Page 188 of Lessons in Cruelty

They never do.

My thumb swipes gently over my crown, and I shudder at the intensity of that light touch.

The laughing face emoji she sends a second later completely ruins my fucking afterglow.

Oh, she’ll pay for that.

Chapter 47

Haven

I shouldn’t be nervous. Why am I nervous? It’s just lunch. Lunch at a damn taco stand.

With my professor.

Who I’m crushing on so hard it hurts.

But that’s why I’m doing this.

I thought about it long and hard after our DMs this morning.

Sliding over that line is getting easier and easier. What will happen if one of us does something wholly inappropriate? Something we can’t take back?

We’ll both be stuck with the repercussions of that deed for the rest of my college years at AHC.

Maybe I’m overthinking this. God knows where I get the bandwidth, though. I spent the entire morning trying to get back on schedule with my studies. I’m mostly caught up on Professor Rooke’s course, but I’ve fallen really far behind on my Social Work and Urban Study classes.

Thankfully, both subjects are pretty easy. And I’m finding the research fascinating. Especially the section in my Social Work material about how a person’s surroundings affect their behavior and development.

Then I got to my Social Work assignment. It’s due in a couple of weeks, right before midterms.

Now the knot in my stomach has nothing to do with Professor Rooke.

That assignment included a case study of the Smiths. A make-believe family living in a fictional shantytown in some imaginary state. They’re dealing with issues like poverty, substance abuse, and domestic violence.

It might as well have been a blow-by-blow of my entire childhood.

I huff out a laugh as I pull into a parking spot inside the small strip mall just off Hollow Way. It’s only a short walk from here to the diner, and was one place I used to park my car overnight until I discovered Lookout Point.

I’m early.

And too nervous to wait in the car.

I climb out of the Land Rover, straightening my faded jeans and button-up blouse. It’s kinda old-fashioned, with its pastel pink and green floral fabric, but it’s one of the nicest things I own.

I’m already heading for the taco stand before I clap a hand over my ass pocket of my jeans.

Shit, my money.

I should get a wallet. But that will have to wait until after I find the money for a pair of sturdy sandals to replace my disintegrating flip-flops.

I lean into the car, scraping my AHC tote bag toward me over the seat and rummaging around for my money.

Where the hell…?

I upend the tote on the driver’s seat, pawing through everything that falls out. A backpack might be a good idea, too. Something with pockets.

Oh. Right.