Page 24 of Butterfly

No, fuck that. I’d worked my ass off to get into Tabb, I wasn’t about to slink off just because my jackass of a stepbrother was messing with my brain and libido.

Head held high, I opened the door and looked for a seat.

“You’re late,” the professor said. She was a short, young woman—honestly, she looked too young to be a professor—who carried herself so well, and had such a commanding presence, I was immediately intimidated and envious. I wanted her to like me. Scratch that: I wanted tobeher. I wanted the power she had.

I shrugged. “Freshman. Got really lost. Sorry!”

Around me, students laughed. A smile appeared and disappeared on the professor’s lips, so fast I almost missed it.

“Don’t let it happen again. Go ahead and find a seat.”

I looked around the classroom, cursing fate—again. Because there was Mason, sitting in the front of the classroom, next to Emory—someone else I’d never wanted to see again—and the same girl who’d been on his lap an hour ago.

Fuck my fucking life.

He slowly slid his arm over the back of her chair. Intentional? Maybe. Incendiary? Completely. A vision came to me—dragging the girl away from him by her red hair and then punching him in his smirking face.

Controlling my breathing and behavior, I found an open seat in the back of the lecture hall, trying to focus on the professor as she went over the syllabus. It was practically impossible; when I wasn’t staring at the back of Mason’s head as he laughed at something the beautiful redhead whispered in his ear, I thought about his lips to my ear yesterday as he’d said, “You still don’t get it, butterfly. You made my life hell because I couldn’t have you. But I’m done with that. I’m taking what’s mine.” And then he’d consumed me in a kiss.

Was he telling her she was his, right now? Later, would they go back to her dorm room and he’d kiss her like he’d kissed me?

I gripped my pen so hard at the thought, my pen broke, leaking ink all over the paper.

“You okay?” the guy next to me whispered, looking concerned. He was cute—blond curls, blue eyes, a sweet face. He fumbled around in his bag and came up with crumpled paper napkins and a pen.

“Thanks,” I whispered back, taking the napkins and pen from him and cleaning the ink off my hands. I wadded up the ink covered paper and napkin and considered chucking them at Mason’s head.

“He’s a real asshole, isn’t he? I hate guys like that. Think they own everything and everyone they come into contact with, just because they were blessed with money and good looks, and they can slap a hockey puck into a net.” His cheeks flushed and he glanced at me. “Sorry, that was a bit harsh.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I said, even though part of me wanted to defend Mason. But he was right. Mason thought everything belonged to him, including me—although I obviously was just a toy to play with and then discard.

Ugh.

Up front, the professor stretched and told us to take a five minute break.

“After, you’ll be choosing partners for your first project.”

The guy next to me held out his hand.

“I’m Dan,” he said.

“Leslie.”

I reached out to shake his hand, then pulled mine back. “Sorry, probably shouldn’t shake your hand until I know I’ve gotten all the ink off.”

He smiled at me. “You’ve got some on your face, too.”

“Oh my god, where?”

He hesitated. “Can I?”

I nodded. Grabbing another paper towel, he dabbed at my left cheek.

“Got most of it. You may want to go wash it off, though.”

“Getting a little friendly with mystepsister, aren’t you?”

Dan jerked. “Stepsister?” He looked at me, surprised. “I didn’t realize you were related. I?—”

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