Perrie Lancaster has zero plans after college. No dream job she's working toward, no one to impress, and no care for anything other than making her last two years of college one big party.
Levi Saints wants nothing more than to follow his dream of t...
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"If I see one ass shake from any of you, you're stuck washing dishes for the rest of the night."
My hands plunge into the dirty water, pulling out a dinner plate crusted with uneaten food. "I didn't think she was being literal!" I say defensively as I watch the soapy water drip off the plate back into the industrial sink.
The caterers around me chuckle.
One laugh stuck out from the others that didn't belong to the caterers. "You should know by now that anything Gianna says is gospel, that girl is harsher than our sorority mother and that is saying something." Nova Watkins crosses her arms and leans against the doorway to the industrial kitchen that was located through the side doors of the banquet hall.
I send her a dirty look over my shoulder. "You know, a nice friend would have warned me if Gianna was looking my way instead of cheering me on," I state with an accusing stare.
Nova grins, brushing her tight curls over her shoulder deliberately. "Good thing I'm not the nice friend then."
"You bitch," I muttered and she blew me an air kiss.
Nova jerks a thumb behind her. "I've got to get back out there before President Gianna finds me having fun," she says, grimacing. She taps the doorway once before making her way back to my version of hell through the double doors.
Leaving me with an ungodly amount of dirty dishes, the caterers scatter, thankful for someone else to do the dishes. I huff, glaring at the dirty yet extremely soapy water before me.
I grumble to myself while I scrub at a stubborn piece of chicken. "Stupid Gianna and her stupid rules, and fucking presidency, and god she's just the worst!" I yell, splashing the water.
A rattle of dishes interrupts my tantrum. "Dishwashing isn't so bad," one of the caterers says with a teasing grin. He places the dirty dishes next to my sink and my mood plummets even more.
"This is the worst day ever," I moan, staring up at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling.
The caterer leaned his hip against the counter. "Let it out."
My hands drop the plates into the sink roughly. His eyes widen in alarm. "Let it out to me, not the plates, Jesus fuck," he hisses, his hands grabbing for the plate I let go of seconds earlier. "My mom will literally cut me with the shards of this plate if it's broken," he almost whines, sighing in relief when his hands come out of the water with the plate, unscratched.
I rub my face with my forearm. "You brought plates from home to this banquet?" I ask in confusion.
He chuckles and shakes his head. Drying off the plate meticulously, he places it neatly on the opposite side of the counter. "No," he explains, walking into my space and nudging my hip with his to get me to move, "my mom owns the catering company that your sorority hired for this thing."
