Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 26

KATY’S POV

I weave my way through the crowd just as Braydon comes back, holding two red solo cups. I arch a brow at him because I specifically asked for water, and I have a feeling what he’s carrying isn’t.

He hands me one cup, and when I glance inside, the liquid is clear. I squint up at him.

“It’s water,” he says under his breath, leaning close so only I can hear. “Poured it into the cup so you look cooler.”

A little laugh escapes me, and I shake my head. Funny thing is, he’s right. If everyone else is chugging beer and I’m standing around with a plastic water bottle, I’d look like the designated party pooper of the century. But this way, I blend in and I’m grateful he even thought of it.

“Wanna sit?” he asks, already looking around.

“Yeah,” I sigh, taking a sip. “My legs are starting to hate me.”

He doesn’t hesitate and slips his hand into mine, leading me toward one of the couches. Luke notices and instantly makes space, scooting over like he’s been waiting for this moment. Before I can even suggest I’d be fine standing, Braydon drops into the open spot and pulls me right onto his lap.

I freeze, my heart thudding like it’s trying to escape. The warmth of him beneath me sinks in, and then the awkwardness kicks full force. The girl beside Luke shifts, her nails tracing lazy patterns across his chest, and I immediately look away before my brain short–circuits.

My fingers twitch, searching for something to hold onto, but the only option is Braydon’s legs. I swallow hard. We practiced this. I promised I wouldn’t freak out if he got touchy in front of his friends. I promised to be cool.

But I’m literally sitting on him, one part of me screams.

It only feels weird if you make it sexual, another part argues.

Making it sexual? I snap back at myself. I’m not. I’m just…yeah, sitting on my fake–boyfriend, surrounded by his teammates who are too busy playing tongue–wrestling with their hookups.

And the problem? I know Braydon. I know how handsy he gets. It’s only a matter of time before he decides we should join the public display of affection contest and show off just how much sexual chemistry we have.

And I’m not used to PDA. Not in this kind of open, sweaty, everyone’s–watching setting.

Calm down, Katy. I gulp. It hasn’t even happened yet and I’m already sweating.

The thought barely finishes forming before I feel Braydon’s hands slide around my stomach, his fingers brushing against the bare skin my crop top didn’t cover. Fuck this crop top. Fuck me for wearing it.

“Are you comfortable, Peach?” He leans in, his breath brushing my ear.

“Yes.” The word flies out and my voice sounds way too high–pitched.

And comfortable? If comfortable means heart hammering, cheeks on fire, and feeling like I’m a zoo exhibit…then yeah, Katy Evans is so comfortable.

“I thought people danced at parties like this,” I say, trying to stir up conversation, anything to distract him in case he’s thinking of joining Luke in his little lip–lock marathon.

“Wanna dance?” he asks, like he’d drag me to the middle of the living room without caring who’s watching.

I shrug. “Not really. It just feels lame sitting here doing nothing.”

He chuckles and the sound brushes against my skin. “Oh, trust me, Peach. I can think of a lot

better things to do with you than dance.”

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