Page 153 of Lessons in Cruelty

“You have to go?” His voice is dangerously soft. “And where exactly are you going, Haven? Back to your car? Back to vacant parking lots and gas station bathrooms?”

“That’s none of your⁠—“

“Everything about you is my business now.” He steps closer, and I have to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “You made it my business when you showed up at my door in the rain. When you let me feed you. Clothe you. When you asked if I wanted to fuck you.”

“I was drunk⁠—”

“In vino veritas.” His thumb brushes my bottom lip. “Wine reveals truth, girl. And your truth is that you want me to ruin you.”

I jerk my head away. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” He grabs my chin, forces me to look at him. “Then why can I smell how wet you are from here?”

I glare at him, silent, refusing to let his crass words drag me under. We stay like that for a long moment before he snatches his hand away and drops his gaze.

Did I just…win?

“Can you drive stick?” he mutters, adjusting his towel.

It’s his fault I’m so confused, throwing innuendos around like that.

“What?”

“Manual transmission,” he says through a sigh. “Can you handle it? Or do you need someone to teach you?”

“How long does a hangover last?” I ask, staring at the Land Rover. “Because I’m really struggling with the math here.”

Bastian slams the trunk closed and turns to frown at me.

“What’s the issue, Haven?” He holds out a pair of keys. “Get in and follow me back to campus.” His brow furrows. “You’re not night-blind, are you?”

I scoff. “What? No.” I reluctantly take the keys when he jingles them at me. “But I can’t do this.”

“Which part? Drive? Follow me? Get in the car?” He’s losing his patience, though I’m surprised he has any left at this stage. First, he has to put up with me in his space all day, and now I’m balking at what seems to be an incredibly generous offer for me to use his spare car.

“I can’t accept this. It’s too much.” I try to give him back his keys, but he ignores my hand.

“And I can’t stand the thought of you spending another minute driving that deathtrap around, so I suppose we’re at an impasse.”

“Deathtrap?” I shake my head. “Your house is a deathtrap.”

There’s such a sudden, ferocious light in his eyes that my stomach clenches up. “What?”

“It killed a bird.”

At least, I think it did. Its body is gone. Maybe it survived and flew away. Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

Bastian looks away, sighing. “Fuck. The angle of the light is just right sometimes. The tint’s supposed to prevent it, but I guess they can’t always tell what’s real and what’s just a reflection.”

Thank God. I don’t need to add hallucinations to my growing list of mental disorders.

“Please.” I hold out the keys again, hoping this time he’ll take them. “I know it looks like shit, but my car is fine. I don’t need you to give me a car.”

“I’m not giving you the Landie,” Bastian says, frowning again. “It’s a loan until the end of the semester.” He glances back, waves an irritable hand toward the garage. “Saves me having to keep it on a trickle charge to stop the battery going flat.”

“If you don’t use it, then why do you still have it?”

I don’t expect him to answer me. I’m just stalling so I can try to think of another excuse not to accept this car. Because he can paint it however he wants, but it’s another gift. And while the concealer and ointment were practical, and the chocolates were yummy…this?