Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 37

KATY’S POV

Ever since Braydon said he had a surprise planned, my brain hasn’t shut up about it. I tried to focus in class, even listened to an entire lecture on Ad Ethics, but all I could think about was what this man was plotting. So, yeah, I’ve been mentally spiraling.

By the time I reach his townhouse, my stomach is already doing cartwheels. I take a deep breath, fix my hair, and knock.

A few seconds later, his door swings open and he appears shirtless. Of course.

Honestly, I’d be shocked if he wasn’t half–naked at this point because it’s like his default setting.

Still, I’m convinced he does this just to get under my skin.

“You’re finally here,” he says, stepping aside. “What took so long?”

I brush past him and kick off my sneakers. “Had to pay Justin a visit. Wanted to make sure he wasn’t still sulking about his suspension.”

He shuts the door and falls into step beside me. “And was he?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Apparently, you hockey boys are built different.”

He arches a brow. “How so?”

I turn to him. “Emotionally unavailable, immune to consequences, and somehow always shirtless.

It’s impressive, really.”

He grins. “You forgot devastatingly handsome.”

“Oh, right.” I roll my eyes. “How could I possibly forget that?”

“It’s the most important,” he says, that cocky grin not leaving his face.

“I mean,” I rub my forehead, exhaling. “If I were suspended, I’d be crying every hour. Meanwhile,

Justin’s acting like it’s no big deal.”

And even if it is all pretense, he’s good at it. Because if it was me, it’d be written all over my face.

“It’s just three games,” Braydon says, his hand already on his bedroom door. “He’ll bounce back. J doesn’t give up easily, so you shouldn’t worry so much.”

I nod, though I still do worry. Then he pushes open the door, and before he can say anything else, I walk in, maybe a little too fast.

My eyes scan around. Okay… what? I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s not this, because the room looks totally normal. There’s no decorations, no candles, no mysterious setup. Just his usual messy bed and hockey gear tossed in a corner.

Not that I was expecting, like, rose petals or anything… but still. He said surprise.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, stepping beside me.

“Nothing,” I say flatly.

His eyes dart between me and the bed. “Were you expecting something?”

“No.”

“Not even this?”

Before I can respond, he pulls his hand from behind his back, holding out two slips of paper.

I blink. “What is that?”

He tilts his head. “Guess.”

I reach for them, but he dodges, moving just out of my grasp.

“Movie tickets?” I try. “Concert? Gosh, I hate not knowing things.”

He smirks, clearly enjoying every second of this. “Close.”

“Close?” I frown, trying to peek at the print. “Just tell me already!”

He holds the papers above his head. “You’re really bad at surprises, you know that?”

“Because you’re bad at giving them,” I shoot back.

He laughs, his perfect, pearly–white smile flashing before he steps closer. He grabs my hand, gently pries my fingers open, and places the slips in my palm.

I look down and freeze, my eyes widening.

Wait. Am I reading this right?

My eyes shoot back up to his face. “The Network Collective?”

His grin widens, full of satisfaction. “I was really looking forward to that look on your face.”

“No way.” I choke out. “Is this real?”

“Why would they be fake, Katy?” he drawls, leaning casually against the wall. “You think I can’t get them?”

“N–no, it’s not that,” I stammer. “It’s just, do you know how expensive these tickets are? Like, insane–level expensive.”

He shrugs. “Guess I like doing insane things.”

I look back down, the golden logo on the ticket glinting under his room lights and my brain’s short–circuiting. The Network Collective. It’s the biggest annual business conference in Chicago and every business major dreams of attending because it’s where CEOs, founders, and investors come to scout top students. Basically, the Met Gala for overachievers.

I’ve been obsessed with it since freshman year, but the tickets kept getting more ridiculous. They started at five grand, then seven and this year, it’s practically ten. Ten thousand dollars for a chance to breathe the same air as billionaires and somehow, I’m holding two tickets.

“This is like… a dream,” I whisper, still staring at them. My throat tightens as I look up at Braydon, who’s now watching me with that stupidly soft expression he tries to hide.

“How did you get this?” I ask, pouting slightly.

He crosses his arms and tilts his head. “I have my ways.”

He stretches, grinning. “So basically, I’m a genius now.”

“Sure,” I deadpan. “Real genius.”

He laughs as we head out and when we reach his car, I glance at him. “You’ll be coming with me, right?”

He looks up. “To?”

“The conference,” I say. “You didn’t just get me the tickets, right?”

He slides a look at me from the comer of his eye, a teasing glint there. “Are you that desperate to have me around you?”

I scoff. “Please. I just don’t want you to miss out on the fun.”

He gives me a disbelieving stare. “Fun? You call a conference fun? Peach, are you sure you’re okay?”

I roll my eyes at him, tugging his car door open. “So what do you even call fun then? Loud parties? Drugs?*

He slides into the driver’s seat, shooting me a look Eke I just insulted his religion. “Anything but a conference,” he says, pure disgust in his tone. “Seriously, you’re like an alien.*

My eyes widen. “For what? Being excited about the conference?” I throw my hands up. “God forbid a girl wants a career after college and maybe, I don’t know, network?”

He shakes his head slowly. “It’s not just that.”

“Then what?” I lift a brow, waiting.

Instead of answering, he leans toward me suddenly. The move is so fast I instinctively jerk back, pressing a finger to his forehead to push him away when he gets a little too close.

“Personal space, Braydon,” I warn.

He straightens, and exhales. “You see, you just proved my point.”

My brows knit together. “What point?”

He licks his lips, gesturing with his hands.

“First, you ask me to be your fake boyfriend,” he starts, counting on his fingers. “Then you

to, you know, he with your… experience gap.”

Heat rust to my face, but I manage to keep a straight expression.

We kiss, we mess around, and for a second I think maybe you’re loosening up but fre back to being Katy Evans, looking at me like I’m a wall decoration.”

I stare at him with nothing but pure disbelief. Does he even hear himself sometimes? Does he not feel even a little embarrassed saying things like that? The arrogance is unreal.

I let out a long breath, click my seatbelt into place, and give him a flat look. “Please drive before I call campus cab.”

He studies me for a second, like he’s trying to read a language he doesn’t understand. Then he shakes his head, muttering mostly to himself, “I just can’t figure you out.”