4. Brylee
4
brYLEE
With a groan, I heft the bodysuit up over my shoulders and let the fake pecs smash down my sports bra as I wiggle my hips and try to guide it into place.
“This thing’s heavy,” I complain as I get my arms situated in the long sleeves.
Caran and Teddie giggle from where they’re tangled together on the couch, sitting in their pajamas, a few glasses of chardonnay deep, utterly amused by my struggle to shift my bulge off my thigh because the suit’s a little twisted.
“It won’t get straight,” I mutter through my teeth as I tug.
“Neither will I,” Caran cackles, and we all laugh as I drag my fake foam dick into the right spot.
This is the fourth bodysuit I’ve tried on tonight. The others from our rush order lie discarded on the living room rug beside me like human husks who’ve given up the ghost. It’s actually majorly creepy, but the weird factor is lessened a bit by the amount of alcohol coursing through my system.
“I can’t decide if we’re living out Texas Chainsaw or Silence of the Lambs .” Caran tilts his head back and laughs his ass off at his stupid observation, as if he’s ever seen either movie. His delicate sensibilities would never be able to handle all that blood.
“It’s definitely skin suit city,” my brother agrees as he stares up at me, blue eyes scanning for imperfections.
“Good thing you have a reflective coating on your windows,” I agree. “Can’t imagine the show we’d be giving the neighbors.”
“I think this one is the closest to my build yet,” Teddie observes, tilting his head so that a strand of blond falls into his eyes and he has to brush it away.
I rub my hands across the chest of the suit, nodding in agreement. This suit bulks me up, but not nearly as much as the first two did, and the skin texture of it is a lot closer to realistic than the last one. I’ll still have to be careful with what I wear.
Caran’s nose wrinkles, his face awash in the warm light of all the lamps dotting the room. “Too small in the dick depart?—”
I shove my hands to my ears and immaturely call out, “La-la-la-la-la,” only stopping when Caran closes his mouth.
“Don’t be gross,” I order, swaying just the tiniest bit where I stand.
“Give it a spin,” he commands with a swirl of his finger before he steals my brother’s wine glass and takes a sip. I turn, doing some stupid muscle man poses because why the hell not?
“It looks good, doesn’t it? I told you! Say it! I’m a genius and, so long as I’m clothed, this plan is going to work out perfecticaly. Perfectacaly. Perf—you know what I mean.” I have to swallow a tiny hiccup.
Stepping closer to a floor lamp, I try to get better lighting on my fake biceps and see if there’s a major skin tone difference between my light tan and the shade of the suit. The company seemed to do a pretty good color match as I gaze at the thin hem encircling my wrist.
It’s amazing what you can get quickly when you’re royalty and rich.
And willing to bribe.
Twisting back to the guys, I say, “I wonder if I’ll actually be able to run in this dumb thing without sweating to death.”
Caran apparently finds me amusing, because he snorts. “Who cares? We’ve got an ankle brace for the first week or two. So you can at least sit around a little then.”
As if on cue, my old ankle pain flares up, reminding me that I’m going to have to be very careful during this charade. Reminding me of just how dangerous alphas can be.
Snagging my wine glass, I drain it in order to drown out any counterproductive emotions. “Right. Ankle brace. And after that?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders up and down multiple times just to get used to the weight of the suit. It’s kind of alarming how realistically it moves. And hell, guys are heavy up top. I thought boobs were bad, but this pec stuff feels like it’s no joke either. My ribs feel constrained by all this weight.
“We’ll figure something else out once the ankle excuse has run its course,” Caran says lightly before finishing off his stolen glass of wine.
“Well?” I glance over at Ted, who’s suddenly gone quiet. “I still need the shoes to give me more height. But it looks pretty good, right?”
Immediately, Caran and I zone in on him like two birds of prey.
“Nope. No second-guessing,” I tell him. “I already put in your acceptance.”
“And I already committed a felony by hacking into the systems of both schools. This is happening,” Caran states, softening the blow of his words by reaching for my brother and wrapping an arm around the back of his neck.
“It’s happening,” I confirm before pulling out my ace in the hole. “Besides. There’s zero chance that Caran would be able to resist visiting you at Eros. And do you really want your omega walking into a school full of sexually potent, hot alpha males?”
A feral growl erupts automatically from Teddie. Caran burrows his curly head against my brother’s neck with a smile, adoring the possessiveness.
“I don’t really want you there either.” Teddie pouts once he’s regained his senses.
Though part of me is sick with worry myself, there’s absolutely no way I can be talked out of doing this. And I’ll never let him see how badly the thought of being surrounded by a room full of alphas again affects me.
“Please.” With false confidence, I strut over to their television console and pick up one of my favorite scent blockers. I spritz it over myself like perfume. Of course, when I go to the academy, I’ll use the pill version too, doubling up. But I can immediately tell the difference when my own sugary scent disappears from the air, leaving it neutral. “The classes at Eros might be the only hours of the day I won’t be bored. Think about the subterfuge. I’m gonna be a spy!”
I pose against the wall like an idiot from a spy movie and peer around the corner of the living room to the bedroom. Caran gives me a soundtrack by humming.
It almost makes this terrifying endeavor seem like fun.
No. It will be fun, I tell myself. This is my chance to take back the confidence that was stolen from me. My chance to be more than any alpha expects. My opportunity to spy on the inner workings of alpha groups without their knowledge.
If I’d been smart enough to do that a few years ago…my life might have turned out differently.
This is going to be good. For my brother and for me.
“You are both impossible,” Teddie complains, though a smile lights up his face.
“Genius is always misunderstood,” I retort before I sneak off down the hallway to the guys’ bedroom. Bypassing their king-size bed with the quilt made by Caran’s grandmother, I head right for the massive closet and steal some of my brother’s clothes. I might make an eensy, teensy mess and then struggle-bus through the whole dressing process, but eventually I come out in a collared pink shirt and some gray slacks.
“Men’s buttons are on the wrong side of the shirt!” I announce in annoyance as I re-enter the living room to find an utterly horrible backstabbing betrayal in progress.
Frozen, eyes wider than Bambi’s, my brother and Caran pause with their forks in midair. Those traitors are eating the tiramisu that Caran made without me!
“Excuse me?” I take a threatening step forward, finger jutting out in condemnation. They know the fucking rules. Dessert at the same time. Every time.
Caran’s teeth sink into his lower lip, and I think he’s about to express his regret, when he actually says, “Don’t put your weight on one hip. Even it out. Way too girly.”
Marching right over, I snatch his dessert plate from his hands. “Don’t tell me how to stand, traitor.”
“I was gonna get you?—”
“Lies.” I cut him off and glare as I take his fork too and then a bite of his to-die-for tiramisu.
“Stiffer wrist,” Teddie advises, showing me how to hold a fork.
“Micromanage much?” I stiffen my wrist.
“Spread your legs a little,” Caran coaches.
I widen my feet and blow out a breath, trying to think masculine thoughts. The rage over the dessert betrayal helps.
My brother’s boyfriend nods in approval as he gets up from the couch, padding off to the kitchen to get himself a new dessert. With a sigh, I sink into a plush armchair next to the couch and glance over at Teddie.
“Is my sitting guyish enough for you?” I ask.
“For now.” He gives a nod. “But what are you gonna do if you have to pee?”
“Hold it.”
“Really?”
I just shrug in response because I literally cannot think of anything worse than trying to hustle this suit up and down in a nasty-ass men’s restroom full of alpha males.
“I’ll just never drink water again.” Problem solved.
Hopefully, every problem that arises with this switch can be solved as easily.