Page 72 of Butterfly

I laughed. “Even if I don’t want you to?”

“Even then. It’s us, Leslie. Forever.”

And even though I was still angry at him, I wanted to believe him—believe in him.

Could I?

27

LESLIE

“You stood me up last week. Did you forget about tequila-oh-clock?” Lucy stood outside my dorm room, arms crossed, chin jutted out.

Tequila. That’s what I needed.

“Got stuck doing an assignment,” I told her.

“Hmm.” She surveyed me as I unlocked my door, following me in.

I collapsed on my bed and she hopped up and joined me.

“You don’t look like you were doing an assignment. You look like you just climbed a mountain and barely lived to tell the tale.”

I sighed, putting my head in my hands.

“Here. Have some medicine and tell Auntie Lucy all about it.”

I took the bottle out of her hand, uncapped it, and tipped it into my mouth.

“It burns so good,” I said, wiping my mouth and handing it back.

“Whoa, girl. Save some for the fishes.” She shook her head but chugged back some tequila herself. “Damn. Next time, remind me to bring limes.”

I laughed.

She handed the bottle back. “Talk to me. This is about the hockey god, right?”

I groaned. “It is, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

She gaped at me. “Do you not have any girlfriends? This is how you bond, by sharing secret, outlandish stories about the guys you’re fucking and commiserating in generalities about how evil men are, but how much we still like their dicks.”

She was right. But if it got out that I had fucked my stepbrother…

“How about this? I’ll tell you about the much-too-old-for-me man I’ve had my eye on, and the trouble I’ve gotten into with him, and you keep drinking. And once you’re drunk and realize that I’ve given you the weapon to destroy me with, you can share, too. It’ll be mutually assured destruction,” she said happily.

“I’m going to need a lot more of this,” I said, taking another huge swig of the tequila and passing it back to her.

“Okay, so, it goes like this. You know the head hockey coach?”

I nodded. I’d seen Mason’s coach all over Tabb’s Instagram. He was an attractive man, probably in his late thirties, and had been hired this year. He seemed stern and like he would put up with zero bullshit. He was also the son of the CEO of a multibillion dollar corporation, and I wondered why he was working here, or working, at all.

“Well.” Lucy lowered her voice. “He’s my guardian.”

I stared at her. “Like, as in, your dad?”

She reared back. “No, ew. My dad was his mentor, and when he and my mom died, they left me to him in their will.”

“Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry,” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

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