The driver just laughs. “Yeah, but what a way to go.”
Cole barely gets the words out, breathless from laughter, already halfway sprawling into the seat beside me. “Hi sir, I’m the birthday brat, spank me please.”
I turn my head, slow as sin, smirk already curling. “He doesn’t ask to be spanked, Hollywood. He asks for my cock down his throat. Wanna try it?”
Cole freezes. Just stares at me. Eyes wide, soul halfway out the window, like he’s trying to decide whether to laugh or shrivel up and die. Silence stretches.
And just when I think he might actually combust, the bus door bangs open again. Elias barrels back inside, wearing my jersey over his jeans, sleeves too long, collar hanging off one shoulder like sin itself. He takes one look at the scene—Cole in his seat, me unbothered—and immediately hurls a half-full water bottle at Cole’s head.
“Get out of my spot!” he snarls, marching forward. “Your bone is over there!” He jabs a finger toward Viktor without looking.
Viktor scoffs and adjusts his headphones.
Cole yelps, dodges the bottle, and scrambles to the other side of the aisle, muttering something about ungrateful pups and sexually aggressive captains. Elias flops into the seat beside me with a dramatic huff, curls bouncing, smug and seething at the same time.
I glance down at him—the jersey, the pout, the possessiveness rolling off him in waves—and I smirk.
Mine.
The second the bus stops outside the club—some high-end, velvet-roped, chrome-drenched place that smells like money, overpriced cocktails, and sex—chaos explodes. The moment the door hisses open, Mats is gone, practically sprinting past security with a grin so sharp it belongs in a cologne ad.“Women,”he breathes like he’s found religion.
Shane, on the other hand, bolts in the opposite direction the second Viktor stands up, still haunted from the last time he accidentally tongued down vodka.“I see you, Petrov! Don’t try me!”Shane yells, ducking behind Tyler.
Elias is bouncing.
Literally.
One hand latched around my wrist, tugging me forward, curls wild, eyes gleaming like he’s vibrating with whatever beat is thudding from inside. The bass is probably rattling the windows already, but I can’t hear it. All I hear is Elias’s laughter, breathless and giddy.
“Come on, sir, it’s my birthday and you promised me one drink,” he says, dragging me through the roped-off entrance like I’m the arm candy instead of the captain. The bouncer raises an eyebrow at the entire feral mess behind us and waves us through without blinking.
Cole lags behind, sulking a little, hoodie up, muttering. Probably still recovering from earlier. Or maybe just irritated no one’s bought him a fruity drink yet.
I lean into Elias’s ear as the music hits full blast—dirty and infectious—and murmur,“You’re gonna get us kicked out in twenty minutes, aren’t you?”
Elias grins so hard his dimples pop. “That depends, Captain. Can I climb you in public or not?”
Jesus fucking Christ.
Elias stomps to the bar, plants his hands on the counter, and grins at the bartender. “Your fruitiest, pinkest, most aggressivelycolorful drink,” he says. “I want it to look like a unicorn bled out in the blender.”
The bartender, a tall guy with a man-bun and arm tattoos, doesn’t even blink. “Frozen or shaken?”
“Surprise me.”
And of course, surprise means the thing that lands in front of him five minutes later has whipped cream, a flamingo stirrer, an umbrella, edible glitter, and a goddamn glowstick. Elias beams. I order a whiskey neat, the bartender gives me a smirk like he’s mentally comparing my soul to burnt toast, and we both silently agree I’m not the fun one tonight.
Elias takes a sip. Then another. Then a big slurp. “I love capitalism,” he sighs, licking foam off his lip.
I lean an elbow on the bar beside him, glass in hand, and arch an eyebrow. “You dragged me to a club so you could drink liquified crayons?”
“No, sir,” he chirps, reaching for the cherry and popping it in his mouth, “I dragged you here so I could celebrate my freedom. I’m legal now. You can’t stop me.”
“I stopped you before. Being legal changes nothing.”
He turns, fluttering his lashes at me. “It changes everything. Now when you corrupt me, it’s patriotic.”
I sip my whiskey. “You’re lucky I like you.”
