33. Haven
Chapter 33
Haven
Is this what feeling tipsy is like, or am I still reeling from Bastian’s news about the sorority? When I had that tequila at Melissa’s house, I never felt like this. I went straight from normal to drunk. College kids and my family aside, I doubt that’s how alcohol is supposed to be used.
This? This is fantastic.
I’m so happy I can’t stop smiling. My body is relaxed. My mind is relaxed. The constant stream of negative thoughts that normally cycle through my head has run dry.
Fuck meditation. Drink wine.
“How is it?”
I snap my gaze away from Bastian’s mesmerizing fireplace, and into his even more entrancing eyes. We’re on the sofa. Me curled up in one corner, him with his legs stretched out on the other.
He seems taken aback by my frown. “How do you always know what I’m thinking?”
The ice cubes in his bourbon clink against the glass as he leans his head back to laugh. “I have a masters in psychology, philosophy, and anthropology. I’ve been teaching for years, and I even ran a private practice at one stage. I’ve been figuring out what goes on inside other people’s heads for over two decades.”
“But you’re only thirty-four.”
“My interest in psychology began long before I entered college.”
I nod at this, and have to look away because I’m blushing again. It happens whenever I stare at Bastian for too long, even when he’s not looking back. It’s worse when we lock eyes, of course. Then other parts of my body overheating, and tingling, and aching.
“You never answered my question?”
“Huh?” I look down at my wine glass. It looks so damn elegant in my fingers. “Oh, yeah, I mean, I can see what all the fuss is about, for sure.”
“People are making a fuss over chardonnay?”
My gaze is dragged unwillingly back to him. He’s watching me with a tilt to his head. Oh, God, of course he’s not asking me how I’m finding getting tipsy . He wants to know if I like the wine.
“No, ha, I mean, I’ve never had chardonnay before, but I’ve heard it’s good if you like white wine.”
He slides his ankle over his knee, turning a little to lay the arm holding his bourbon over the back of the couch. “You don’t have to try so hard, Haven. I like you just the way you are.”
It’s such a silly, casual remark. There’s no reason for it to set my cheeks on fire, or make me fumble my glass as I raise it to my lips.
“What about you? What sparked your interest in social work?”
I take another sip, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “You said you went through my application, but you didn’t read my essay?”
A flash of a rueful smile, like he realizes he underestimated me. “I read your essay. You were quite eloquent about how you planned to rehabilitate Riverside. I especially liked your idea about setting up a community center for kids where they could go in the afternoons and get a meal, do their homework…basically stay out of trouble.” He takes a sip of his bourbon, and my stomach flutters when he locks eyes with me. “You practically wove yourself into a knot to avoid talking about your past.”
I swallow, my thumb stroking the rim of the wineglass. “I prefer looking to the future, not being stuck in the past.”
His eyes narrow, a tightness on his mouth like he’s busy working out how to crack a particularly hard nut. I look away, squirming under that scrutiny, hunting for something to distract me.
There’s a small table near the front door, probably for keys. I didn’t notice it when I came in because when Bastian’s in proximity, the rest of the world fades away.
There’s a pink gift bag on the table, pale tissue paper spilling from the top. The packaging looks a lot cheaper than whatever’s on his desk in the study.
“Who’s the lucky lady?” I say, more sourly than I’d intended.
Bastian blinks like he’s coming out of a daydream, and frowns. “Excuse me?”
I point with my chin.
He glances over his shoulder and then turns back to me with a wide smile. “Well, fuck. I completely forgot.”
“Who the gift was for?” I say dryly as I take another sip of wine. How many girlfriends does Professor Rooke have? Man as handsome as him? As wealthy as him? I’m surprised there isn’t a line out the door.
My glass is almost empty, and I’m wondering if I’d be tempting fate to pour another.
“Careful of that sharp tongue.” He drains his glass as he stands. “You wouldn’t want to cut yourself.”
There’s a laugh in his voice, so I giggle. But as he walks to the door, my body goes cold. Instead of taking his seat, Bastian brings the gift bag to me where I’m sitting, stopping so close to the sofa that I’d probably kick him if I tried to swing my legs over to stand.
“For me?” I squeak, staring at the bag like there’s a snake in it.
“Why else would I be giving it to you?”
“I dunno.” I reach for it, and Bastian swaps it for my wine glass. “Maybe you want my opinion on it? If it’s like, for your girlfriend or something.”
Oh. My. God. Haven. Why the fuck did you just say that?
Bastian holds onto the strap for a moment, forcing me to look up at him. “You know I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“How would I know?”
“I’d have mentioned her by now?” There’s this curl to his mouth, but it’s not a smile. Maybe it’s condescending? If my brain wasn’t so muddled, I could think straight.
