Page 73 of Knot What She Seems
Oh god.
I just allowed Colter to comfort me.
I fuckingsniffedhim.
And I’m not Brylee right now, but Teddie.
Holy shit.
What is going through his head? Does he know the truth? Does he suspect anything?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I wish I could see his expression, but with the mask on, I can see nothing but his eyes. And those obsidian orbs give nothing away.
I don’t say anything as I shove past him and stumble out of the closet.
He doesn’t call for me to come back.
But I can feel his eyes on me as I race down the hall, keen and assessing, unraveling my secrets one string at a time.
25
BRYLEE
This week wasthe longest week of my life. Of course, every week feels like that these days.
Every time Colter even glanced my way, I stiffened up—froze like an ice sculpture. And if he came near, I’d dodge behind another student like the coward I am.
He’s done nothing to outright convey that he knows, nothing more than stare. But my skin prickles with each look he gives, and I can’t stand it. Even if it’s nothing more than my own paranoia, just being around the giant, silent alpha right now is slow torture.
I round the corner of the arched stone hallway, drinking decaf iced tea from a glass bottle I swiped in the cafeteria. Walking past dozens of paintings of former generals staring gruffly out at me, I make my way to my dorm room at Eros. Sweat has created an entire terrarium inside my suit, and I’m surprised plants haven’t sprung up inside this tropical nightmare.
My body is begging for a shower and then a very early bedtime. I was supposed to go to dinner at Ted’s, but there’s just no way. I’m wiped out. Mentally and physicallykaboomed. Done. Blown to smithereens.
This morning’s Scenario Training over at Darling started my day off on a gag-worthy note because…I cannot believe I actually had to endure Madam Ellora gripping bananas in both her hands and going over how to give multiple hand jobs at once.
“It’s a skill, ladies. Not simply a task. It’s a skill you all must master,” she lectured with a completely straight face as she stroked up and down the banana peels. “See how I’m gripping? Firmly, but not bruising.”
Harper and I exchanged a look of pure horror.
“Is this a prank?” she whispered.
“I don’t think she knows what a prank is,” I responded, trying to focus on anything except for our teacher.
“This is the worst,” Harper muttered.
She was wrong because it got infinitely worse.
“Now, some of your alphas might like a slow rhythm while others prefer faster. You’ll have to practice coordinating so that you can please each man the way he prefers. Think of it like playing piano—one hand does one thing, the other does another.”
Never in my wildest dreams did I have “watching an elderly omega jerk off fruit” on my bingo card.
I want to sear her words and that memory from my brain, just burn it all away. And I tried this afternoon.
I had Hand-to-Hand Combat, where I put every second of my kickboxing classes and extra training with Ridge this week to good use. Even without the muscles the other guys have, I’ve got speed on my side and flexibility, and I made the most of those—actually laying Sam out on his ass. Granted, he’s a beta, not an alpha, but it still felt good to have one win under my belt. And he wasn’t a bad sport about it at all. Clapped me on the back and everything.
For a few hours, I was able to set aside the anxiety piling up inside of me over this double-life lie and the constantly nagging question about my future.
