Page 26 of Butterfly

“You like that, don’t you?” he hissed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I don’t,” I told him.

“Admit it, butterfly.”

“Why don’t you go give your attention to one of your groupies?”

He smirked. “Jealous, huh? It’s a cute look on you.”

Damn it. It was one thing for me to want my stepbrother, it was another for him to know it.

“What-the-fuck-ever.”

I stomped out of the classroom, but before I could lose him, he grabbed onto my belt loop and tugged me back.

“Not so fast, butterfly. Don’t you want to get started on our project?”

I sighed, even as my own butterflies—the ones in my stomach—danced at the idea of spending time with him. I hated myself for that. He’d been a complete asshole that morning, and my pathetic body and mind still got excited at his nearness. “Fine.”

“Let’s go to my apartment.”

I shook my head. I wasn’t a fool. “There’s no way I’m letting you get me alone. I don’t trust you, and I have no idea what you’ll do. We’ll go to the library, or I’ll march over to Professor Evans’ office and tell her I need to work with someone else.”

His eyes gleamed. “Library, huh? I’m down for that.”

Oh god, why did he look pleased? What had I done?

I shook it off—the library was safe—and started walking to the big, stone and glass building. When he grabbed my hand and linked our fingers together, I inhaled sharply. Warmth shot through me from where our hands were connected. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had held my hand, and I doubted it had ever felt like this—dangerous and exhilarating and somehow safe, like if I fell, he’d catch me.

Which was bullshit. Mason would happily let me crash on the ground and break all my bones in this metaphor. Damn, he’d probably take pictures of my broken body and heart.

Broken heart?

What the actual hell was going on in my head?

“What are you doing?” I asked him, trying to pull away.

He gripped my hand tighter. “Keeping it so you don’t fly away. Don’t tell me you don’t like holding hands.”

“Not with you.”

“Liar.”

He guided me along the path to the library. Campus was beautiful, surrounded by huge, old oak trees and maples, with sunlight filtering through their leaves. It would’ve been magical if I hadn’t been aware of all the eyes on us. People called hello to Mason, their eyes lingering on our linked hands. Everyone was going to get the wrong idea—especially when they found out we were stepsiblings.

With that thought echoing in my head, I used all my strength to pull my hand out of Mason’s grip.

“Butterfly, stop,” he said sharply.

“People are staring,” I hissed. “What are they going to think?”

He looked at me. “Why the fuck do you care what they think? I don’t.”

I gaped at him. The Mason I knew was obsessed with status, otherwise why did he drive that damn car and surround himself with popular assholes?

“Bullshit,” I said.

“Fine,” he amended. “I cared what people thought for a long time. But recently I realized that their opinions of me weren’t worth it.”

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