Page 72 of Forbidden Lessons

Who’d have known alcohol was a truth serum?

“No context,” I say. “Your rules, not mine.”

He huffs through the phone like he can’t believe my audacity. Then makes that quiet sound.

“Hm. You’re right. I’m sorry. Not just for prying, but being an ass earlier.”

“Asshole,” I correct, tucking my hand into my armpit. “You were an asshole.”

“Go back to sleep,” he grates out.

“Hey. Hey!”

He gives a terse, “Yes?”

“The fuck is up with this game of yours, anyway?”

It was messing with my head the whole way through dinner. I so badly wanted to sneak that envelope out of Melissa’s laptop bag so I could read what she wrote about me. But I have a feeling that sticker isn’t the kind you can peel without tearing off the top layer of paper.

I don’t dare fail us both just to satiate my curiosity.

There’s a long pause before he replies. “Game?”

“Your fucked up version of Truth or Dare.” Shit, I keep swearing.

“Hm,” he murmurs, and then chuckles.

Bastian chuckling in your ear is not something any woman of ovulating age should hear after she’s consumed as much tequila as I have.

I swear he just got me pregnantthrough the phone.

“So you’ve completed the assignment. I’m glad. I despise it when someone squanders their potential.”

Potential?Squander?

“Yeah, uh, I’ll pass on your Ted Talk,” I mutter. “That game was bullshit baloney.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a sigh. “Haven…are you drunk?”

“What? No! You’re drunk.”

“I am most definitely not. I am confused, though. You were pretty adamant that you don’t drink.”

“I don’t. Usually. But ‘pparently today’s the exception. College girls are persuasive.”

“So you forgive me for spiking your drink?” he says dryly. “Because the thought that I’d corrupted an angelic freshman was keeping me up.”

“Aw,” I croon into the phone. “Maybe you should have thought about that before pouring bourbon down my throat.”

I wince. “Sorry.”

But then, because tequila, I add. “Not sorry.”

“Jesus, youaredrunk.”

“So what?”

“You’re underage.”

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