Living at the Frat House by Penny Wylder

My first day at college, and I made the biggest mistake of my life.

It started with a silly dare– join a frat house. Thanks to a loophole in the college rules, girls can do that here. But no one with good sense would willingly live with a bunch of dudes.
One night in the frat, then I’d bail the next morning, ready for high-fives from the elite clique who put me up to the dare in the first place.
But HE had other ideas.
Malcolm Levar, the leader of Granite House. How do I describe him? Hot. Intense. Demanding.
He’s cold on the surface, but he stares at me like there’s a fire in his belly that wants to jump out and consume every inch of my body.
And I think he hates me.
Probably because I broke an irreplaceable heirloom that belonged to his family.
He says if I can’t pay what it’s worth—and I can’t, I’m poor as heck—I have one other option.
Stay at Granite House for the rest of the year. Not as a frat member, but as their personal pet.
Do you know what that means?
I don’t.
But I said yes. So I guess I’ll find out.