Page 78 of Butterfly

“Mason?”

Emily pouted, I guess sexily, her hands running through her red hair.

Jesus, this was the last thing I wanted to deal with. What I really wanted to do was call Emily out for being a bitch to Leslie and warning her off me, but I knew if I said anything, it would drive her toward vengeance. And I knew Leslie would be pissed if I hit the redhead with my car or something, no matter how much of a bitch she’d been.

“Emily,” I said easily, pulling my helmet off.

She smiled, relieved. She hadn’t known how I’d react, after all. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” She approached me and attempted to touch my sweaty face, but I grabbed her wrist. Not painfully—I wasn’t a dick—but hard enough to make my disapproval clear.

“Emily, no.”

“What? Why?” she blushed, embarrassed.

“Emily, we’ve never fucked. I don’t know why you act like you have some claim to me.”

Her soft blush turned to an angry maroon. “Ithoughtyou liked me. You did, untilshegot in your head and fucked around in there. Seriously, Mace, what do you see in her?”

I shook my head. “Don’t call me Mace. And don’tevertouch me again. I mean it, Emily. You won’t like what happens.”

Only one person got to call me that from now on.

A person who was making her way down the stands, her own cheeks a pretty pink.

I dropped Emily’s wrist, standing up straight but not defending myself. This would be a test. Would Leslie trust me? Would she believe I hadn’t been hitting on Emily? Would she defend her territory—me—or would she run away again?

Be brave, butterfly, I thought.

Lucy stood at Leslie’s side, her eyes narrowed on Emily. I was glad to see that Leslie had a real friend. She deserved all the friends. She deserved the whole world, and I would give it to her—she just had to ask.

And to trust me.

C’mon, butterfly.

“Emily,” she said calmly. “I know we’re never going to be friends, but I’m happy to try to get along if you are. But that means you need to stop harassing my…harassing Mason.”

Emily turned bright red.

I, on the other hand, was disappointed. Had Leslie been about to call me her boyfriend? Or admit publicly I was her stepbrother, even though it was pretty clear to everyone on campus we were so much more? I’d take either, but I wouldn’t accept this shying away from the truth of us.

I caught Leslie’s gaze. Held out my hand. She stared at it.

And as she considered, Emily made the decision for us. For her.

“Who are you calling a harasser,brotherfucker?” she said, the word echoing through the stadium.

30

LESLIE

Brotherfucker.

Brotherfucker.

That’s what I was. A brotherfucker.

I couldn’t catch my breath. The entire stadium—team, spectators, even the coach—had gone silent. The word—four syllables—echoed through the cavernous, cold space, unimpeded by whispers. I imagined it echoing throughout campus, so loud our parents could hear it all the way in Westchester.

Part of me wanted to run, to hide. To laugh, hysterically, because we’d been caught. No, I’d been caught. My worst sins now made public to the entire freshman class at Tabb.

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