Page 52 of Butterfly

“Man, you must really like this girl,” Matt commented from the couch.

“Love her,” I corrected quietly, eyes on my bedroom.

I’d checked on Leslie a few times, but she was absolutely wiped, sleeping through the entire thing—even when I’d burned the chicken the second time and set off the smoke detector. She was still asleep, which was good—I wasn’t ready for her to know how I felt.

I’d loved her a long time. Maybe I’d loved her from the first moment I’d seen her, dancing at our parents’ wedding. The realization had snuck up on me before dropping like a bomb that night I’d finally fucked her, but saying it out loud felt right. It was more true than anything I’d ever acknowledged in my life, and unlike when we first met, it no longer scared me.

I threw the salad together as best I could, but the goat cheese was mushed together and stuck to the greens.

“What am I doing wrong?” I said, staring in consternation at the stupid salad.

Emory was laughing hysterically. “Dude, you got the wrong kind of goat cheese.”

I ran a hand through my hair—probably leaving bits of goat cheese residue in the strands.Fuck.“There’s more than one kind of goat cheese?”

“You need to get the crumbled kind, jackass,” Matt pointed out, unhelpfully.

“You’re the jackass, jackass,” I retorted half-heartedly.

Damn it.

“It’ll taste the same,” Emory pointed out.

Sighing, I poured some salad dressing on top, fixed the food on a plate, laid it all out on a tray, plucked a flower out of the bouquet I’d bought along with the groceries and put it in a glass, and carried it all into the bedroom.

“Good luck! Hope you don’t give her food poisoning,” Matt said.

“Shut up, you idiot, he’s finally doing the right thing for once,” Emory said, smacking him.

Ignoring them, I entered the now dark bedroom. I walked over to the bed, placing the tray on the nightstand, and leaned down to kiss Leslie. “Wake up, sleeping beauty,” I murmured.

She yawned, opening her eyes. “Mason? Where am I?”

“My place,” I told her.

She struggled to sit up. I helped her, propping pillows behind her. She swatted my hands away.

“I can do it. I’m not helpless, you know. I was just tired, and hungry.” Then she sniffed the air. “Is that blackened chicken alfredo?”

“It is, and goat cheese strawberry salad. And there’s peach ice cream in the freezer for dessert.”

“Those are my favorite foods. How did you know?”

I smiled at her. “The same way I knew how you like your coffee. I know everything about you. I’ve majored in Leslie Berger, don’t you know?” The truth was, I’d asked her mother a number of questions about Leslie before I left for Tabb, but I wasn’t about to bring Anna up in conversation; the reminder that we were related by marriage wouldn’t get me very far.

Before she could respond, I picked up the glass of water. “Thirsty?”

She nodded. I held the glass to her lips, and after some hesitation, she drank from it. I tried not to get distracted by the way her throat worked, remembering how it felt when she’d swallowed around my cock. It wasn’t the right time; that could come later.

When she was finished, she tapped my arm and I lowered the glass to the tray. “Did you…make it yourself?”

I nodded. “I did.”

“I didn’t know you cooked.”

“I don’t.”

She processed this. Feeling unfamiliarly awkward, I said, “I kind of fucked up the salad, though. Apparently I used the wrong kind of goat cheese.”

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