Page 27 of Butterfly

Curiosity filled me. “And what changed?”

He looked over at me. We’d reached the library by this point and were standing at the bottom of the steps. I’d been so focused on him, I hadn’t even noticed.

“Maintaining my reputation meant I almost lost something incredibly important to me. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but after, I decided in order for me to get it back, I had to change my outlook.”

“And it’s that easy?”

“Butterfly.” His voice was low, and warm. “When you crave something this desperately, anything you have to do to get it is easy.”

My gut clenched. I had a hunch that he was talking about me, but it was hard to believe that this wasn’t just another game. I couldn’t trust him, even if his tone made my heart melt a little.

Stupid heart.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go strategize.”

11

LESLIE

Mason took me to the fifth floor of the library. The second we stepped out of the elevator, I knew I’d made a mistake. It was empty–just stacks upon stacks of books, with a seductive stillness only broken up by the soft hum of the air conditioner. In between the stacks, a large oak table stood, also empty, like it was waiting for us.

For me.

I shivered. It was a mistake to be alone with my mercurial stepbrother. Whether he wanted me, which was so wrong, or hated me, which no longer felt true, this was a bad idea.

“Shouldn’t we go where there are more people?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Too loud. I can’t concentrate with that much noise.” He glanced away, running a hand through his hair. “I have a hard time concentrating as it is. Something my dad always gave me shit about.”

It didn’t sound like bullshit. It sounded true—and actually, shockingly, vulnerable. Who was the real Mason? The brutally cold douchebag from this summer and this morning? The confident, dominant man with magical hands and lust in his eyes? Or this soft, vulnerable, wounded boy? Was it possible he was all of them?

Softening toward him, I said, “Yeah, I can’t study when people are talking. But I usually put my headphones in.”

Curiousity filled his face. “What do you listen to?”

Blushing, I looked down. “Disney soundtracks,” I murmured.

He grinned, and I prepared for him to mock me, but he just said, “That’s cute, butterfly. What’s your favorite?”

“Mulan. And Moana.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not Frozen? No ‘Let It Go?’”

I laughed despite myself. “I’ll admit, I listened to it a lot after you humiliated me this summer.”

I’d even choreographed a dance to it with Bea. It hadn’t completely canceled out my pain and embarrassment, but it had helped.

“Fucking Tiffanie,” he muttered.

I blinked. It wasn’t exactly remorse, but I hadn’t expected him to be annoyed with his girlfriend. Or ex-girlfriend. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know, I broke up with that bitch after you left that day,” he said.

Ex-girlfriend, then.

“Why?”

“Why?” He took a step toward me. His closeness changed the climate, the setting: the large room became almost claustrophobic, the chill turning to an almost sweltering heat. “Why would I keep eating McDonald’s, when there’s a five-star, gourmet meal, right within reach?”

---