See No Evil (Brotherhood Trilogy #1)(7)

Letting out a breath, I spin back and look at Riley and Kade before crossing my arms over my chest and sighing. “Guys, we’ve got a problem.”





#5:

Spit Balls



Christiana



There was a guy in my room.

A damn sexy one, but that’s not the point.

I snap my eyes shut against the image of his arms and his triangular torso wrapped in that white skintight tank. His face wasn’t the only strong thing about him. Shoulders, biceps, pecs—hard and masculine. Strength like that could destroy…or protect.

“Shut up, you idiot.” I slump onto my bed and cover my ears, wanting to drown out everything around me.

He just walked in and started looking around. What if I was in the middle of getting changed?

I can’t risk that! I’m gonna have to let Rybeck and McNeal know.

But then what?

They can’t change the entire culture of the school just for me.

I told them I could handle it. They’re trusting me to pull this off.

For Robbie.

No one knows my real identity and no one will. I’ll just have to be more careful.

Jumping off my bed, I push the standard trunk all students are given for storage over to my door. It’s not exactly foolproof, but if I fill it with some books and stuff, it’ll be a deterrent and should give me enough time to hide anything before someone gets in.

I check the time and spend the next couple of minutes stacking the heaviest things I can find beside it, so that when I return I can fill the trunk and bar the door.

A bell sounds down the hallway, followed by a quick dinner call.

Smoothing a hand over my non-existent hair, I grimace and force my shoulders back.

I hate my hair. I hate my eyebrows, now so black and ugly.

I used to take my time getting ready—makeup, jewelry, trendy clothes…the works. Now I’m wearing baggy shirts to hide my shape. My beautiful hair’s been chopped and dyed raven-black, which now makes my usually tanned, healthy skin look sick and ghostly. Freckles that I used to mask with foundation are now on full display. I’ve never felt so ugly…so masculine.

But that’s the whole point, right?

Closing my eyes with a sniff, I move the chest aside and close the door behind me. Guys are flooding the hallway and I catch my intruder’s eye. He’s stepping out of the room next to mine. Followed by two guys.

He turns away without smiling and I fire a heated glare at his back.

The shorter guy next to him checks me out. Not in the flirty way I’m used to but with a cautious curiosity. I’ll have to watch him. If anyone’s going to see right through me it’ll be that keen set of eyes. He brushes the blond hair off his forehead, then snickers at something the towering guy beside him said. He’s messing with his pale brown locks, murmuring something and not even bothering to notice me.

They walk down the hall together, like a trio who have known each other for life. There’s something about their swaggers that tells me they’re cool, respected. You don’t mess with them. Guys are watching them pass and the three are almost oblivious, caught up in their own little tight-knit world. If they were girls, their arms would be linked and they’d strut through the crowd, giggling over personal jokes that no one else understood.

It makes me miss Charlize and Rhianna. Although, if I’m being honest, these guys look even closer than I was to my girlfriends.

I bet these guys talked about me in their room. If they room together, that is. I have to assume it.

Trey. Was that his name?

He was probably spouting off about my uptight ass while shoving Pringles into his mouth.

Someone nudges me, nearly throwing me off my feet as they rush past.

Laughter, chortling, a football flying over my head. More jostling up front, good-natured insults shouted from one end to the other.

I’m an alien on a foreign planet.

How am I supposed to survive in this place?

I follow the bustle down the stairs and outside. We head down a long, covered corridor that reminds me of Hogwarts with concrete pillars and pretty archways. An icy breeze blasts my face, making my teeth chatter. I hunch my shoulders and scuttle inside the double doors. The sounds change as clomping shoes move from concrete to polished wooden floors.

The first thing to hit me is the smell. My nose wrinkles, my gag reflex kicking in once more as I’m hit by a pungent odor. It’s food on a large scale. Turkey, maybe, and…potatoes? I’m used to Nannie’s Italian cooking—rich meat sauces, pasta made in heaven, crisp green salads vibrant with color and flavor.

I doubt I’m going to get that here.

Joining the line that weaves around the tables, I scan the ocean of testosterone. It’s intimidating to say the least. Plates piled high with fluffy mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables, tables loud with grunts and deep voices, forks heavy with massive mouthfuls. I grimace and look away when one guy starts laughing and gives me a shot of his over-stuffed mouth.

I don’t belong here. Mealtime at my house was elegant, refined—orchestral music playing from the sound system, Mom and I eating small mouthfuls, Dad asking me about my school day. Me telling little lies so he wouldn’t know who I was dating or how I skipped out of school for an afternoon at the beach, and him telling big ones so I wouldn’t find out just how crooked my family really was.