Page 94 of Forbidden Lessons

It’s just me. I’m all alone. Just the way I like it.

A smile curls my lips as I set the poker back in its place.

But as my hand leaves the warming iron, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I spin around, but the darkness outside is thick and absolute.

“Alexa, turn on the floodlights.”

“Turning on the floodlights,” Alexa replies, as a muted white glow spills in through the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows.

There’s a figure standing in my garden, just a few feet from the sliding door, as if they’d been on their way to knock.

I don’t know why I take the poker with me when I go to open the door.

But I’ve watched enough horror movies to know you always have to be prepared for the worst.

Though I’m pretty sure, drunk or not, Haven Lee could never overpower me.

So, if not to rob me…then why the fuck is my student standing in my backyard, shivering in the rain like a final girl?

Chapter 27

Haven

I should be worried that Professor Rooke is holding a fire poker, right? That there’s something off about him. That if I don’t get warm and dry soon, all I have to look forward to is a bout of pneumonia.

But I’m not worried about that. Not even a little.

My mind is a hundred percent fixated on trying to figure out howthefuckI got here.

“Haven?” My professor steps out of his house, glancing around his backyard like he’s wondering if there are more surprises out here. He was getting undressed. Half the buttons on his shirt are open, his sleeves flapping against his wrists. No shoes.

But that’s not what’s out of place.

He looks…drunk.

God, Haven, why the hell did you think this was a good idea?

Gee, brain, I dunno. Tell you what, though. If you figure it out, be a doll and let me know.

I give him an awkward, trembling wave. An uneasy, “Hi.”

Deja-vu hits like a freight train, but I shove it away along with my disorientation, my panic, my fear.

I mean, I could turn around and leave. Have no idea where my car is. The way I’m shivering, I can’t tell if I walked here or drove here, so my junker could be waiting for me all the way back at Lookout Point.

“Don’t just stand there, girl. Get inside.” Professor Rooke uses the fire poker to gesture, and then looks at it like he realizes he might be sending mixed signals.

He tosses it to the flagstones at his feet, and I flinch at the loud, ringing clang. Then he gestures again, frowning even deeper.

But I can’t seem to move.

He makes an angry, growly sound and storms through the drizzle to come and fetch me. I watch, mesmerized, as his feet splash through the multitude of little puddles that have collected in his pristine, zen-like garden.

As soon as he’s close enough, he reaches to grab me.

My body moves on instinct, leaning back so quickly that I stagger.

The annoyance on his face melts into confusion. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this expressive, but that’s booze for you. It dissolves the masks people wear around each other, the one you put on to hide what you’re really thinking, what you’re truly capable of.

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