Page 7 of Butterfly

He roared again. “I know that much, Leslie. What I want to know iswhat the hell was it doing in my car?”

“You know, Elon Musk is a real dirtbag,” I told him, popping a slice of cucumber into my mouth and pretending to be unaffected by the stench.

“That’s mycar,” he repeated. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to get the smell out.”

I shrugged. “You want me to leave your shit alone, leave my shit alone.”

The coldness in his eyes receded, only leaving amusement. “Ah, you saw my…present, did you?”

I glared at him, then looked down. I was brandishing the chef’s knife at him.

Oops.“I wouldn’t call that filth a ‘present.’”

He smirked. “Funny, most girls would say differently.”

“Then maybe you should come ontheirshoes.”

“Oh, butterfly,” he tsked, crowding me, apparently uncaring that the point of the knife was pushing up against his sternum. “Before we’re done, you’ll bebeggingfor my come—everywhere.”

“Why the fuck would you say something like that?” I choked out. “Seriously, Mason. That’s fucked.”

His eyes flashed. He glared down at the knife, and then backed away, until he leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, as he transferred the glare to me.

The look on his face confused me. He didn’t seem like the type to back away from a fight. So why had he? And why did he seem so much angrier about what I’d said than he had about the fish?

“I’ll tell you what’s fucked,” he began. “It’s having to entertain and look after a goddamned fragile little interloper?—”

“—Who the fuck are you calling fragile—” I interjected.

He ignored me, continuing. “—who has no business being in my home when all I want to do is drag her to the ground and?—”

Drag me to the ground?My lungs seized at the image in my head, on the floor, his large body on top of mine, his mouth swallowing me up, so wrong, but so good, and?—

“Helllooooooooo!” The front door slammed open as my mother trilled the greeting from the front door.

“Hey kids,” Paul called.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

What had I been fucking thinking?

I stared at Mason, who stared back.

“Stay away from me,” I hissed. “And don’t sayanything.”

“What, butterfly,” he said, and I wanted to smack that smirk off his face. “Scared that if they know how we’re ‘getting along’ it’ll ruin the little fantasy life your gold-digger mother has created for the two of you?”

“Call. Her. That. One. More. Time. And I will slice that smirk off your face,” I said, threatening him with the chef’s knife I still held in my hand.

Something lit in his blue eyes. “Not fragile, then. Feisty.”

“You don’t even know,Mace.You have no fucking idea how feisty I can be.”

The truth was,Ialso didn’t know how feisty I could be. I wasn’t usually like this. I was sweet, and calm, and I liked myself that way, even if I wish I was better at standing up for myself. My stepbrother had found some darker part of my soul, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

With that, he pushed off the fridge and wandered up the stairs, ignoring my mother when she called out a hello.

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