Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 24

KATY’S POV

I shouldn’t have come to this party. That thought hits me the second Braydon pulls into the front lawn of the Sigma frat house.

The bass from inside rattles through the car, even with the windows rolled down, and the front yard is a mess of red cups, smoke clouds, and people yelling like their vocal cords are invincible.

Seriously, does nobody care about their lungs anymore?

“You look disgusted,” Braydon says, glancing over with that smirk he always wears when he’s amused by me.

He’s not wrong. I already hate this scene, and it’s hard to imagine how anyone considers this chaos a good time.

“This is going to be a long night,” I mutter, pushing open the door. The fall air in Boston nips at my bare skin, goosebumps rising instantly as I tug my skirt down.

The moment I step out, Braydon rounds the car and slips an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I tip my head toward him, catching his eyes.

Tonight, we have to sell the perfect couple, and perfect love act if I want Bryan’s inflated ego to suffocate him in front of everyone.

“Ready?” Braydon asks.

I flash him a smile. “More than ready.”

Together, we push our way toward the front door, squeezing past a couple grinding against the porch railing and another pair making out like the world might end tonight. The closer we get, the louder the music pounds, until the bass is in my chest and my pulse is trying to match it.

Calm down, Katy, it’s just a few hours.

But my body doesn’t listen. It never does. Situations like this always flip some internal switch, leaving me jittery and hyper–aware.

The second we make it inside, it feels like I’ve been thrown under a spotlight. And I don’t mean to exaggerate, but the room actually seems to pause for a second, eyes flicking toward us. My knees. wobble, and I curl my fingers into fists just to keep them from shaking.

There have to be at least three hundred people jammed into this house. The living room has been stripped bare, with the couches shoved against the far wall to make room for a makeshift dance floor.

To the right, a cluster of International Relations majors I recognize are already half–drunk and arguing politics like anyone cares. To my left, sorority girls are shrieking along to the music, tossing their hair and dancing. A group near the kitchen is locked into a drinking game, and a few guys are going at it over beer pong.

Basically, the frat managed to squeeze the entire campus into one house and still give everyone something to do.

Braydon doesn’t seem to notice the stares as he steers me through the crowd, his hand firm on my waist. I can’t tell if people are staring because he looks good, because my n*****s are showing through this top, or because this is officially my first appearance at a frat party. Not like I’m that big of a deal for anyone to notice.

By the time we make it across the room, the attention fades, and everyone is back to their beer pong, screaming, or making out against walls.

“Cap!” A ginger guy smacks Braydon’s chest, grinning as we walk up to a group of jocks. I

recognize most of them from his team and then Justin, who’s currently busy trying to swallow a girl’s face whole. Gross.

His tongue is practically spelunking down her esophagus. And thankfully, he hasn’t noticed me yet which is honestly a blessing, because watching my brother make out like that is nothing short of traumatizing.

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