Chapter 10 – Leslie
Even though I’d had plenty of time to make it to my first class, A History of Desire in American Lit, I’d been so flustered by my reaction to Mason in the cafeteria that I got lost three times, despite asking multiple students for directions. Needless to say, I was five minutes late, and unbelievably embarrassed. Punctuality and first impressions were important to me. Just one more thing my stepbrother was fucking up. I doubted I was going to make a good impression on my professor.
So far college was off to a great start.
The back door to the classroom was locked, so I had no choice but to walk in through the front—right next to the professor. For a moment, I contemplated ditching class entirely. For a moment, I contemplated packing up and quitting, admitting defeat.
No, fuck that. I’d worked my ass off to get into Tabb, I wasn’t about to slink off just because my jackass of a stepbrother was messing with my brain and libido.
Head held high, I opened the door and looked for a seat.
“You’re late,” the professor said. She was a short, young woman—honestly, she looked too young to be a professor—who carried herself so well, and had such a commanding presence, I was immediately intimidated and envious. I wanted her to like me. Scratch that: I wanted to be her. I wanted the power she had.
I shrugged. “Freshman. Got really lost. Sorry!”
Around me, students laughed. A smile appeared and disappeared on the professor’s lips, so fast I almost missed it.
“Don’t let it happen again. Go ahead and find a seat.”
I looked around the classroom, cursing fate—again. Because there was Mason, sitting in the front of the classroom, next to Emory—someone else I’d never wanted to see again—and the same girl who’d been on his lap an hour ago.
Fuck my fucking life.
He slowly slid his arm over the back of her chair. Intentional? Maybe. Incendiary? Completely. A vision came to me—dragging the girl away from him by her red hair and then punching him in his smirking face.
Controlling my breathing and behavior, I found an open seat in the back of the lecture hall, trying to focus on the professor as she went over the syllabus. It was practically impossible; when I wasn’t staring at the back of Mason’s head as he laughed at something the beautiful redhead whispered in his ear, I thought about his lips to my ear yesterday as he’d said, “You still don’t get it, butterfly. You made my life hell because I couldn’t have you. But I’m done with that. I’m taking what’s mine.” And then he’d consumed me in a kiss.
Was he telling her she was his, right now? Later, would they go back to her dorm room and he’d kiss her like he’d kissed me?
I gripped my pen so hard at the thought, my pen broke, leaking ink all over the paper.
“You okay?” the guy next to me whispered, looking concerned. He was cute—blond curls, blue eyes, a sweet face. He fumbled around in his bag and came up with crumpled paper napkins and a pen.
“Thanks,” I whispered back, taking the napkins and pen from him and cleaning the ink off my hands. I wadded up the ink covered paper and napkin and considered chucking them at Mason’s head.
“He’s a real asshole, isn’t he? I hate guys like that. Think they own everything and everyone they come into contact with, just because they were blessed with money and good looks, and they can slap a hockey puck into a net.” His cheeks flushed and he glanced at me. “Sorry, that was a bit harsh.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” I said, even though part of me wanted to defend Mason. But he was right. Mason thought everything belonged to him, including me—although I obviously was just a toy to play with and then discard.
Ugh.
Up front, the professor stretched and told us to take a five minute break.
“After, you’ll be choosing partners for your first project.”
The guy next to me held out his hand.
“I’m Dan,” he said.
“Leslie.”
I reached out to shake his hand, then pulled mine back. “Sorry, probably shouldn’t shake your hand until I know I’ve gotten all the ink off.”
He smiled at me. “You’ve got some on your face, too.”
“Oh my god, where?”
He hesitated. “Can I?”
I nodded. Grabbing another paper towel, he dabbed at my left cheek.
“Got most of it. You may want to go wash it off, though.”
“Getting a little friendly with my stepsister, aren’t you?”
Dan jerked. “Stepsister?” He looked at me, surprised. “I didn’t realize you were related. I?—”
“Keep your hands to yourself,” Mason barked at him, suddenly looming above us. To me he said, “You have ink on your face. Go wash it off.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do. You don’t control me.”
“Wanna bet?”
I rose out of the desk and we stared at each other, neither one of us willing to back down.
Which is when the professor joined us.
“Well, this looks intense,” she noted. “But this works. Ms. Berger, Mr. Calloway, you’ve volunteered to work on the first project together—female desire in early American literature.” She raised her voice so everyone in class could hear her. “Each of you will find a partner and you’ll choose a significant story from the literary canon, and you’ll write your own story or script with your partner reinterpreting it. Go ahead, pair up. There may be one threesome.”
There were titters throughout the room. I also felt eyes burning into my back, from the girl that Mason had (temporarily, probably) abandoned for his pissing match with Dan.
“Yes, I said threesome. You are all adults now, act like it. Mr. Calloway, if you’ll kindly take a seat.”
At first, Mason resisted, like he wasn’t going to listen to her. But he apparently wasn’t the type to rebel against a teacher openly—he’d find sneakier ways to get his revenge. It didn’t surprise me; our entire battle this summer had taken place under our parents’ noses. Straightening to his full, intimidating height, he then swaggered back to his seat, turning to glance back at me a few times.
Satisfied, the professor looked at me. “Chin up, Ms. Berger,” she murmured, then walked back to her spot in the front of the classroom, where she pulled up the rubric on the screen and started talking us through the assignment and expectations.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize he was your brother,” Dan said, embarrassed.
