Page 130 of Forbidden Lessons

The weight of his hand disappears.

I make the mistake of looking, thinking he’s walked away. But he’s standing right in front of me, and I get an eyeful of the bulge behind his towel before I can turn away.

Now my hand is over my mouth, simultaneously aghast and repressing a wicked smile.

That was alargebulge.

Intimidatingly so.

“Can you drive stick?” he grates out.

I look up at him so fast I almost give myself whiplash. “What?”

He rakes a hand through his hair, frowning. “What?”

Oh. I get it now. Stick…as in stick shift.

No. Wait.

I don’t get it.

“How long does a hangover last?” I ask, staring at the Land Rover. “Because I’m really struggling with the math here.”

Bastian slams the trunk closed and turns to frown at me.

“What’s the issue, Haven?” He holds out a pair of keys. “Get in and follow me back to college.” His brow furrows. “You’re not night blind, are you?”

I scoff. “What? No.” I reluctantly take the keys when he jingles them at me. “But I can’t do this.”

“Which part? Drive? Follow me? Get in the car?” He’s losing his patience, though I’m surprised he has any left at this stage. First, he has to put up with me in his space all day, and now I’m balking at what seems to be an incredibly generous offer for me to use his spare car.

“I can’t accept this. It’s too much.” I try to give him back his keys, but he ignores my hand.

“And I can’t stand the thought of you spending another minute driving that deathtrap around, so I suppose we’re at an impasse.”

“Deathtrap?” I shake my head. “Yourhouseis a deathtrap.”

There’s such a sudden, ferocious light in his eyes that my entire clenches up. “What?”

“A bird hit your window. It’s dead now.”

At least, I think it is. Its body is gone. Maybe it survived and flew away. Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

Bastian looks away, sighing. “Yeah. Shit. The angle of the light is just right sometimes. The tint’s supposed to stop it happening, but I guess they can’t always tell what’s real and what’s just a reflection.”

Oh thank God. I don’t need to add hallucinations to my growing list of problems.

“Please.” I hold out the keys again, hoping this time he’ll take them. “I know it looks like shit, but my car is fine. I don’t need you to give me a car.”

“I’m not giving you the Landie,” Bastian says, frowning again. “It’s a loan until the end of the semester.” He glances back, waves an irritable hand toward the garage. “Saves me having to keep it on a trickle charge to stop the battery going flat.”

“If you don’t use it, then why do you still have it?”

I don’t expect him to answer me. I’m just stalling so I can try to think of another excuse not to accept this car. Because he can paint it however he wants, but it’s another gift. And while the concealer and ointment were practical, and the chocolates were yummy…this?

This feels like entrapment.

“In case there’s a terror attack,” he mutters, as though he doesn’t actually want me to hear his answer.

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