"Cosmopolitan," Connor barked at me, staring at a recipe on his phone. He was clean-shaven tonight, clad in a navy polo shirt, short khaki shorts, and his ever-present boat shoes. "One shot of vodka, one shot of cranberry, and half a shot of triple sec. Squeeze half a lime on top and shake it. You got it?"
I nodded. I'd walked into the frat house off duty, a whole week left until I was due to start my pledge rotation again. I spent a couple hours immersed in the party, a drink in my hand as the music boomed and I mingled with the raucous crowd of bros and sorority girls. And then my big bro found me, plucking me away and dragging me into the kitchen. He pressed me into his personal service, insisting that I practice mixing cocktails. The frat never offered a full bar, but he explained that he wanted to be able to serve something besides keg beer or the random punch the pledges had concocted to girls he had his eyes on. Of course it was my job to make it happen.
Connor had intentionally given me a double shot glass to make my work more difficult, the whole endeavor challenging enough after drinking for hours, but I was trying to do the best I could. I followed his directions, vigorously rocking the ingredients in a shaker full of ice and straining the mixture into a cup. I handed it to him.
He raised the cup up to his lips and tasted the drink, immediately spitting it back out. "Too much triple sec, pledge," Connor pronounced, glaring at me like he was disappointed. "We're mixing drinks for sluts, not taking shots up in my room. Drink your mistake."
He'd already ordered me to do that three times, seeming to relish in watching me slurp down his backwash as he drank a cup of punch. "Sorry," I mumbled, grasping the cup from his hand and taking a sip.
Connor grinned at me like he was eating up my obedience. "Practice makes perfect. Come on, chug it like the others."
I downed the cosmopolitan as quickly as I could, tilting the cup to get the last drops.
"Good. Now make it again," Connor demanded. "Make it right this time so I can give it to someone I want to fuck and not be ashamed of it. You need me to repeat the recipe?"
"One shot vodka, one shot cranberry, half a shot of triple sec," I belted out. "Squeeze half a lime and shake."
His face lit up as he laughed. "Good, pledge. Mix!"
I made the drink, following exactly the same steps I'd followed before and handing it over to him.
Connor sipped it, gazing at me intently. "Perfect," he declared. "Maybe I didn't make a mistake picking you after all, little bro."
"Thanks," I said, trying not to sound annoyed. I knew the drink was exactly the same. The whole taste test thing was a game, one I couldn't possibly win. He was my big bro now, but he was obviously still hazing me.
Connor peered into the living room where everyone else was busy having fun, his mouth dropping open. "Oh shit," he muttered, instantly seeming totally captivated. "It's my white whale. Make another cosmopolitan, pledge." He snapped his fingers. "This is exactly what we've been training for."
I instantly jumped into action, filling the shaker with fresh ice. "Your white whale?" I asked as I measured the vodka. My big bro was still looking out into the living room intently when I glanced at him, like he was totally obsessed.
"You ever heard anyone else talking about a Kappa named Michelle? Probably not, she barely shows up here."
I poured the cranberry juice into the shaker. "Nope," I answered, struggling to fill the double shot glass exactly one fourth full with triple sec.
Connor tapped me on the arm after watching me pour it. "You've got to see her," he insisted, nodding his head toward the center of the crowd. "Long blond hair, huge tits. She's wearing a blue dress."
"Oh yeah," I said when I sighted Michelle. She looked like any other standard-issue sorority girl to me, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "She is really hot."
"Hot as fuck, single, and none of the other brothers have ever managed to bed her. Who knows, maybe she'll think you're hot. I would totally fuck her with you. Mix!" Connor ordered, urgently snapping his fingers again.
Just imagining fucking someone else with him had my dick filling out in my shorts. The remark was the first remotely sexual thing my big bro had said to me since the night in his room a week ago. Neither of us had uttered another word about what happened after we busted, just cleaning up, putting our clothes back on, and casually hanging out until Connor dismissed me. For all I knew, it was a one time thing we weren't ever going to talk about or repeat again.
I cut into a fresh lime, taking half and squeezing the juice into the shaker. "How is she not all over you?" I asked as I capped it. I figured Connor would appreciate my flattery, and I was right.
He smirked, obviously basking in his reputation as I shook the drink. "She will be," he said firmly. "It's just a matter of time. I always get what I want."
I poured the cosmopolitan into a fresh cup, my big bro immediately grasping it.
Connor eyed me menacingly. "This one better be fucking perfect, because it's her favorite drink. Two old fashioneds for when I come back," he demanded, a slight smile quickly breaking across his face. "If I come back, anyway. Two shots of bourbon, a few dashes of bitters, and a teaspoon of sugar. Don't shake that shit. Throw some ice cubes in the cup and stir it. You got it?"
I nodded my head as Connor bolted away, grateful that he wasn't there to lord over me anymore. He'd talked about being real friends when we were up in his room together, but in the week since he'd also taken every opportunity to make me feel like I was still beneath him, like having me mix drinks and then forcing me to guzzle down the ones he spit out. I really didn't know where we stood. Did we actually bond that night or had I just given him permission to make me his bitch?
Looking out into the living room, I watched my big bro approach Michelle, offering her the cosmopolitan I'd made. She took the drink as he flashed his trademark smile at her, raising his arm up and pointing directly at me. She glanced over and waved, and I instinctively waved back. What was Connor even saying right now? Was he bragging that I was actually a decent bartender? Was he really trying to find out if she thought I was hot?
I quickly stopped thinking about myself, remembering that he'd described Michelle as an impossible conquest. My big bro could be back at any moment, ready for his meager consolation prize. I started measuring ingredients for the old fashioneds, getting them ready just in case. Dropping ice cubes into the cups and stirring the drinks, I looked back out at the living room, not seeing Connor or Michelle.
After waiting in the kitchen for five minutes, I started to think he might have actually succeeded with his white whale. Why was I still standing here waiting around if he wasn't coming back?
"I'm bored," Connor suddenly muttered beside me, his voice listless.
I turned, realizing he'd walked into the kitchen from the other side of the house. My big bro looked dejected, and I shot him a sympathetic glance. "No luck?"
His eyebrows arched up. "Shut up, pledge." Connor grabbed one of the drinks I'd prepared, downing the whole thing in three long gulps.
"Did I get it right?" I asked, desperate for his approval even if it was a game. The old fashioned was the only drink I'd made that he hadn't immediately spat back into the cup on the first try.
"Yeah," Connor mumbled. "Why is yours still full? You know you need the fucking practice."
I picked up the second cup and gulped the drink down, following my big bro's lead.
