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I turn around, take the sponge, and direct my frustration to scrubbing the counter. “Well, yeah? I doubt they’ll agree to keep me around for the excellent company I provide.”
“And med school?”
I drop the sponge down, turn back around, and raise my brows. “Are you trying to rub it in or something? Because if so, impressive work.”
He sends me a long, level look. “I want to help, actually.”
“Yeah… if I were you, I’d wait for at least a few of those NHL paychecks to clear before you start offering people made-up jobs.”
He looks amused now. That’s always how it goes. The crankier I am, the more amusing he seems to find me.
“Noted,” he says. “You want the help or not?”
Now that’s a tricky one. Want? Sure. I want a lot of things. I just don’t trust other people to give them to me. And I don’t see how Ryker will solve all my problems for me either.
“I appreciate the offer, but there’s not much you can do, so…” I give a one-shoulder shrug and go back to my scrubbing.
“I can get you the money for tuition,” he says.
My hand freezes. My heart gives a loud thud.
Die, hope. Die.
I turn around yet again and quirk my brow at him.
“By robbing a bank?”
A thoughtful look appears on his face. “Do people still do that? Show up at a bank in person with a gun?”
“Why? Are you not going to do it if I say it went out of style a decade ago?”
“Fuck no. I have a reputation to maintain. Can’t be seen doing uncool shit.”
I fight the urge to laugh.
“Anyway,” he continues, “I don’t need to rob anything or anybody. I already have the money.”
I stare at him. “And you just want to give it to me like some modern-day Robin Hood?”
He tilts his head to the side in contemplation. “Would you take it if I did?”
I snort and roll my eyes.
“What do you think?”
He hums thoughtfully before he straightens up, all business all of a sudden.
“The money’s in a trust fund,” he says. “I figure we can help each other out. See, I wouldn’t mind some extra cash. That’s where you come in.”
I stare at him. “Be more cryptic. I’m obviously in the mood for puzzles.”
His lips twitch. “There are conditions attached to the trust. See, you don’t just get a bunch of cash once you turn eighteen. They release a portion of your trust when you turn twenty-five. Another at thirty. And then at thirty-five.”
“Fascinating,” I say dryly.
“It should be. If I get my hands on that money, I can give?—”
“Nope,” I say. “I’m not taking your money.”
