MY COUSIN'S BOYFRIEND II

"Okay, what do you want me to do?" Why was I even considering this?

She launched into instructions then, like a general briefing troops.

"Wear my sleeping clothes; that soft nightie in the drawer. It'll make it look right. Put on a little makeup to cover that mole above your lip. No speaking, okay? Just nod or cough if you have to. Dim the bedroom light, bundle up in the comforter. Act like you're too feverish to chat much. I'll text you if anything changes."

I nodded along, my mind racing. It could work. We did look like twins from certain angles, especially in low light. My curves might be hidden under the blankets, and my hair could do the rest. Still, my pulse quickened at the deception. Pretending to be Joan... talking to Dylan. It felt wrong, but that wrongness twisted into something warmer and deeper.

She finished getting ready, spritzing on more perfume and slipping into heels that made her legs look endless. She looked stunning as always.

"Thanks again, Lexi. You're saving my night." With a quick air kiss, she grabbed her purse and was out the door, leaving me alone in her apartment.

I showered first, letting the hot water cascade over my skin, washing away the day's tension.

Stepping out, I toweled off and padded to Joan's room, pulling on the nightie she'd mentioned. It was a soft, clingy silk that hugged my curves a bit more than it would her slimmer frame. I felt a little exposed, but it was just me here so it didn't really matter. I applied a touch of foundation to cover the mole, let my hair fall loose to mimic her style, and climbed into her bed.

We'd eaten plenty earlier, so I wasn't hungry. Just full, content, but antsy. I slipped in my headphones, queuing up a playlist of indie tracks to drown out the silence.

The clock on my phone read 9:15 PM. How long until the call? I glanced at Joan's phone, propped on the nightstand, and curiosity gnawed at me. Or was it more than that? I'd always wondered about them; Dylan and Joan. What did they talk about in private? Was there heat there, passion? I told myself it was just idle interest, cousinly concern, but deep down, I wanted to peek into his world.

Tapping the screen, I opened their chat. It loaded slowly, and I scrolled up, my heart thudding. But... nothing. Dry as a desert. Messages about weekend plans, a quick 'how was your day?' here and there, emojis sprinkled sparingly. No flirty banter, no late-night confessions. Once in a blue moon, they'd chat, but it was surface-level, safe. No spice, no fire. Disappointment flickered through me, mixed with a strange relief. If their relationship was this vanilla, maybe my crush wasn't as hopeless as I thought. Or maybe Joan was holding back.

Shaking it off, I set the phone down and reached for the remote, flipping on N*****x. My favorite show, a steamy drama about forbidden affairs, was just what I needed to kill time.

The opening credits rolled, but I barely got through the first scene. The phone buzzed jolting me upright. My heart slammed against my ribs.

Dylan. It was him.

I yanked out my headphones, tossing them aside, and scrambled into position. Lie back, I reminded myself. Comforter up to my chin, hair fanned over my face like a veil, hiding the differences; the mole, the softer jawline. I fumbled for the lamp, twisting the dimmer until the room glowed soft and shadowy, casting my features in forgiving haze.

One... two... three. I swiped to answer, propping the phone against a pillow so it framed me just right; 'Joan' looking pale and weary in bed.

Dylan's face filled the screen, and oh God, he was handsome. Even through the pixels, those green eyes, the stubble shadowing his jaw, that half-smile that made my knees weak in real life. He looked bored at first, slouched in a dimly lit room that looked like his bedroom. But then he saw me, and his expression shifted, brightening like the sun breaking through clouds.

"Hey, baby," he said, his voice warm and a little rough around the edges. "You okay? You look... rough."

I nodded slowly, keeping my movements minimal and my eyes half-lidded to sell the 'fever'.

He leaned closer to the camera, concern etching his brow. "Fever still bad? Did you take your meds?"

Another nod, this one weaker. I coughed lightly into my elbow for effect, the sound muffled.

"Poor thing. Wish I could be there to take care of you." His smile softened, and something in my chest twisted. "Anything you need? Food? Soup? I can order anything for you. I got paid today."

Nod. Shake head. Nod again. It was a silent dance, and I held my breath, praying he wouldn't push.

He chuckled softly and the sound vibrated through me. "Alright, we can chat a bit if you're up for it. Tell me about your day... or, well, nod if it was boring."

Shit. He wanted conversation. But I just nodded, tilting my head as if too tired to respond. His eyes searched the screen, lingering on my face, but the hair and light did their job. No suspicion flickered there, just affection. Relief washed over me. I'd pulled it off. He bought it completely.

We "talked" like that for a few minutes, him rambling about the family drama, how his mom was stable but it was stressful. I felt a weird mix of guilt and excitement, lying there pretending to be her, soaking in his attention.

"You know, even sick, you look so damn good," he said, his tone shifting, a hint of playfulness creeping in. Then, a buzz; a text notification overlaying the call.

I glanced down, careful not to move too much.

Dylan: Damn, baby, that nightie... you look so fucking hot right now.

Heat flooded my cheek.

What would Joan say? Would she be flirty? Coy? I had no idea... their chats were so bland. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I wondered what I was going to say to him.

Another buzz. Another text, this one with an attachment. I tapped it open, and my breath caught.

It was a photo of his hand pressing against the front of his trousers where an impressive bulge was tenting.

Dylan: Look at what you do to me, even from afar. I'm so fucking hard for you.