Page 131 of Broken by my Bully

“That’s better.” I force a smile as I bend awkwardly to unzip my boots. He didn’t ask me to take off my shoes, but when he quirks an appreciative smile my way, it’s so worth it. Thank God I found a pair of socks that didn’t have any holes in them.

“So, what’s the news? My stomach’s in knots.”

“We’ll multitask. I’m starving.” He walks into the kitchen, and I follow.

I suppose if he was going to just blurt out what the hell was so important, he could have done it in a text.

Should I be mad? I want to be mad.

But then the smell of caramelized onions hits my nose, and it’s game over.

I don’t know who’s more surprised when my stomach lets out a ferocious growl—me or Bastian. Judging from the side-eye, probably him. Give me a break. My last meal was half a stale cheeseburger, and that was a couple of hours ago.

Bastian draws out a kitchen stool as he passes. “Sit.”

I slip onto the stool, sliding my car keys and phone away from me so I can stretch out my arms on the cool marble surface. The stone feels so milky.

“Glad to know you can follow instructions,” my professor says as he angles around the kitchen island and heads for a tall pot of steaming water on the range.

“Isn’t that Student 101?” I ask, trying not to drown in my own spit. I mean, the smell in this kitchen is…

Gourmet.

That’s the only way I can explain it, but I desperately wish I had the vocabulary to do better.

When my mom was still alive, the height of Lee family cuisine was TV dinners. But things steadily regressed after Mom passed. Still not really sure what happened. Something to do with her heart. After that, it was spam and eggs most meals. The cheapest cereal on the shelf, the one that tasted like wood shavings and sugar.

Eventually, PB & J sandwiches for dinner, if there was any dinner at all.

If my dad had given a fuck, he might have applied for a food subsidy from my school, but, well, he didn’t. And I was too young and naive to even know things like that existed.

“Not everyone who’s in collegeshouldbe in college.”

He wasn’t aiming that jab at me, but apparently the wave of panic that rifles through me doesn’t know it.

“Yeah?” I say, casually knotting my fingers together in front of me. “Like who?”

“Hm. Get us a drink and maybe I’ll elaborate.”

There’s sparkling water, wine, and bottled water in the fridge.

“No soda?”

“Stop poisoning your body with garbage.” He doesn’t look up from stirring.

“Yes,Daddy,” I mutter.

The spoon stops moving.

“What was that?”

I hide my burning face back inside the fridge. “Nothing.”

“Say it again.” He leans back far enough to catch my eye. “I dare you.”

“I said yes, Professor.”

He studies me a moment longer. “Sure you did.” Relief washes through me when he finallybreaks eye contact.