Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 22

KATY’S POV

I usually pride myself on making solid decisions. I plan. I think ahead and I don’t just dive into stupid situations. But agreeing to go to this Zach guy’s party? Yeah, worst decision of the semester. Maybe of my college career.

I’m standing in front of my mirror, straightening the hem of my leather skirt, and I can’t tell if it’s my body that looks wrong or the outfit itself. The skirt is short and I paired it with a plain button–up and a jacket.

Somehow, the effortlessly hot, cool–girl vibe I’m going for is not showing. At all. I look like I’m going to two different events and didn’t have the decency to pick one.

I tug at the shirt, then adjust my jacket. Still, it doesn’t look better.

“Done?” Allie’s voice cuts in, and she pokes her head into my room. The second her over me, her expression shifts so fast I wish I could hide under my bed. “What the hell is that,

Evans?”

I turn to face her, twisting my fingers together with my lips caught between my teeth because when Allie switches to last names, I already know I’ve messed up.

“Is it that bad?” I ask, wincing.

She steps in fully, eyes running over me again before she shakes her head. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“It’s not “I start to defend myself, but she’s already at my closet, sliding hangers. One by one she pulls things out, glances at them, and tosses them onto the bed.

“Is this even a dress?” She mutters, tossing one of my favorite gowns.

I cross my arms, glaring at the growing pile. “You know, you’re kind of a bad stylist.”

She doesn’t even look up. “Says the girl wearing that to a college party.”

I want to argue, but I can’t because she looks unfairly good in her ripped jeans, crop top, and leather jacket. Her whole look screams confidence while mine is more… librarian who got lost at a biker bar.

Allie goes through half my wardrobe before she finally spins around, hands on her hips. “Don’t you have anything that even pretends to be party–appropriate?”

“You know I don’t party,” I shoot back, grabbing the clothes she tossed and shoving them back into the wardrobe. I gesture at myself. “And what’s so bad about this one?”

“Umm, let’s see…” She taps her chin. “The skirt is too long for a leather skirt.”

“Excuse me, it’s above my knees.”

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

I groan, peel the jacket off, and toss it onto the bed with way more force than necessary. “I quit. Forget it. I’m not going to this thing.”

She glares at me. “The hell you’re not. Get up. I’ll grab something from my closet.”

“Nope.” I wave both hands. “There’s no way.”

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