Page 11 of Mayfly

“Fuck.” Just one word; whispered.

“Are you gonna leave now?”

“Not if you’re gonna keep smiling like that.”

My stomach drops and suddenly his hand feels so much heavier than it did before.

Unfurling my fist, I assume he’ll pull back, but he slides his fingers between mine, and grips.

“Part of me wants to tell you that’s just another example of how you let your emotions control you. But all of me wishes I’d been there so I could have cut his balls off, too.”

“Are you telling me you’re jealous?”

He raises his brow and smirks. “Maybe.”

“You? Mr. fucking handsome. Mr. started-fucking-at-fifteen, is jealous of me?”

Jude’s tongue slides out only to be pressed between his lips and quickly sucked back in. He’s staring again, but not the same as before. Now his eyes are asking a different kind of question. And his mouth? Well, that’s an invitation if I’ve ever seen one.

It makes something hot and tight curl in my gut.

I shouldn’t feel like this.

Not about a man.

Not when I like fucking women so much.

“Maybe I am,” he repeats, but draws his hand back from mine so he can cross his arms and lean forward on his elbows. “Why can’t I wish I were you at that moment? You got the sort of revenge I never did. You got to see him in agony because ofsomethingyou’ddone. You cut the guy’s dick off, for Christ’s sake. That’s just about the best comeuppance I’ve ever heard.”

“He deserved it,” I whisper.

“Did it help? Did it make you feel better?”

Having you there would have made me feel better.“It served its purpose.”

“Getting you out of the house?”

I shake my head. “Putting him in the hospital.”

“And how did that help?”

Nervously, my eyes circle his face. They linger on a patch of hair missing from his right eyebrow and travel down to his sharp jaw. Then, while taking in the freckles that dot his neck, I stutter out, “It b—bought me some time.”

“For what?”

“To run.”

“To where?”

“Anywhere. I was thirteen. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.”

With a tilt of his head to the side, Jude analyzes my response before leaning back to drape his arm along my seat back. “I don’t think I’d have run. I mean, it didn’t do you any good, anyway. They clearly caught your ass.”

“I didn’t ask for an analysis.”

“Nor am I giving you one. I’m just saying that if it were me, I’d have cut off a few more of his appendages and watched him bleed out until there was no life left in him.”

“You were a foot taller than me, so you probably could have held him down. I got one cut in before he woke up, then bolted.”

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