If he was embarrassed, I was humiliated. I could feel my face turning red. “Stepbrother,” I corrected. “And it’s fine, he’s an asshole.”
“Seems like it. He’s very, er… protective of you? Or possessive? I don’t know, but it was weird,” Dan commented.
I blushed harder. This was the last thing I wanted; to be under the microscope like this. Was this why Mason had interjected himself in our conversation? To embarrass me?
Lost for words, I shrugged. “Yeah, I mean...”
“Do you want to try to switch partners? I can tell Professor Evans that you’d rather work with me, and your stepbrother can work with Eric,” he offered, motioning to the guy he’d paired up with.
I shook my head, not even wanting to imagine what Mason might do if he found out I was partnering with another guy. He may not want me, but between Dan and my RA, he’d made it clear in less than twenty-four hours that no one else could have me. And besides, there was a part of me—small but insistent—that wanted to work with him. Get to know him in a situation where we weren’t adversaries, but collaborators. I hated that I was excited to spend time with him.
And what had the professor meant by chin up? What had she seen in my eyes? In Mason’s?
I ruminated over this for the remainder of class. When she dismissed us, Dan asked me if I wanted to get coffee, but I shook my head.
“I should get back to my dorm and get some work done,” I told him, forcing a smile. “Maybe another time?”
“Sure,” he said easily. “And the offer still stands about partnering up.”
“Thanks,” I told him.
He walked off. A moment later, Mason appeared at my side. I hated how my body sizzled and then settled, first at the excitement of having him nearby, and the security of knowing he wasn’t with the redhead.
“C’mon, let’s go get this over with,” he snapped.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” I snapped right back.
“Butterfly, you are testing my patience. Is that what you’re trying to do? Do you want my attention? Want me to bend you over this desk and spank your bratty ass in front of everyone who’s here?”
“You’re disgusting,” I said, glaring at him, even though his words sparked something in me.
He got in my space, using a finger to tilt my chin up so he could look directly in my eyes. I shivered from the heat of his body, the touch of his skin to mine.
“Then I suggest you shut your pretty mouth and follow me out this door before it gets you into more trouble,” he said.
My sex spasmed at the thought, and his eyes heated.
“You like that, don’t you?” he hissed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I don’t,” I told him.
“Admit it, butterfly.”
“Why don’t you go give your attention to one of your groupies?”
He smirked. “Jealous, huh? It’s a cute look on you.”
Damn it. It was one thing for me to want my stepbrother, it was another for him to know it.
“What-the-fuck-ever.”
I stomped out of the classroom, but before I could lose him, he grabbed onto my belt loop and tugged me back.
“Not so fast, butterfly. Don’t you want to get started on our project?”
I sighed, even as my own butterflies—the ones in my stomach—danced at the idea of spending time with him. I hated myself for that. He’d been a complete asshole that morning, and my pathetic body and mind still got excited at his nearness. “Fine.”
“Let’s go to my apartment.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t a fool. “There’s no way I’m letting you get me alone. I don’t trust you, and I have no idea what you’ll do. We’ll go to the library, or I’ll march over to Professor Evans’ office and tell her I need to work with someone else.”
His eyes gleamed. “Library, huh? I’m down for that.”
Oh god, why did he look pleased? What had I done?
I shook it off—the library was safe—and started walking to the big, stone and glass building. When he grabbed my hand and linked our fingers together, I inhaled sharply. Warmth shot through me from where our hands were connected. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had held my hand, and I doubted it had ever felt like this—dangerous and exhilarating and somehow safe, like if I fell, he’d catch me.
Which was bullshit. Mason would happily let me crash on the ground and break all my bones in this metaphor. Damn, he’d probably take pictures of my broken body and heart.
Broken heart?
What the actual hell was going on in my head?
“What are you doing?” I asked him, trying to pull away.
He gripped my hand tighter. “Keeping it so you don’t fly away. Don’t tell me you don’t like holding hands.”
“Not with you.”
“Liar.”
He guided me along the path to the library. Campus was beautiful, surrounded by huge, old oak trees and maples, with sunlight filtering through their leaves. It would’ve been magical if I hadn’t been aware of all the eyes on us. People called hello to Mason, their eyes lingering on our linked hands. Everyone was going to get the wrong idea—especially when they found out we were stepsiblings.
With that thought echoing in my head, I used all my strength to pull my hand out of Mason’s grip.
“Butterfly, stop,” he said sharply.
“People are staring,” I hissed. “What are they going to think?”
He looked at me. “Why the fuck do you care what they think? I don’t.”
I gaped at him. The Mason I knew was obsessed with status, otherwise why did he drive that damn car and surround himself with popular assholes?
“Bullshit,” I said.
“Fine,” he amended. “I cared what people thought for a long time. But recently I realized that their opinions of me weren’t worth it.”
Curiosity filled me. “And what changed?”
He looked over at me. We’d reached the library by this point and were standing at the bottom of the steps. I’d been so focused on him, I hadn’t even noticed.
“Maintaining my reputation meant I almost lost something incredibly important to me. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but after, I decided in order for me to get it back, I had to change my outlook.”
“And it’s that easy?”
“Butterfly.” His voice was low, and warm. “When you crave something this desperately, anything you have to do to get it is easy.”
My gut clenched. I had a hunch that he was talking about me, but it was hard to believe that this wasn’t just another game. I couldn’t trust him, even if his tone made my heart melt a little.
Stupid heart.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go strategize.”