Page 59 of Forbidden Lessons

Ha! Almost, but not quite.

“I’m going to miss my next class,” I tell him, standing so fast that the fur blanket slides to the floor. But I leave it there, because fuck him.

“Please sit down. I just want to?—”

“Are you taking me back, or should I get an Uber?” I stand there, arms crossed, staring at the door. I’m bluffing, of course. Don’t even have the app installed on my phone. And if I did, they’d need a credit card.

I see him in the corner of my eye. Glancing down at his cup. Looking at the warm, flickering fire.

Hate to inconvenience you, Professor, but you’re the one that brought me here. Should have known I was a loose cannon. Don’t they teach you that in professor school?

He rises, sets his cocoa down next to mine, and walks silently to the bookshelf. Plucks out a slim volume, presses it into my chest as he passes on his way to the door.

“Here. It’s a fascinating read.”

We drive back to town in silence, the mood inside Bastian’s Tesla as gloomy as the weather outside. Clouds have gathered en masse on the horizon, throwing the entire town into an eerie premature twilight.

“You don’t have to drive me all the way back,” I say when we pass a bus stop.

“I’d rather make sure you arrived safely.”

He stops right at the entrance of the college.

A few students give us a casual glance as my car door opens.

Bastian doesn’t seem to care if anyone sees him dropping me off. That should make me feel better, but all I can think about is the way I shriveled up inside when he gave me that soul-fucking stare.

Who are you protecting?

I slam the car door a little harder than I’d wanted to, and cringe when I walk past his driver’s side door, expecting him to lean out and yell at me.

But I made it clear

I watch him drive away, and wait for the regret to slam into me like it always does. But this time, it’s not immediate.

It only comes later that day, when I’m back in my car after an exhaustively boring Urban Studies class.

Professor Rooke invited me into his home, and I spat in his face. Sure, he provoked me, but he was just being kind. When was the last time someone was kind to me?

That’swhen the regret hits.

But it’s not aimed at Bastian.

All I see is Kai’s frowning, concerned eyes. I hear his nineteen-year-old self whisper, “Last chance, Heavenly. There’s no coming back from this.”

ThatI regret.

My hand slams into the steering wheel. Then I do it again, because the pain isn’t intense enough, and I can still see Kai’s eyes, that eleven between his brows.

Again.

Again.

Breathing out slow and steady, I take my phone out of my tote bag and balance it on my thigh. Then I hesitate and push the button to open the glove box. It falls down, scattering a few things into the passenger-side footwell.

I ignore them.

The good shit is buried deep.

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