Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 147

ALLISON’S POV

To wear a leather skirt or ripped jeans?

I stare at the skirt, then at the jeans. This is almost as stressful as the questions on Marketing Ethics test. I sigh, tapping my chin as I weigh my options.

Zach’s party will be loud, messy…and probably full of drunk idiots. A skirt might not survive the night, especially in this weather. And okay, the jeans happen to look good with Justin’s jacket. I know, I know…I’m being vain, but I don’t care.

I finally grin and pick the jeans, pairing it with a crop top and the burgundy jacket. I check the mirror and yep, the outfit screams me: sexy, confident, a little dangerous. I run my fingers through my hair, dab my makeup one last time, and nod.

Purse in hand, I head to Katy’s room.

“Done?” I poke my head through her door, and I almost stumble back-though not in awe, more like horror. “What the hell is that, Evans?”

She twists her fingers. “Is it that bad?”

Honestly… it’s not just terrible but also borderline aggravating. She’s been best friends with a fashion icon like me for two years, and she’s never even tried? Not a hint of style upgrade? Not even a single homage? It’s extremely offensive.

I step into her room, breezing past her sulking form, and move toward her closet. I start sifting through the hangers, hoping to find something decent but most of her clothes are either casual, too much or just wrong. My patience evaporates as I go through like half of her things.

“Don’t you have anything that even pretends to be party-appropriate?” I snap, spinning to glare at her.

“You know I don’t party,” she shoots back, tossing the clothes I took out straight back into the closet. “And what’s so bad about this one?”

I could rattle off a million reasons why she can’t step out of this room in that outfit, but then she’d probably never go to the party and honestly, seeing her take even the tiniest step out of her comfort zone makes me ridiculously happy. So I’ll limit it to three.

“Umm, let’s see…” I tap my chin, pretending to think. “The skirt is too long for a leather skirt,”

“Excuse me, it’s above my knees,” she retorts, frowning.

“You’re wearing a top that has too busy to care written on it. And that jacket?” I point at it. “My great-aunt from two hundred years ago has that jacket.”

Trust me, I’ve seen the photos somewhere.

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