Eli sprints past, giggling like he's lost his goddamn mind, his face bright red and blotchy. Merci’s on his heels, shooting me the double bird. They crash through the exit doors and keep running.
Those little fuckers.
I slam my laptop closed and shove it in my bag. Never thought I'd need to lock my fucking desk drawer.
Viktor's coming down the stairs, pet carrier in hand, just as I'm going up. “Nice cologne collection you've got on your dresser.” He shifts the carrier to his other hand, an obnoxious smirk on his face. “Very vintage. Though the lens quality is impressive for something so . . . discreet.”
“Better not have said anything to Ryan.”
“Of course I wouldn’t.” He continues down the stairs, calling back. “And thanks for all the goodies.”
Mother. Fucker.
I take the stairs two at a time, phone still buzzing in my pocket. What the fuck else did they buy?
When I push open the door, Ryan's stretched out on his bed with a bag of Sour Patch Kids. The second he sees me, he jumps up, a few pieces scattering across his blanket.
The tips of his ears go red first, then it spreads down his neck. “Uh, hi?”
My eyes narrow. “That’s all you have to say?”
He turns redder, rubbing the back of his neck. “They found your card.”
My phone buzzes again. I pull it out, jaw clenching at the new alert. “One-thousand-four-hundred dollars for Philip B shampoo!”
The corner of Ryan's mouth quirks up. “Wanted to take better careof my hair.”
“What hair? You buzz cut that shit every two weeks.” I drop my bag onto my desk, then lean against it. “Did you four not think the credit card company wouldn't send alerts?”
He picks up one of the scattered Sour Patch Kids from his blanket. “Tried to stop them. But Merci and Viktor were on a roll.”
Of course those fuckheads teamed up.
“I'll deal with them later.” I push off the desk. “But whatever you bought, keep it.”
He blushes. “But you already paid my tuition.”
“The money doesn't matter. Never has, never will.” I’ve been moving money I receive from various places like birthday gifts, NIL revenue from when EA sports used me in a video game, and even the first third of my trust fund I received last year into accounts my parents can't touch.
“You keep saying that. Like dropping thousands is nothing.”
“Because it is nothing.” I walk over and sit next to him. “How are you feeling?”
He shrugs. “Better. Until the whole shopping fiasco.”
My phone buzzes again. Another alert. “Ten grand on Amazon? You fuckers are ridiculous.”
Ryan picks at a loose thread on his blanket. “That was me. Made some purchases for a few local agencies andnonprofits, all for foster care or group homes. I wanted to do something for the holidays, even if it was early.”
This fucking man.
I lean closer, giving him time to pull away if he needs to. When he doesn't, I brush my lips against his. “Next time, tell me. We'll do double.”
“Really?”
“Anything you want, baby.”
Ryan kisses me, his tongue sliding against mine, hungry and desperate. His hands come up to frame my face, making these soft fucking sounds that go straight to my dick, then he grabs my wrist, pulling my hand up to his face and pressing my palm against his cheek while he sucks on my bottom lip.
