Page 139 of Broken by my Bully

“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 wineglass. “Maybe you want my opinion? 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 condescension? 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 I’m curious as hell, and he won’t let go. 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 is my thirteenth house. Tenth town. It’s a lot, asking someone to uproot their lives every few years.”

“This house doesn’t seem verynomadic,” I call out. “Looks kinda permanent to me.”

“You’re right. I’m trying a radical new approach. I’m hoping thatsticking 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 itistruffles? 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 a joke?”

“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 sulking face.

“This—” he brushes my throat with his knuckle “—shouldn’t stop 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 that collects between my legs. 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 fall the concealer, some foundation, and a tube of ointment, as promised.

And peanut butter cups.

“Yesss!” I whisper-shout, immediately opening a package and shoving a cup into my mouth. “Fuck, that’s good.”