Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 155

JUSTIN’S POV

Allison glances around as she steps into my apartment, hugging herself. I can’t tell what she’s thinking since my place is smaller than what she’s probably used to seeing from guys.

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here,” she whispers.

I shut the door behind me. “I don’t usually bring people here.”

“Really?” She spins to face me, narrowing her eyes. “What about all your exes? You’ve definitely had, like, four.”

I shake my head, ignoring the jab, and take her hand to lead her to the couch. Once she’s seated, I squat down and gently lift her feet. She goes rigid immediately.

“What are you doing?” Her eyes widen as she stares down at me.

“No shoes inside, Allison,” I say, carefully unlacing her boots. She’s been rocking this soldier-like style recently, but it works on her. Besides, criticizing her fashion isn’t my thing.

She reaches to undo the other boot, but I beat her to it.

“I can unlace my shoe, you know,” she mutters.

“I know,” I reply, taking it off her foot and placing it in the corner by the door where I keep my shoes neatly lined up. When I turn back, she’s staring at me like I just performed some magic trick.

“Do you have OCD or something?” Her eyes flick to my neat rows of shoes, lined up by color. “Or are you autistic?”

I try to hold back a laugh but fail, covering half my face with my hand. “What does that…” I stop, still chuckling, “what exactly are you saying?”

She jabs a finger at the shoes. “You arranged them by color.”

I lift an eyebrow. “And…?”

Her lips part like she wants to argue, then she shrugs. “Whatever.”

I grin, helping her to her feet and taking her hand. Her skin is warm and soft, and it’s a weirdly grounding feeling. I lead her to my room, pausing at the doorway. “Heads up, I live alone so no guest bathroom. You’ll have to use mine.”

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t have shampoo or worse… you use those three-in-one types.”

“I do have shampoo,” I start, “I’m just-”

“That settles it.” She cuts me off, shoves the door open and barges in like she owns the place. Then she stops halfway, spins around, and fixes me with a glare. “You definitely have OCD.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. Gosh. I’m supposed to make her feel better, and all she’s doing is cracking me up. Is this her way of hiding how awful she feels?

I press my lips together, trying to keep my smile in check. “And what exactly do you think OCD means?”

“I don’t know, neat freak.” She stares at my wall art, then moves to my books on the desk, tracing her fingers over them. “Also… you act dumb.”

“What?” I raise an eyebrow.

She lifts one of the books. “Look at all these books, but you never talk about them. You act like you don’t care about grades, but I bet you’ve read every single one. You barely say anything in conversations, even when you clearly know more than everyone. You play dumb, Justin.”

I shove my hands into the back of my jeans, staying quiet because she clocked me too well.

“Do you have an interest in theatre?” She snaps me out of my thoughts, waving another book. “Why do you even have this?”

I scratch the back of my head, stepping closer to take it from her. “Umm… just because.”

I place the book back and gesture toward the bathroom. “You can take your bath now. Water’s hot, so just jump in whenever. Uh… I’ll put out a shirt and some trousers on the bed for you.”

She nods. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” I say. “You can use anything you want. I’ve got a decent face cream, and-”

“Justin.” She cuts me off. “I can manage.”

I bob my head, then grab one of my spare towels and hand it to her. She takes it and waves her fingers, telling me to hurry up. I pull out some clean clothes and lay them on the bed before stepping out.

Shutting the door behind me, I head to the kitchen, wash my hands, and get to work. I promised her dinner and a horror movie, and that’s exactly what she’s getting.

I’ll make sure she stays sober and keeps her mind off that loser ex. Yeah, her ex. Don’t tell anyone, but I might have twirled a little in the kitchen.

Shame on me, right? She’s heartbroken, and even without knowing exactly what she saw on his phone, I’m just happy it’s over. Maybe I should swing by church this Sunday and give the big guy upstairs a little nod of thanks.

Lucky for me, I still have a ton of groceries because I’m a firm believer that cooking saves money. Unlike most athletes, I’m into hockey because I can’t afford tuition on my own. With a sister to take care of and Black hovering over my neck, every penny counts.

I settle on creamy garlic chicken pasta, and believe it or not, Allison is still holed up in the bathroom while dinner’s almost ready. Katy spend a lot of time showering too, but with Allison, who knows if she slipped, can’t find something she needs, or is just crashing out. Seriously, no one is as unpredictable as her.

I knock on my room door, but there’s no response. Frowning, I push it open and enter. The bathroom is silent, and my heart skips a beat.

“Allison, are you still in there?”

Instantly, the bathroom door swings open, and I jerk back, spinning around as she saunters out wrapped in a towel.

“Where else am I supposed to be? The museum?”

“Get dressed and come out.” I state, then immediately dash out, pressing myself against the door. Seriously, she knew I was in here so why didn’t she just ask me to leave before coming out?

Such a brat.

I’m dishing out the chicken pasta into two plates when she steps out, her hair still wet. She’s wearing the oversized shirt I picked out with black pants, and I freeze for a second, staring at how it hangs on her. My chest tightens, and I quickly look away, telling myself it’s just a shirt.

“Don’t you have a hair dryer?” she asks, leaning against the counter. She inhales deeply, and then her eyes widen. “Why does it smell so good?”

“It tastes better,” I say, pushing a plate toward her. “Have a taste.”

She obeys, taking a forkful and immediately nodding as she chews. “This is so good.” I grin as she digs in again. “Ooooo, I appreciate good cooking because I can’t do it for the life of Last time I tried, I almost chopped my fingers off and even when I follow recipes, something always goes wrong.”

I pour water into a glass for her. “I bet you were on your phone half the time.”

She frowns, her lips curling. “How else am I supposed to follow the recipe? An abacus?”

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Shouldn’t we eat on the couch or something?”

“Do you have beer?”

“Yeah.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify