Butterfly

by Grey, Michaela

  There was a question in Theo’s steady gaze, the way he was still holding Felix’s hand, safely hidden from other patrons in their small booth tucked off to the side of the room.

  It would be easy. Familiar. He and Theo had done this dance before, in and out of each other’s orbit through the years, comfortable with what each of them could offer. And it wasn’t like he and Fisher were actually together.

  And yet—

  Felix shook his head. “I’m sorry, ami, but I think not this time.”

  Theo’s eyebrows went up briefly but there was no hurt in his eyes as he pulled his hand back, or in the smile he gave him. “I’ll drive you back to your hotel,” he said.

  13

  “Mr. Monty, Mr. Monty, guess what?” Martine was tricked out as neatly as ever, satin bow in her perfectly brushed golden curls. Fisher knew for a fact she hated it, that she got filthy and disheveled the minute she could, and he tried to help whenever possible, when he had a plausible excuse to give her mother that wouldn’t get Martine in trouble.

  “I give up,” Fisher said, crouching to smile at her. “What?”

  “Anthony asked his favorite hockey player a question on Twitter, and he answered him! Anthony won’t stop talking about it. He says he wants to get his autograph.” Martine glanced over her shoulder to make sure her mother was gone and then yanked the bow out of her hair.

  “Wow, good for Anthony!” Fisher said. “Who’s his favorite player? And what did he ask him?” He took the bow, tucking it into his pocket where it would be safe until it was time to help her get put back together before classes ended.

  “Butterfly!” Martine exclaimed.

  Wren gasped. “Martine, Felix Papillon talked to your brother?”

  “Yes!”

  Fisher glanced back and forth between them, uncomprehending. “Who’s this?”

  “Felix Papillon is the starting goalie for the Seabirds,” Wren explained. “Which means he’s super rich and famous and also busy, but he stopped to talk to Martine’s brother. What did he say, Martine?”

  Martine shrugged. “I dunno. Something about his stick? Anthony wants to go pro, he never stops talking about it.”

  “Well, that was really nice of him,” Fisher said. “And what about you, do you play hockey?”

  “Mama says girls shouldn’t play hockey,” Martine said.

  Fisher kept his smile in place with an effort. “Would you like to know a secret?”

  Martine nodded and Fisher beckoned her close.

  “Girls can do whatever they want,” he whispered in her ear, and Martine broke into a huge smile. Fisher smiled back. “Let’s get our day started, hmm?”

  Martine darted for her seat and Fisher stood, amused by the look on Wren’s face.

  “Is he dreamy?” he teased.

  Wren started. “No! I mean, he is. But that’s not—guys like that, professional hockey players, everyone’s trying to get their attention. Everyone. And most of them, if they even have social media, don’t talk to their fans.”

  “Why not?” Fisher was interested in the answer, but he could also tell that Jeffrey was edging closer to Max with clear mischief in his eyes.

  “Well, they really are busy,” Wren said. She caught Jeffrey’s eye and shook her head. Jeffrey pouted but he retreated to his desk. Wren turned back to Fisher. “And they have to be really careful what they say, because of being in the public eye the way they are. They can’t have opinions or, God forbid, say anything that seems remotely flirtatious to someone. Their media teams have them on pretty tight lockdowns.”

  Fisher grimaced. “That sounds kind of miserable.”

  “I guess they think playing pro hockey makes up for it. But more than that, Felix had something sh—uh, bad happen to him last year.” Wren waved to Samantha, bouncing in the door. “His address was posted publicly,” she told Fisher.

  “Oh no! Did anything happen?”

  “I don’t know details,” Wren admitted. “But he ended up having to move. So the fact that he’s still willing to engage with fans after something like that happened? He’s just… really nice.” She caught Fisher’s eye and her lips quirked. “And he’s dreamy, fine.”

  Fisher laughed. Someone knocked on the door and he glanced up to see Calum.

  “Be right back,” Fisher said to Wren, and headed for the door.

  “Hi,” Calum said.

  “Everything okay?” Fisher said.

  Calum’s eyebrows arched.

  “Um, hi,” Fisher said. “Sorry. I get worried about the kids, you know how it is.”

  Calum shrugged. “My wife handles most of it, so probably not. Do you have a minute?”

  Fisher glanced over his shoulder at the classroom before turning back.

  “I can spare a few,” he said. “After school?”

  “See you this afternoon then.”

  * * *

  Calum was waiting when the last child left. “Tilda’s in the car waiting for you,” he told Max, and shooed him down the hall.

  “Is Tilda your wife?” Fisher asked, stepping aside to let him in.

  “God no,” Calum said. “She’s the nanny.” He looked around the room, calculating and appraising. “Max is enjoying your class.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Fisher said. “We definitely enjoy having him here.” He rested a hip against his desk and waited.

  “My wife is the CEO of a Fortune 500 company,” Calum said. “I work in network security. I’m sought after by businesses all over the world for my skills.”

  Fisher made a neutral noise.

  Calum came farther into the room, his bearing loose and calm, and trailed a finger over one of the children’s desks. “It would be accurate to say our income is closer to eight figures than six,” he said, as casual as if he was describing his favorite sandwich order.

  “I—okay,” Fisher said. “I’m not sure what this has to do with me—”

  “I’m merely making sure you understand something,” Calum said, turning to face him.

  “And that is?”

  “I get what I want.”

  Fisher kept the distaste off his face only by dint of years of practice. “Is this where I’m supposed to ask what you want?”

  “You,” Calum said bluntly.

  Fisher froze.

  Calum turned away, strolling down the aisle between the desks. “You’re an attractive man, Fisher,” he said over his shoulder. “Besides, I’m sure your classroom is in need of a few things? Maybe I can help with that.”

  Fisher finally found his voice. “I am not for sale,” he managed.

  Calum turned, eyebrow going up. “I don’t want to buy you,” he said. “Just a little one-on-one time with you.”

  “You’re trying to bribe me,” Fisher said through his teeth. “And I’m—” He swallowed nausea. “I’m flattered, of course, but—”

  “Don’t try and tell me you’re not gay,” Calum said, leaning a shoulder against the wall and putting both hands in his pockets. “I knew that within thirty seconds of meeting you. Do you have a boyfriend? Is that why you’re so reluctant?”

  “No, it’s not—” Fisher shut his mouth. “I’m not—I’m not out. Not here. And I could never have a relationship with a parent. It’s absolutely unthinkable and I could get fired.”

  “Lucky for you I’m not asking for a relationship, then.” Calum straightened and took a step toward him. “I have no interest in leaving my wife and our very comfortable lifestyle.”

  “I don’t—” There was panic in Fisher’s chest, clogging his throat. “Thank you but—no.”

  Calum’s lips twitched. “Fisher. It’s cute that you think I was giving you a choice in the matter.”

  Fisher straightened, sudden fury swamping him. “If you’re not giving me a choice, that’s called rape, Mr. Stewart, whether you use force or not.”

  “Who said anything about sex?” Calum demanded, eyebrows winging upward. “That’s a disgusting accusation to level and you should be asha
med of yourself. I want to spend some time with you. Maybe have dinner together occasionally. And if at some point you feel you’d like to have a physical relationship, well, I’d be quite… agreeable to that. But I would never force you into sex.” He looked furious, spots of color burning high on his cheeks, and Fisher fumbled for words.

  “You said I don’t have a choice,” he finally managed. “That implies—”

  “Really, what is so onerous about having dinner with me every once in a while?” Calum asked. “All I want is for you to sit across the table from me so I can enjoy some intelligent conversation and a nice view once or twice a month. More if you find you actually like my company once you get to know me.”

  Just keep them happy. Turner Scott’s parting words floated through Fisher’s head and he clenched his fists.

  “I think you’ll find I’m quite bearable when you get to know me,” Calum continued, taking another step closer. He was smiling now, head tilted, and Fisher looked away so Calum wouldn’t see the loathing in his eyes. “And as I said, I’ll make it worth your while. I’ve already placed an order to be delivered in a few days. New tables, new chairs for the children, even several adult-sized chairs so you can conduct your parent-teacher nights more comfortably.”

  Fisher opened his mouth and Calum held up a hand.

  “Don’t thank me.”

  Wasn’t fucking gonna. Fisher snapped his mouth shut again and Calum nodded, smiling.

  “Tell you what, why don’t you think about it? I’ll drop by on Monday to see how the new things look. I’m sure your very kind dean will want to thank me, in any case. You can give me your answer then.” He took one step nearer and Fisher just barely stopped himself from recoiling.

  “And if I say no?” he rasped.

  Calum shrugged. “Well. I hope it doesn’t come to that. I’d hate to have to speak to Mr. Scott about my concerns over what you’re teaching my son, whether you’re really an effective teacher or not. Especially not so soon on the heels of the very generous financial gift I made to the conservatory.” His eyes glinted steel blue behind his glasses, and Fisher swallowed rage.

  “You really are just… so attractive,” Calum mused. He dropped his eyes to Fisher’s mouth, licking his lips absently, and looked back up. “Have a good afternoon, Fisher. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  * * *

  French was lounging on Fisher’s front porch steps, but he took one look at Fisher’s face as he stalked up the path and stood. “What happened?”

  Fisher unlocked the door. “Were you waiting long?”

  “Five minutes, if that. Fisher?”

  Fisher pushed the door open and French followed him inside. “I have to take Maya out,” Fisher said over his shoulder. “Sorry, can you wait?”

  “Fisher.”

  French was standing in the middle of the living room, feet braced and face tight. “Did someone hurt you?” he asked in a low voice.

  Fisher scoffed. “Look at me. Who’s going to hurt me?”

  “There are different ways of being hurt,” French said, tone still low. “And you—you seem hurt.”

  “I’m fine.” Fisher bent to let Maya out of her crate. When he straightened, French hadn’t moved. Maya stretched, her back bowing in a perfect curve, and Fisher’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not—I’m not fine,” he managed, barely more than a whisper.

  French closed the distance between them and cupped Fisher’s face in warm hands. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Maybe at some point,” Fisher said, and tugged one of French’s hands up to kiss the inside of his wrist. French watched him with dark eyes and Fisher kissed that soft skin again. “Right now,” he continued, “I need to take my dog out and then I need to fuck you. Is that alright with you?”

  French smiled at him. “Yes,” he said softly. “That’s very alright with me.”

  “Then I’ll be right back,” Fisher told him, and headed for the door, Maya on his heels.

  14

  They lay in bed, legs tangled together. Most of the tension that had been running so high in Fisher’s body earlier seemed to have dissipated, leaving him limp and exhausted, one arm over Felix’s waist and face buried in his shoulder.

  Felix stroked the sweaty curls out of Fisher’s eyes, bending his head to see him better. “How are you feeling now, pêcheur?”

  Fisher’s eyes were heavy-lidded and he blinked slowly. “Better,” he said after a minute. “Um. Thanks.”

  “For letting you give me an incredible orgasm?” Felix laughed quietly and was gratified to see Fisher’s mouth curve slightly.

  “Sorry about earlier,” Fisher said after another pause.

  Felix threaded his hand through Fisher’s curls, winding one around his index finger and watching the strands cling to his skin. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Fisher turned his head, pressing his face against Felix’s arm. “This, um… man at work. He—”

  “Someone you work with?”

  “No.” Fisher resettled his grip on Felix’s waist. “More like… a customer. He sort of… asked me out.”

  “I get the feeling that’s not all that happened,” Felix said. He was still running his hand absently through Fisher’s hair, scratching his nails lightly over his scalp.

