Page 151 of Lessons in Cruelty

That dreadful phase of my life is over. It didn’t kill me, it only made me stronger. So enough with the crying and the feeling sorry for myself.

I scan the room again, just in case.

A jolt of panic goes through me when I realize it’s not storming, but that it’s twilight outside.

I’ve been sleeping the whole day?

Where is Bastian?

Did he come back and⁠—

The bathroom door slides back on its hinges, and my professor steps out wearing a towel…and nothing else.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus.

He’s staring at his phone, so he hasn’t even noticed that I’m awake yet. Which means I have all the time in the world to objectify his corded arms, his slim waist, the dark hair on his chest that narrows to a path heading straight to his⁠—

“Oh, good. You’re up. I was just Googling the best place to bury your body.”

My gaze flicks to his eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners, mirroring his warm smile.

“That’s dark.” My voice cracks.

“Just how I like it,” he murmurs.

My laugh is uneasy, but not because of his stupid joke. I can feel how hot my face is, how puffy my eyes are.

And someone as intelligent and observant as Professor Rooke doesn’t miss those cues.

“Haven…have you been crying?”

“No.” I turn away, and then shuffle to the edge of the bed so I can stand up and avoid further interrogation.

Unfortunately, the hungover, half-drunk fool who’d possessed my body this morning had decided it would be a good idea to only come to bed in a t-shirt and underwear.

Bastian’s much taller than me, but his t-shirt barely reaches past my ass. And while his t-shirt smells glorious, feels glorious, and might even look glorious draping off me like a nightshirt, if you’re into that kind of thing, there’s no way I’m letting my professor see me half naked.

Even though, technically, it would make us even at this point.

Even though, technically, I was in the wrong for putting on his clothes in the first place.

Although…was I? I’m in his house, in his bed. I’ve eaten his food, drunk his wine, gotten drunk on his wine.

I’m pretty drunk on him, actually. Like DUI levels of intoxicated.

Maybe I want him to see me half-naked.

Maybe I want him to see me all-the-way naked.

Maybe I want him to help me see God. I do, after all, have some questions for Him.

But I’m supposed to be keeping my head down and getting a degree, not sleeping with one of my professors.

So nope.

Standing up is not an option.

I drag the sheets around my middle, trying to be inconspicuous about it.