Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 3

KATY’S POV

The redhead glares at me, her chest rising and falling like she’s trying to push the anger out in measured breaths. I wait for a retort, but she spares me only a cutting look, huffs at Braydon in dismissal, and storms off, muttering cusses to herself.

I stare after her, gritting my teeth as irritation prickles my skin. What’s it with me and redheads today? First, with Bryan in the morning, and now, his brother. It seems they both have a type.

A low chuckle from the doorway yanks my attention back. Braydon leans casually against the frame, an infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. His abs are on full display, golden against the light, every line impossible to ignore. “Didn’t think you had that in you, Peach.”

I lift an eyebrow, a mix of annoyance and curiosity bubbling up inside me. “Peach?”

He pushes off the door and takes a step closer, his hand reaching toward me. I recoil slightly, a shiver running down my spine despite myself, and his grin only widens.

“Relax,” he says, tilting his head toward my chest. I glance down and there it is: a peach, drawn smack in the center of my shirt. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I can’t help but roll my eyes, letting out an amused scoff.

I bulldoze past him into his living area. “Put on a shirt.”

“Why?” His voice hums with amusement, even though I refuse to look at him. “Getting a little distracted by the view?”

I spin around. “Ever heard of the word decency?” I snap. “It’s spelled—”

“Hey, I can spell that. What do you take me for?” he cuts in, feigning annoyance, which somehow makes it even more irritating.

He shuts the door and strolls over to the eat-in counter. A can of beer sits there, and before my eyes, he tilts it back and gulps down the entire thing in one smooth motion.

“Is that alcohol?” I ask, fists clenching at my sides.

He shoots me a strange look, eyes flicking to the now-squashed can in his hand. “It’s beer… so yes, I’m pretty sure it’s alcohol.” He tilts his head, his smirk creeping back. “Aren’t you supposed to be the smarter one?”

Anger bubbles inside me. Did Justin not tell him I’m coming over? But no, Justin called me this morning to remind me. So, Braydon knows I’m here to tutor, not watch him get drunk.

“You’re drinking on a night I’m supposed to tutor you?” I demand, my voice tight.

He sighs dramatically and tosses the can in the trash. “Don’t be so peachy, Peach,” he says, his voice teasing. “It’s just one can and it’s not enough to knock me out. Besides… we can just get to know each other today. Justin definitely didn’t mention you’ve grown into a pretty woman.”

I feel irritation crawl up my spine, and my lips twitch. My eyes dart to the door, tempted to leave, but then I remember Justin’s pleading and the one thousand dollars he promised for my new MacBook.

I fix him with a death glare. “First of all, don’t call me Peach again. Second, have you considered that the reason you’re flunking your courses is that you flirt too much, and let’s not forget your unhealthy obsession with hockey? If you actually stop thinking about ways to flirt with me, maybe we can get something done tonight. But if you don’t, I’ll be more than happy to waste your time and watch you fail.”

“Do you have friends?” he throws at me casually, catching me off guard. “Or have they all ghosted you because all you do is read and forget to socialize?”

His words sting, bringing back the memory of what Bryan said to me this morning, but I swallow the hurt.

“You must be so good at socializing that you forget other things matter.” I lift my book. “Oh, things like graduating from college.”

His smirk widens, and I can see he’s taking this as a challenge. Is my insistence… kind of a kink for him?

“Now, where’s your room? Let’s get started,” I add, keeping my voice calm.

He leads the way to his room, and I follow, my eyes scanning the space as I enter. Posters of the Chicago Blackhawks cover the walls, along with a few other players I recognize from Justin’s room. Surprisingly, it’s cleaner than I expected, until my gaze lands on his bed.

Bile rises in my throat. The sheets are scattered, and two empty condom wrappers lie on the floor.

I bolt out, clutching my books, heat flooding my face. He follows, a look of amused surprise on his face, but I don’t slow down.

“We’ll just read here,” I say, refusing to meet his eyes. I drop my books on the table, my hand aching from carrying them too long.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify