Page 32 of Z For Butterfly Man
“I got ya,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Won’t let you go.”
And he doesn’t. He teaches me how to float, how to kick, how to move through the water. His hands are on me the whole time—steadying me, guiding me, keeping me safe. Every touch feels electric, dangerous, thrilling and protective all together.
I’ve never been this happy in my life.
When we finally drag ourselves back to shore, shivering and laughing, I can’t stop smiling. “Thank you,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around myself. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”
He pulls me into his arms. My breath snags as his lips press against my cheek, lingering just a second longer than they should. “Anything for my baby girl,” he murmurs against my skin.
My heart stops. Then races. Then feels like it might burst right out of my chest.
He’s kissed me before, on the top of my head, quick pecks when he drops me off. But this feels different. This feels like more.
He pulls away, and I’m dizzy. It has nothing to do with the cold water or the spinning world. It’s him. It’s always him. The way he looks at me. The way he touches me like I matter. The way he makes me feel like I’m not broken, not worthless, not a mistake.
Even ifweare a mistake. Even if we are taboo. Even if we’re going to hell. I never want this feeling to end.
We dry off and get dressed. Shane tries to start his bike, but the engine just sputters and dies. “Shit.” He tries again. Nothing.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t know. Probably got wet.” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll call someone to pick us up.”
My stomach sinks a little. I don’t want him to be upset, and I don’t want this day to end badly. I don’t want it to end at all.
“Can’t you just drive here?” Shane pauses on the phone. “I’ll just drive her home while you fix the bike and come back to you.” He pauses, his arm around me, keeping me warm. “Shit, two hours. No way, she’ll freeze.” Another pause. “Fine. Bloom it is.”
“What happened? We’re going to have to wait for two hours before someone picks us up?”
“Nah, baby, I got ya. The brother who can fix the bike is two hours away, but Mason is close by. He’ll pick us up, drive you home, and then I’ll come back for the bike.”
“I’m sorry.”
He rubs the tip of my nose with the back of his fingers. “Nothing to be sorry for, silly.”
Twenty minutes later, Mason pulls up in a beat-up car packed with people. Girls, mostly. Music blares from the speakers.
“Yo!” Mason rolls down the window, grinning. “Heading to a party. What’s up? Tagging along?”
“Nope. Bike won’t start,” Shane says. “Gotta give Reagan a ride home.”
Mason glances at the crowded car. “Uh... Kay. Got room for one. Hop in, Reagan.”
Shane looks at me, then glares at Mason. “No fucking way. We’ll squeeze.”
“There’s barely any room,” I whisper.
“There’s no fucking way I’ll let you in that car alone with him.” He crams into the backseat, next to the three blondes already there, and pulls me onto his lap.
The girls giggle and shower Shane with ogling attention. He just smiles at them once. Mason steers back onto the road, his eyes flicking to us in the rearview mirror.
“Sorry,” I mumble to the girls, trying not to invade their space or put all my weight on Shane. They don’t even look at me.
“You’re good,” Shane says, his arms around my waist. “You’re like a feather. We need to put some meat on your bones. Was gonna take you to dinner, too, but things didn’t go my way.”
“You’ve done more than enough. You should go to the party with them after you drop me off.”
He cocks a brow at me, and then he chuckles. His lips hover near my ear. “Ya jealous, baby girl?”
