Page 115 of Forbidden Lessons

@lee.haven

K

What should I bring?

@rooke.bastian

Your appetite.

Chapter 32

Haven

I didn’t realize until I was almost in front of Bastian’s house that I’d be parking beside his Tesla. It felt shitty that first day of college. Especially after driving past a row of high-end Land Rovers, Mercs, and BMWs.

It feels even shittier now.

Danielle had no problem letting me leave early, but she was nosy as hell about what was important enough for me to miss a shift.

I wish I knew.

Took a while to get a layer of mascara on my lashes that didn’t look like spider legs. Clumpy makeup sucks. But an improvised shower in the restroom, a brush through my hair, more foundation over my throat, and I’m ready.

Danielle spots me on my way out. “Haven?”

I cringe before turning to her. “Yeah?”

“Girl, you going on a date?” She has a hand on one hip, cocking an eyebrow like I’ve got some explaining to do.

My laugh is instant, and a near falsetto.

This is definitely not a date.

Haven Lee doesn’t date. Haven Lee doesn’t even have sex. Because Kai shattered Haven Lee’s heart into so many pieces that she’s never been able to glue it back together again.

But I wanted to look nice, because then I feel confident. That’s why I’m wearing my slightly faded black maxi dress, my boots, and my best underwear. Confidence always seems in short supply around Bastian.

I expect him to answer the door. The white dress shirt rolled up to mid-arm and moss green wool pants I also expect. What I don’t expect is the apron. It doesn’t have flowers and lace on it, but it’s still an apron, and it’s a side of Bastian I haven’t seen or thought existed.

Does he have a Tinder profile?

“You made it,” he says, his smile both warm and inviting, and I’m suddenly rooted to the spot.

It didn’t feel like this last night, when he was drunk and demanding to know where the hell my shoes were. That encounter felt like a series of unfortunate events.

This is planned. From my side, and from his.

He steps aside, ushers me in with a sweep of his hand. The symbolism isn’t lost on me when I step over his threshold.

I’m crossing a line tonight.

And, sure, I could argue this handsome man with his impossibly intelligent eyes and fleeting smile lured me here…but am I any less a victim for succumbing?

“Hard day?”

I shake my head, give him an awkward smile, and tread deeper inside his house.

There’s jazz playing on his home speaker system. The fireplace is lit. And I swear that vase of white roses wasn’t here when I left earlier today.

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