Page 4 of Butterfly

Yeah, fuck that asshole. And not in a (I imagined; I was a virgin after all) fun way.

After that insulting interaction, Mason had full-out ignored me, turning to talk to someone else every time I addressed him, as if I didn’t exist—or wasn’t worthy of his attention.

I had just barely resisted screaming in his beautiful face or throwing wedding cake at his stupid head. I wanted his attention, and his apology, and it was driving me Up. The. Wall. First, because I didn’t need some asshole’s time or energy. And second, he was mystepbrother, and so whatever desire I felt toward him was completely wrong, no matter how sexy I unfortunately found his arrogance to be.

After the wedding, my stepfather took my mom away on their mini-moon.

“I’ll go back to Bea’s then, in the city,” I told my mom the next morning after the wedding.

We stood in the unfamiliar, massive, metal and marble kitchen, and I tried to adjust to seeing my mom in there. It was her kitchen now, and she seemed happy in it, so I was determined to be happy for her.

“Oh honey, that’s unnecessary. Just stay here,” my mom wheedled, pouting at me. It was her superpower, so I relented. Even when she added, “Mason can keep you company, can’t you, sweetheart?”

Mason lifted an eyebrow in response. My mom’s cheeks colored in the embarrassment of his silent rejection.

That’s it, I’d had enough. If I had to spend time with this asshole to make her happy, I would.

“We’ll be fine, Mom,” I told her, smiling. The moment she looked away, I turned my head to my new stepbrother and glared.

Be nice,I mouthed.

A smirk spread across his mouth as he shook his head slowly.

Oh my god, this motherfucking asshole. No one this douchey should be this attractive.

But I wasn’t going to tell on him, not when Paul was already rolling their bags to the door to meet their driver (because my mom had adrivernow). He glanced at his son, and although I didn’t understand his look, I could tell it was meaningful, especially when a vein in Mason’s neck popped.

And then they were gone, and it was just the two of us in this big, strange house.

Well, the two of us and twenty of his best friends.

It had been a nonstop party since our parents had left. Mason’s friends had all been jerks to me, treating me like a maid, or like I was invisible. The girls—who I usually got along withjust fine—were especially rude.I had no idea what I’d done, but I was getting sick of it. To top it off, the house stank of weed andalcohol, and at night, Mason and his friends disappeared into the pool house, the music so loud I couldn’t sleep.

I tossed and turned in bed for hours, even resorting to using my airpods to drown out the noise, but they were really uncomfortable to sleep in. Finally, I gave up, stuffing my feet into flip flops and going down to the pool house to confront him.

I pushed the door open. The pool house was filled with smoke, writhing bodies, and the thudding rhythm of club versions of pop songs. Mason was absolutely nowhere to be found. Instead, his friend Emory leaned in the doorway, smirking at me as he inhaled a spliff, green eyes red and glassy. He was shorter than Mason, although buffer, with thick brown hair that probably tempted most girls to touch it. But not me. I felt nothing for Emory but aggravation.

“The stepsister,” he greeted me, eyeing me up and down with a leer. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

I didn’t have time for this. Sure, I was in booty shorts and a sports bra—it was what I slept in, usually—but the girls around him were in bikinis; I was dressed like a nun in comparison.

“Where’s Mason?”

“Busy. Tell me, stepsister, are you a prude? Or do you get off on the ice princess vibe?”

I reared back, shocked.Ice princess.I was nothing of the sort. I just didn’t want anything to do with my stepbrother’s friends.

“Sorry, I guess I have a hard time beingwarmandfriendlywhen I’m this short on sleep. I bet if you all turned the music down, and I could get the necessary seven to eight hours, I’d be much sweeter.” To emphasize this, I flashed him an insincere smile, glaring daggers at the same time.

Emory laughed. “You’ve got fire. I like that. Mason’s over there. But he’s, well…” he coughed. “Busy. As I’m sure you can see.”

He stepped out of the way. Back against the wall, I spotted my douche of a stepbrother. And when I saw what he was up to, my stomach dropped to my feet for reasons I didn’t want to investigate.

His girlfriend, Tiffanie, the bitchiest of the bunch, was leaning against his left shoulder and kissing him—sloppy and drunk.

And between his legs was one of her friends, bobbing her head, mystepbrother’s dick in her mouth.

I rolled my eyes. I refused to be annoyed. After all, if Tiffanie was okay with some other girl blowing her boyfriend, that was her prerogative.

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