Then, slowly, her lips curl into a smirk that makes my heart stutter.
"But it still works."
She's playing along.
The relief that floods through me is embarrassing in its intensity. I feel my shoulders relax, feel the tension I didn't know I was carrying start to dissolve.
I groan, shaking my head with theatrical despair.
"Your practicality is going to make my black AMEX collect dust."
She laughs.
The sound alone dares to make my cock twitch.
It's not the polite, restrained laugh people give when they're humoring you. It's a real laugh, bright and surprised, like itescaped before she could catch it. The sound bounces off the hallway walls and settles somewhere deep in my chest.
The sound does dangerous things to me. Warm and expanding, like sunlight breaking through clouds.
"Well." She tilts her head, that smirk still playing at her lips. "Now that I'm going to be situated in your dorm, I best start shopping, shouldn't I? Would Rimowa be best fitting?"
Rimowa.
I blink, genuinely surprised.
Most people don't know high-end luggage brands. Most people, when they think expensive, default to whatever logo they've seen on Instagram ads. Louis Vuitton, maybe. Something with obvious branding that screams money from across the room.
But Rimowa?
The German aluminum suitcases that cost more than some people's rent? The kind of luggage you see in first-class lounges and celebrity candids? The choice of people who actually appreciate quality over flashy labels?
She knows her brands.
Which proves she knows exactly what she's doing.
I feel my lips curl into an answering smirk, a real one this time.
"That would be the bare minimum." I lift her terrible suitcase, ignoring its protesting squeak and the way another piece of duct tape surrenders to gravity. "But it's a start. Let's go so we can make an order."
I offer my hand.
It's instinct…or maybe it's the Alpha in me, finally awake after years of silence, reaching for what it wants without asking permission from my rational brain.
She looks at my outstretched palm. Studies the lines and calluses from years of gripping hockey sticks.
Looks back up at my face.
For a moment, I think she's going to refuse. That she's going to remember that I'm technically one of her tormentors' roommates, that she has no reason to trust me, that taking an Alpha's hand means things in their world that she might not be ready to offer.
My heart hammers against my ribs.
Please.
I don't know why it matters this much.
Why does this moment feel like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if I'll fly or fall?
But it does.
