Receipts for the Ruined

Summary

The moment I stepped through the door of our dorm suite for sophomore year, Trevor shoved his phone directly in my face.

"Babe, look," he purred, tapping a screen displaying a gilded omakase counter. "It’s only three hundred a head. I’ve been craving this place all summer, just counting down the days until move-in so you could take me."

If this had been last year, I would have already tossed my duffel bag onto the mattress and grabbed my car keys.

Instead, my smile tightened. The rehearsed words sat heavy on my tongue. "I can’t treat you this year, Trevor.