Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 11

KATY’S POV

I close the door to Braydon’s room and sit on the edge of his bed, dropping my bag beside me. My eyes sweep the space because knowing him, it wouldn’t be shocking to find a used condom wrapper lying around.

“I think we should start with marketing theories,” I say. “Then maybe look at how they apply in real life situations.”

I flip open a textbook, pretending not to notice the way his eyes flicker toward me and then away, like he can’t stand the sight of me and also can’t help himself.

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Whatever. You’re the one with the 4.0 GPA, remember?”

The jab stings, but I bite my tongue. “Let’s start with Marketing Management then.”

“Okay.”

The one-word response grates on my nerves. It’s not like I expect him to serenade me or ramble on, but at least he could pretend to want this session.

“Open page fourteen in your textbook and read the first line,” I tell him.

He drags his hand across the pages, flipping them with a slowness that makes my skin crawl. “What part should I read, again?”

I exhale and press my fingers against my temples. “Do you really want to do this tonight?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he snaps the book shut and swivels toward me, his eyes sharp. “You think I’m filthy, don’t you?”

I freeze. The question catches me so off guard and from the look on his face, I can tell he could no longer hold it in.

“What do you mean?” I manage.

“Back there,” he says, his voice colder than usual. “The thing with the body count. You think I’m dirty, right?”

I swallow, suddenly shrinking under his gaze. His eyes burn with something more complicated than anger, disappointment maybe. Like he expected me to be cooler, smarter, and I fell short. The thought of that makes my chest feel heavy, and I hate that I feel bad for letting him down.

“That’s not what I meant,” I respond. “And besides… I just wanted Justin to get off our case.”

“Really?” He arches a brow, his tone skeptical. “I don’t buy that, Katy.”

I lick my lips, my eyes darting anywhere but at him: his lamp, the corner of his desk, the floor. “You started it by saying…” I stop, the words catching in my throat. God, how dumb would I sound admitting I was actually pissed he called me not his type? “Can you just let it go? I didn’t mean it that way.”

He leans back in his chair. “Here’s a piece of advice,” he says. “Don’t judge people by what you assume you see. And newsflash: life isn’t all about grades. Out there in the real world, people have s*x when and how they want. Nobody’s keeping score but you.”

My chest tightens as he pauses, his eyes flicking over me before he continues. “If it makes you feel any better, so you don’t feel dirty sitting here, I’ve only had eight s****l partners. And I’m always protected. I get tested regularly. I’m clean.”

The bluntness of it makes my nose burn. He doesn’t wait for my reaction, but just turns back to his desk like the conversation never happened.

My fingers knot tighter in the sheets. I should say something or apologize, but my brain stalls. All this time, I assumed he had some wild fifty-plus body count. Turns out, I was way off. And somehow, that makes me feel worse.

I inhale. “I’m sorry, BrayBear.” I bite my lip. “And I don’t feel dirty around you. I was totally wrong for what I said.”

He turns back slowly, his brow still furrowed. “BrayBear?”

I press my lips together. “Your new nickname.”

He stares at me, and for a moment I wonder if I just made things worse. Then he lets out a low huff, somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “You’ve officially lost it.”

Relief trickles through me, though I try to hide it with a shrug. “It’s the best I could come up with.”

“You know what, let’s just do Bray.” He mutters. “Yeah, I’ll accept that.”

A small smile slips onto my face before I can stop it. He catches it instantly and shakes his head. “You seriously need some help, Peach.”

The nickname softens something in me, but his voice is still edged, like he’s not fully letting me off the hook. Still, it’s better than his attitude.

“Let’s get started now,” I say carefully, testing the air between us.

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