Page 170 of Forbidden Lessons

“What did you do when you got older?”

“You mean like hobbies?” I shake my head, turning to look out the window. The Tesla’s windows are so big it feels like we’re driving around in a goldfish bowl. I can see everything. “Never got into any. It was always just the woods.”

“Even when you got older?”

I glance at Bastian, frowning at his bemused tone. “Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. I just thought you’d have more interests.”

“Like what? Chess club? Cheerleading? Do I honestly strike you as the kind of person who does any of that kind of bullshit?”

Fuck knows why that makes him smile. “So it was always just you and your friend, in the woods.”

“Until I started working part time.”

“You still friends with them? Do they live in town?”

“Why are you so interested in my friend?” I turn in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest.

This is starting to feel like an interrogation, and I don’t like it one bit.

Bastian takes a deep breath, and makes a right turn. We’re almost back at the strip mall where I left his Land Rover. “Because I thought you’d have more friends, Haven.”

I blink at him. “I’m not a people person.”

“Because you don’t like people?” He glances at me, his lips curving into a brief, sympathetic smile. “Or because it’s too hard to connect with them?”

I look away. “Depends on the person. I connect with you just fine, don’t I?”

“You don’t have to be so defensive all the time. This is what friends do. They share things about themselves with?—“

“Oh, we’resharing?” I wriggle around in the seat, bracing myself. “Oh good. Then please, Bastian, tell me all aboutyourchildhood. What was it like, huh?”

He’s staring straight ahead, a jaw in his muscle ticking.

“Come on. We’re sharing, aren’t we? Did you have a bazillion friends? Were you in the chess club? Cheerleading squad? Or have you psychoanalyzing everyone since you were a teenager?”

“That’s enough,” he grinds through his teeth.

“Oh, so it’s fine for you to pry, but Bastian’s past is a closed book?”

All the tension leaves his face. He lets out a soft laugh and pulls up the emergency brake so hard that my head bobs forward.

We’re back at the strip mall, right beside the Land Rover.

He’s still for a moment, head bowed, eyes unfocused. Then he turns to me, a polite smile on his mouth that makes the hairs on the nape of my neck stand up.

“I told you our relationship wasn’t transactional. We are nowhere near the stage where I feel comfortable telling you about my childhood.” He tilts his head to the side, frowning softly.

“Then stop pestering me about mine. We can talk about…sports.”

But Bastian keeps speaking like I didn’t even say anything. “You’re an only child. Your mother isn’t around anymore, andyour father is unemployed. I’m assuming you’ve never had a stable home life. Perhaps even a terrible one.”

His quiet words feel like razor blades slicing into my skin. Nothing at all, then a sting that steadily grows sharper and sharper. When he grabs my hand and laces our fingers together, I flinch. When he squeezes, I start to shake.

“I’m in a position to help you. Emotionally. Psychologically. Financially. And that’s what I’m doing. That’s my gift. I help people. But if you keep pushing me away…”

He rubs his thumb over my skin, sending electric tingles through my body.

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