Page 83 of Lessons in Cruelty

One of them is standing open far enough for me to see toilet stalls inside, which is weird, but not something I question as I slip inside one to go pee.

Oh thank fuck.

No better feeling in the world than emptying an overfull bladder. Once the flow gets going, of course.

My phone chimes again, and my eyes jerk back open.

Did I pass out?

I giggle at myself. Did I really have that much to drink?

Waaait.

Am I…drunk?

That’s a first.

I close the lid and turn to flush, hurriedly sitting down on the closed lid as the world takes a slow spin around me.

Good God, I am drunk.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and open my call log. Three missed calls from an unknown number.

At 2:51 AM.

At 3:09 AM.

At 3:22 AM.

Who the fuck⁠—

My phone lights up with a phone call. I juggle it, nearly drop it. My finger slides toward the end-call button, but I hesitate.

Could be an emergency.

The police.

The hospital.

The motherfucking morgue.

I stab the answer button, and whisper-shout, “Hello?”

There’s a long pause. “Haven?”

That voice. Deep. Controlled. Completely inappropriate at three in the fucking morning.

Fuck.

Fuuuck.

I press my thighs together, hating how his voice affects me even through the phone.

“Professor?” I slur, because of course I’m still drunk. “The fuck you doing calling your student at—” I squint at my phone because I’ve already forgotten the time ”—three thirty AM?”

“Language, Miss Lee.”

“Oh, now you care about being appropriate?”