I put on my haughtiest voice. “I mean, forgive me for assuming, but it’s not like totally outside the realm of possibility.”
I tug on the gift bag, because fuck it, I’m curious as hell. Is it candy? Chocolates? Oh God, what if it’s something academic, like a book? I’m going to be really disappointed if it’s a book.
“It totally kinda is,” Bastian says dryly.
My mouth falls open, but then he laughs and finally lets go of the bag.
“I live a nomadic life,” he says as he heads to the kitchen. “This will be my thirteenth house I’m living in. Tenth town. It’s a lot, asking someone to uproot their lives every few years.”
“This house doesn’t seem very nomadic ,” I call out. “Looks kinda permanent to me.”
“You’re right. I’m trying a radical new approach. I’m hoping that sticking around in the same place for a few years might attract a mate.”
I’m listening, I swear, but I’m far more interested in rifling through this tissue paper like a pig hunting for truffles.
What if it is truffles? Like the chocolate kind?
God, now my mouth is watering.
I hear clinks and glugs in the kitchen, but I finally found something. A smooth tube that I pull out with a big smile on my face?—
When Bastian returns, I hold it up without looking at him. “Is this supposed to be funny?”
“It’s supposed to be a concealer,” he replies dryly as he stops beside the sofa. “There’s also foundation, and ointment in there. The arnica will make the bruises fade in a day or two, trust me.”
I toss the tube back into the bag. The bag goes on the sofa cushion beside me. But Bastian’s still standing there, and when I look, he holds out a glass of wine. I take it, but with a sulk on my mouth.
“This—” he brushes my throat with his knuckle “—shouldn’t keep you from going to school.”
I immediately clap my free hand over the side of my neck, but the damage is done. His touch spreads through my body like a warm, tingly fog. I nod, keeping my eyes averted so he’ll move away and, hopefully I can stop blushing.
“Oh, and there’s something else in there, too,” he says as he sets his bourbon down on the coffee table.
“Glasses and a fake mustache?” I ask, giggling when he rolls his eyes at me.
“You’re exhausting, Haven,” he says, stroking his forehead as he leaves the room. If there hadn’t been some mirth in his voice, I might have thought I’d fucked up.
Instead, I carefully set my wineglass down on the floor beside me and empty the gift bag out on my lap. Out falls the concealer, some foundation, and a tube of ointment, as promised.
And peanut butter cups.
“Yessss,” I whisper, immediately opening a package and shoving a cup into my mouth. “Oh, damn, that’s good.”
I have a big swallow of wine, and then pop the second cup in my mouth, my eyes closing as I savor the burst of sweet chocolate and peanut butter.
“If they put that expression on their commercials, they wouldn’t be able to air it during prime time,” Bastian says.
I cover my hand with my mouth, staring over sheepishly at him as he pushes away from the doorway he’d been leaning in.
“You were watching me?” I manage through a mouthful of chocolate. “That’s fuckin’ creepy.”
He drops onto the sofa, flashing me a wide smile. “It’s nice to know someone appreciates your gift.”
Fuck, Haven, you haven’t even thanked him.
“Thank—” I cut off when he raises a hand. “Want one?” I tear open another package and hold out a cup on my palm.
He shifts closer on the sofa, and grabs my wrist so hard I gasp. Twisting my hand, he considers the candy for a long moment before his eyes dart up to mine. They’re darker than before, so much more intense. Could just be a play of the light, but it’s almost as if his pupils are dilated.
The pressure around my wrist is so tight, I can feel my pulse beating right there where he’s gripping me.
“I bought them just for you, Haven,” he whispers, his eyes fixed on mine. Slowly, he curls my fingers over the candy and releases my wrist. “It’s thanks enough watching you enjoy them.”
I clamp my lips together with my teeth, fighting a silly grin. Then I shove it into my mouth, giggling when Bastian gives me a bemused shake of his head.
I’m enjoying this so much, I’m not even going to mention the gift in his study. Probably shouldn’t even know about it. He did say make yourself comfortable but that wasn’t an license for me to snoop.
“It’s so fucking good.”
“Better than my pasta?” He brushes his thumb against his nose, sniffing.
“Sorry, yes.” I hold out a hand. “Your pasta was delicious, but this is chocolate.”
He dips his chin. “I’ll allow.” His eyes skip to the glass on the floor, which I quickly pick up and take a sip from. “Better than the wine?”
I nod, swallowing, and immediately setting it down so I can grab another peanut butter cup. “This is better than sex!” I clap a hand over my mouth. Shake my head.
Bastian cocks an eyebrow, staring at me for a moment before looking at the fireplace. “Oh, no,” he murmurs, barely audible. “You’ve just been doing it wrong, sweet girl.”