Page 142 of Lessons in Cruelty

Chapter 35

Haven

Is this what feeling tipsy is like, or am I still reeling from Bastian’s news about the sorority? When I had that tequila at Melissa’s house, I never felt like this. I went straight from normal to drunk. College kids and my family aside, I doubt that’s how alcohol is supposed to be used.

This? This is fantastic.

I’m so happy I can’t stop smiling. My body is relaxed. My mind is relaxed. The constant stream of negative thoughts that normally cycle through my head has run dry.

Fuck meditation. Drink wine.

“How is it?” Bastian asks.

I snap my gaze away from the mesmerizing fireplace, and into his even more entrancing eyes. We’re on the sofa. Me curled up in one corner, him with his legs stretched out on the other.

He seems taken aback by my frown.

“How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

The ice cubes in his bourbon clink against the glass as he leans his head back to laugh. “I have a masters in psychology, philosophy, and anthropology. I’ve been teaching for years, and I ran a private practice at one stage. I’ve been figuring out what goes on inside other people’s heads for over two decades.”

“But you’re only thirty-four.”

“My education began long before I entered college.”

I nod at this, and have to look away because I’m blushing again. It happens whenever I stare at Bastian for too long, even when he’s not looking back. It’s worse when we lock eyes, of course. Then other parts of my body are overheating, and tingling, and aching.

“Speaking of college,” he says, swirling the bourbon in his glass, “you’re adding a business class next semester.”

I scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“Financial literacy. Basic accounting. Investment strategies.” He lists them like commandments. “You’ll thank me when you’re not dependent on anyone else.”

“Except you, apparently,” I say bitterly.

His eyes flash. “Be thankful I’m only demanding education. The less financially secure you are, the more vulnerable that makes you. The fewer options you will have.”

The way he says ‘vulnerable’ makes my skin prickle.

Something makes me bolder than I’d normally be. Either the wine, or the fucking audacity.

“You’re lecturing me about the importance of money? Pretty sure you didn’t grow up wondering if your dad remembered to buy groceries, or if it was gonna be PB and J the fifth night in a row.”

He doesn’t flinch from the accusation, but there’s a touch of heat in his eyes now. “You’re right. The only time I went hungry was when I was being punished.” He gestures around his elegant home. “But I didn’t inherit this. I earned it.”

He slides his ankle over his knee, turning a little to lay the arm holding his bourbon over the back of the couch.

“So it was your home life that sparked your interest in social work.”

I take another sip, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “You went through my application, but you didn’t read my essay?”

He flashes me a rueful smile, like he realizes he underestimated me.

“I read your essay. Your plans for rehabilitating Riverside were stated rather eloquently. I especially liked your idea about setting up a community center for kids where they could go in the afternoons and get a meal, do their homework…and stay out of trouble.” He takes a sip of his bourbon, and my stomach flutters when he locks eyes with me. “But you practically wove yourself into a knot to avoid talking about your past.”

I swallow, my thumb stroking the rim of the wineglass. “I prefer looking to the future, not being stuck in the past.”

His eyes narrow, a tightness on his mouth like he’s busy working out how to crack a hard nut. I look away, squirming under that scrutiny, hunting for something to distract me.