  “Shitty enough that he did it while I was at work,” Fisher said, closing his eyes. “I just met him recently and I got a bad vibe from him immediately but I thought maybe I was imagining it. I guess I wasn’t.”

  “So he’s a regular customer, you see him often?”

  Fisher lifted a shoulder. “I see him… not as often as some, but maybe a few times a week?”

  “And he pursues you like this? Your employers—do they not step in?”

  “I—they can’t. It’s a small—business. Their priority is keeping the customers happy. They’ve told me before to do whatever I have to do to make that happen.”

  Felix propped himself on an elbow, suddenly furious. “They would have you whore yourself out, all so they can make more money? Is that—”

  “I mean, they’ve told us to find ways to let them down politely.” Fisher shrugged. “I tried. I told him it was inappropriate. He said no one had to know. I accidentally let it slip that I’m single, so I can’t use having a partner as an excuse. I told him no. I said I was flattered—even though I’m really not—and that I declined the offer.”

  “And what did he say?” Felix asked, tracing a line of freckles down Fisher’s shoulder.

  Fisher heaved a sigh. “He said it was cute that I thought I had a choice.”

  Felix sat bolt upright. “What is this man’s name? Where do you work? What is your boss’s name?” He twisted, looking for his phone. “I’m putting an end to this right now.”

  Fisher rolled to his knees “French, stop.”

  When Felix ignored him, swinging himself out of bed to find his phone, Fisher followed him, grabbing his wrist.

  “If you don’t stop,” he said, and there was something dangerous and low in his voice, “you’re going to show me you’re no better than him, that you can’t listen to me either.”

  Felix froze. “That’s not fair,” he whispered.

  “Isn’t it?” Their faces were close together. Fisher’s dark eyes were sad. “Neither of you are giving me a choice in anything right now. He thinks he can own me, and you think you can fix it. You’re not letting me have a voice in my own goddamn life.”

  Felix cupped his face, suddenly ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he managed. “Fisher, mon pêcheur, forgive me. I wanted only to help.”

  “I know, sweetheart,” Fisher said softly. “Will you come back to bed with me?”

  They curled up together again, on their sides facing each other. Felix wedged a knee between Fisher’s thighs.

  “Are you out at work?” he asked after a minute, when Fisher didn’t seem inclined to say anything else.

  Fisher shook his head. “It’s… a very conservative company. And the line of work I’
m in, it’s not—” He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. “I’m just not comfortable being out. But he… threatened my job. Said that he would complain about my, uh… job performance, or that he wasn’t satisfied with my customer service, I guess you could say. And the s—business would take his side, because nothing matters more than that the customers be kept happy.”

  Felix swore in French, sharp and vicious.

  “It’s okay,” Fisher said. “I can… handle it. I was just upset.”

  “How is it okay?” Felix demanded. “Why don’t you just quit? Find somewhere you can be comfortable?”

  “I—” Fisher sighed and rolled onto his back. “I like my job. I love my job. And people depend on me. I want to think I make a difference. If I leave—” He lifted a shoulder. “Plus I have student loans and a shitty car that’ll need to be replaced soon and a mortgage. I can’t just pick and choose, you know?”

  Felix slid closer and kissed him. “I don’t know what you do, pêcheur, but I know this—you do make a difference.”

  Fisher’s eyes creased with his smile. “Oh yeah? How do you know that?”

  Felix looped his arms loosely around Fisher’s neck. “Because it’s who you are.”

  “God.” Fisher leaned in and kissed him again. “You’re…. Thanks for listening. Are you hungry?”

  “I’m a growing boy,” Felix said as Fisher sat up. “I’m always hungry.”

  “Well, let’s get showered and I’ll cook for you.”

  15

  “You’re falling for him,” Leo said. His eyes were keen, kicking his heels against the cupboard as he perched on the counter again.

  “I’m not,” Fisher said immediately. “Taste this.”

  Leo sipped obediently from the spoon and made a considering noise. “It’s okay.”