Chapter 1 – Leslie
Ifucking hated the motherfucker.
You know that feeling? When hating someone fuels you with so much spite it makes you feel alive? That’s how I felt about my goddamned stepbrother.
Mason Calloway. Or “Ohmygod, Maaaaaace!” according to all the girls who sighed and giggled when he drove by them in his Tesla or hung out at his pool in tiny bikinis, hoping that he’d wife them up.
Spoiler alert, he never did. Even his girlfriend, Tiffanie, was only there to ride his dick.
I’d been excited to meet my new stepbrother at first, until he’d insulted me and my mother to my face—in front of my new stepdad. My mom had been through enough in life. After we learned that we were my father’s side family—and he left to go be with his real family without looking back—she swore off men. To me, it had felt like she also swore off happiness. So I was ecstatic that she’d finally found a man who treated her like she was the sun itself. No one mistreated her, especially not some silver spoon-fed, pompous asshole who happened to be so incredibly gorgeous it almost hurt to look at him.
Mason was tall, and built, and his muscles needed their own zip code. That night, the fairy lights around his father’s pool had lit his tan and sparkled in his blue eyes, so dark they were almost navy. Freckles scattered across his cheeks, making him almost pretty. Pale blond hair fell in waves over his eyes. He had the beauty of wealth, privilege, and never having to worry about anything in life.
Yeah, I hated him.
Even if there’d been a moment there, when his eyes were on mine and he’d licked his lips, when desire and an unfamiliar longing had shot through me.
And then he’d opened that gorgeous, cruel mouth and ruined it all.
I see you get your intelligence from your mother.
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 my stepbrother, 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 a driver now). 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 with just 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 and alcohol, 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 being warm and friendly when 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.
So then why did it feel like someone had punched me in the chest?
As if he could feel my eyes on him, Mason opened his eyes, staring straight at me as Tiffanie continued to play tonsil tennis with him. His eyes were the cold blue of the Artic Ocean, and just as hard. They didn’t move off mine as he lifted his hips and thrust into the other girl’s mouth.
My face burned. Scratch that, everything burned. It was like my whole body had been doused in gasoline and lit on fire.
Behind me, Emory choked on a laugh. “Like I said, he’s busy.”
At that moment, I had two options. I could run out of there like a bat out of a hell, and avoid the fuck out of Mason and his friends until our parents got back in a few days. Part of me wanted to do that. I was embarrassed, and I wasn’t sure why. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Exactly. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Which brought me to my second option: Stay. Stay, and prove that I was unphased, to Mason…and to myself. Stay, and show my darling, dearest stepbrother Mace that I wasn’t the delicate flower he thought I was. I wasn’t a coward, and he couldn’t scare me.
You want to make him jealous, a voice in my head pointed out.
I ignored it. Why the hell would I want to make my stepbrother jealous?
And yet my actions mimicked a jealous woman’s. I reached for Emory’s hand and tugged him behind me as I made my way to the makeshift dance floor, intent on remaining directly in Mason’s line of sight. With a surprised grunt, Emory followed me, staring at me in alarm when I turned and faced him and began moving my hips to the music. I was careful not to look at Mason, but I didn’t need to—I could feel his dark eyes burning into me, further fanning the flames.
It was like I was two people. One was watching in shock, aware of my stepbrother’s—what? Disapproval?—and confused by and worried about my choices and what they might mean. The other part of me got lost in the music and the heat of my stepbrother’s gaze, letting my body take over as I took Emory’s hands in mine and lowered them to my hips.
“I don’t think—” he began.
“So don’t think,” I retorted, moving against him.
I’d been dancing since I could walk, and even though ballet was my style of choice, I knew how to twist and roll and pop my body in ways that caught men’s attention. I wasn’t much to look at, the very definition of a plain Jane. But I could dance.
“Fuck, I’m so screwed,” Emory muttered, proving me right. He gave in and began to dance with me, tugging me closer so I could feel his hardening dick against my stomach. Usually this was something that would make me recoil—I had Spencer, after all, my on-and-off-again boyfriend, even if we were more off than on these days—but I forced myself to relax, wrapping my arms around Emory’s neck and focusing on his chest in front of me.
I felt nothing, of course, except for satisfaction.
As the song slowed to something sexy and sultry, I whipped around and bumped my ass against Emory’s dick, then dropped low and rolled back up, grinding against him.
There was a loud growl, a feminine, high-pitched, “What the hell?!” and then Mason was in front of me, zipping up his pants. I glanced down; he was still hard. He also was breathing like he was a bull and Emory’s and my writhing bodies were red flags.
Emory must have sensed it too, because he stepped away from me.
“Look, man…” he began.
Mason interrupted him. “I’ll deal with you later.”
“Problem, stepbrother dearest?” I trilled.
“You know there is. You aren’t welcome here.” His eyes were no longer that icy blue. Instead, they were dark and heated, lit by the same flames that lit me. My pulse raced. I was both triumphant—and terrified. I’d won something, some game between us, but I didn’t know what that game was, and I was one hundred percent positive I didn’t want to find out.
“It’s my home, too. No one told me the pool house is off limits. Besides, it’s a party, isn’t it? I just want to dance,” I said.
“You weren’t invited. So get out.”
Ouch, that fucking stung.
“Hey man, she’s just dancing. Maybe let’s call a truce,” Emory interjected, trying to bring peace to the war that was clearly coming.
“Yeah? I’m sure Paul and my mom would love to hear about your exclusive parties in their home. And how receptive and welcoming you’ve been,” I said.
“Leslie, you do not want to fuck with me,” Mason warned.
The thing was, I did. This wasn’t like me—I was too smart to go up against an opponent who was, by all evidence, likely to destroy me. Hell, I’d never had an opponent before Mason. Not even in ballet, which was known for being cutthroat and competitive. My teachers used to joke that, in addition to having excellent feet, I had major peacekeeping abilities that made even the meanest of the other ballerinas in our youth company want to be my friends. It wasn’t that there wasn’t drama at my ballet school, but it never involved me, and I was never the mean girls’ target.
So then what the hell was going on now? How had I ended up in this situation?
And god, why did I like it?
“Maybe I do,” I said, breathless. If I hadn’t already lost my breath, I would’ve at the look in his eyes—intense and, if I wasn’t wrong, lustful.
He moved deeper into my space, wrapping a hand in my hair and pulling it back, and back, and back, so even though he was so much taller than me, I stared straight at him.
“Careful, butterfly. Or I’ll really think you want to play with me.”
There was a promise in his eyes, and I considered testing it, discovering what it was.
Fortunately, rational Leslie woke up and screamed at me to get the hell out of there. Take option one, like I should have earlier.
So I did, running out the door, the sound of people’s laughter following—as well as Mason’s inexplicable growl.