Page 65 of Lessons in Cruelty

His eyes drop to my mouth. “Liar.” The word is soft, almost affectionate. “Anything of interest?”

“No.” My voice comes out breathless.

Bastian hands me a scorching mug, his gaze switching to the bookshelf before settling back to me. I hurry over to the coffee table to set it down. A slab of glass over a polished wooden log that almost looks like a petrified wave.

Bastian sits on the two-seater sofa, swinging an arm around the back as he turns to lean into the corner. “You’re more than welcome to join me. Or you could sit in the kitchen, if you think I’m going to tie you to the radiator.”

“You can stop with the whole serial killer thing, all right?” I shake my head, smiling ruefully as I cradle my mug and take the seat next to him.

“Whoa, that escalated quickly.” He chuckles. “First I’m kidnapping you, now I’m making tacky lampshades with your skin? You kids watch too many crime shows.”

“Boomer.” I roll my eyes at him, blowing on my cocoa to cool it down. The clouds are growing darker outside, and I don’t want to miss another class.

Of course, I’d rather stay here all afternoon.

Because of the fireplace, of course. It’s started warming up the room. And I love the flicker of the flames, even while longing for the crackle of wood.

He widens his eyes. “You take that back, dearie. I’m barely thirty-four.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I murmur into my cocoa before taking a tentative sip.

Bastian crooks an eyebrow when I splutter as the liquid hits my throat.

“Is there booze in this?” I wheeze.

“Not going to rat me out, are you? I thought Riversiders were notorious for not snitching.”

“I’m nineteen!” I squeak, in case that somehow slipped his notice.

“I know how old you are, Haven.” His eyes darken. “I know a lot of things about you.”

As if he’s been studying me the way he studies cruelty.

I shiver despite the fire.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He takes another swallow from his mug, his brown eyes sparkling as they catch the firelight.

“A teacher is supposed to know things about their students.”

“That hasn’t really been my experience,” I mutter.

A cool breeze comes in from somewhere, and I draw my feet under me before I realize what I’m doing. As I go to drop them down again, Bastian holds out a hand to stop me.

“Please,” he says. “I’m a guy. Really think I’m going to care if you put your feet on the couch?”

I grin, shrugging a shoulder as I draw my feet under me again. Bastian takes another sip and then leans over, dragging the fur blanket over my legs.

“Better?” His hand lingers on the edge of the blanket, fingers barely grazing my thigh through the fabric.

I nod, unable to form words. The bourbon is making me warm, but it’s the way he’s looking at me that sets me on fire. I angle toward the fire, squirming my toes under the blanket as my body slowly starts warming up.

This is intoxicating as fuck, and I’m not sure it’s the bourbon to blame. I mean, I’ve had a few sips of beer. Some wine coolers. I even tasted some of my dad’s vodka once, because I wondered why he handled something that looked like water as if it was a precious commodity.

I was six, so I didn’t know water actually was precious, or that vodka was toxic.

Kai explained both to me.