Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 17

BRAYDON’S POV

Despite all the games we’ve won this season, it’s painfully clear Coach doesn’t give a damn. Why? Because practice this morning feels like straight–up military training.

“Cooper!” Coach’s voice rips through the rink like a cannon. “Where’s your head? Do something!”

I blink, realizing I don’t even have the puck anymore. Martin stripped it clean off me and already iced it. Great.

I tip my helmet back just enough to wipe sweat off my forehead, then shoot Coach a look that’s half–apology, half–please don’t murder me in front of my teammates.

The guys starts snickering behind their mouth guards and Martin smirks as he skates by, mouthing that I should stay awake.

I flip him off.

Maybe practice isn’t even that brutal this morning. Maybe it’s just me, skating around like an idiot because I’m distracted out of my mind.

I’ve learned something new about myself today: there’s nothing more torturous than when your body and your brain decide to play for different teams. My body’s out here trying to score a point, but my mind? My mind’s already gone. Stuck on someone.

Someone with stormy gray eyes. Someone with heart–shaped lips I still swear I can feel pressed against mine.

And you know what’s messed up? I’m never this distracted. Yeah, sure…I’ll notice a hot girl in the stands, tight leggings, nice ass, and for maybe ten seconds I’m not thinking about anything else. But then it’s back to business, back to the puck. That’s normal.

This? This has been nonstop since last night.

Here’s the kicker, I’ve kissed a lot of girls. Like, a lot. High school alone, I had girls lining up games just for a shot at a peck.

College hasn’t been any different. I’ve kissed over fifty girls, maybe more, and I’m pretty sure I’ve checked off at least one from every continent at this point. I’ve had some amazing kisses, a few forgettable ones, and even some downright bad ones.

So why the hell can’t I stop thinking about one kiss with Katy Evans?

When I agreed to coach her on sex or whatever the hell that arrangement even is, I laid down rules.

Clear, simple rules. One of them being: none of it means anything. I told her that. Straight up.

So why am I the one who has to keep reminding myself of it? Why am I the one lying awake,

replaying the way she tastes, the way she sighs when I touch her? Why do I have to keep telling myself I don’t want to kiss her again when my body’s practically begging me to?

“All of you, get out of here!” Coach bellows his signature end–of–practice call, and his voice snaps me out of my spiral. “And you, Cooper, get your head right before I see you again!”

I wince, shoving my stick against the boards.

“He’s definitely thinking about some chick, Coach,” Luke chirps, grinning like an idiot. A couple guys laugh, banging their sticks against the ice and I shoot him a look that says shut the hell up before skating off toward the tunnel.

The locker room is loud as always–gear slamming, showers running, and guys chirping each other nonstop. I peel my helmet off, sweat dripping down my face, and dump it into my stall.

“Got a problem, Cap?” Martin asks, smirking like he already knows the answer.

I roll my eyes, yanking off my gloves and pads. “I’m fine.”

“Fine, my ass,” Luke throws in from the other side, a towel around his neck. “Coach roasted you harder than I’ve ever seen.”

Now everyone’s staring. My teammates, the guys who know I’m usually locked in and never lose focus on the rink, are eyeing me like I’ve sprouted a second head.

And honestly? They’re not wrong. Because if I’m being real… something is off.

I grab a bottle from the case, gulp down the water in three long pulls, then crush the plastic in my fist.

“What do you mean?” I toss the question out like I don’t already know.

Martin snorts. “You were totally out of it out there. I would think you got dumped except you don’t date.”

The room breaks into low chuckles and before I can fire back, Luke jumps in.

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