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And just in time for the headphones to be yanked off my head.
“Will you learn to fucking knock?” I ask as I turn and find Royal standing above me. This time he’s managed to keep his boxers on.
Small miracles.
“I did knock, but you clearly had your porn turned up too loud.” His gaze drops to the still semi-hard cock I’ve not tucked back into my sweats, and he grins. “What were you watching, Gemini?”
You.
Rolling my eyes, I tuck my cock back in. “What do you want?”
“Syn’s back. He’s in the shower.”
Instinctively, I glance towards the door, even though he’s clearly not there. “How is he?”
Royal steps back and scratched the back of his head. “Weirdly happy.”
That doesn’t sound good.
With a sigh, I get up and follow Royal into the living area.
Officially, the rules at James Keyingham are that everyone is required to stay in the on-campus dorms, even if a lot of us have second apartments in Manhattan. Freshmen dorms are in the Bennett and Bona buildings, closest to the classrooms and the Ederson dining hall.
Of course, they’re not quite like the ‘standard’ college dorms, or so I’ve seen online. All have private bathrooms, none are doubles, and the quality of the furniture is as high as the healthy donations that come in from the alumni.
Dorms for the ‘average’ sophomore to senior are more like mini apartment complexes, only one half houses the men, and the other is where the women stay. They sit just on the edge of campus, although still kept safely behind the sprawling stone walls that surround the grounds.
They’re nice, I guess. But they don’t compare to the dorms of the Elite. We don’t have a Greek Row here. But the Elite do live in the best dorms on campus. The buildings aren’t as old as the others. They were built back in the eighties, matching the style of all the other red brick buildings. But inside, they’ve been remodeled over the years and currently look like some of the exclusive apartments you’d find in New York or LA. Each apartment houses four people. Two apartments per floor, and two floors per complex. Luxury, exactly as you’d expect.
Our place is special. Denali House is one of the original redbrick houses that used to house the dean several decades ago. Upstairs are six bedrooms with ensuites. Downstairs, an enormous living room, game room, a meeting room, and a kitchen with a dining room. Each room contains tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of tech and furniture.
It’s also the only building with a small carriage house that had been converted into a small apartment for our butler, Seamus.
Tonight should be his usual night off, but he’s coming up the stairs carrying two of Syn’s cases.
“Didn’t realize you were in tonight,” Royal tells him, moving out of his way.
“Mr. Keyingham called as he landed.” Seamus’ expression, as always, is blank. Without giving us a second look, he walks over to Syn’s bedroom, sets one of the cases down and knocks softly. After a moment’s pause, he opens the door, grabs the second case, and walks in.
“Why do we keep this guy around?” I ask. “Fucker freaks me out.”
Royal arches an eyebrow. “You going to start cleaning when we let him go?”
Flicking him off, I move past him and go downstairs. Syn’s not in the living room, but as I head into the kitchen, I see the lights on outside. Our place has a private garden, complete with barbeque pit and a small pool that remains heated all year round.
Knowing Syn’s already out there with a drink, I make a detour to our drinks fridge and grab myself a beer. Syn will be drinking Yamazaki, and Royal is going to grab a bottle of water because he’d have drunk his weekly allowance of alcohol last night.
Low and behold, I don’t bat an eye when Royal takes a bottle of Evian and follows me outside.
“How was the flight?” Royal asks as we walk outside.
It’s getting late and the area is lit entirely by solar-powered lights added three years ago when this garden was landscaped. Despite the lack of sun, Syn’s stretched out on a sun lounger, Bentley Platinum sunglasses perched on his nose.
Syn’s got the whole John F. Kennedy President vibe going on. Suave, good-looking, and still in a suit. Even though he’s twenty-one, he looks ready to take his place at the White House. It’s not just the looks. The guy was born to be in charge. He exudes power.
Syn glances over his shoulder as we walk over to him. “She’s here.”
Royal stays standing, but I sit down on the lounger next to him. “You want to ask Royal about her,” I say, earning me a set of narrowed eyes. The guy is all smiles and charm, but there’s something about his eyes when he’s angry that’s just kinda hot. “He helped her move in.”
