.