Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 43

KATY’S POV

“Got something to tell you when I see you.”

I stare at the text for way too long, like it’s supposed to decode itself if I keep reading it. What could Braydon possibly have to talk about? And am I overanalyzing this or does it actually sound serious?

Knowing him, he’s not exactly the let’s talk later type. He usually just blurts things out the second they pop into his head so if he’s waiting to tell me in person… that means it’s something important.

And he had a game tonight. Which means he’s probably tired. Which also means he could’ve just gone to his apartment… but he didn’t. So yeah, definitely important.

I groan and flop back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My brain’s been spinning for the past ten minutes and the only thing I can come up with is that stupid Blackrock grant thing because of his reaction yesterday. Maybe he lied about it and now he wants to confess? But why would he lie and then tell the truth the next day?

This is ridiculous.

I sigh, grab my pillow and cover my face. Relax, Katy. It’s probably nothing. He’ll show up and say he wants to talk about tutoring or something painfully boring and I’ll have wasted half my mental energy overthinking, as usual.

Just then, a knock sounds at the door, and I jolt upright, my heart jumping into my throat. Is he already here? I texted him the room number, what-ten minutes ago? How did he get here so fast? Did he teleport or something?

I exhale, smoothing down my hair and tugging at the hem of my sleep shorts. Pushing myself off the bed, I pad across the room and open the door.

And there he is.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual even though my voice comes out weirdly small.

He lifts a little paper bag with a bottle of wine peeking out the top. “Mind if I come in?”

I step aside, letting him walk in, and his clean scent follows him inside. I shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a second longer.

“You were fast,” I say, watching him drop his duffel bag next to the nightstand.

He gives a small shrug. “I don’t like to keep people waiting.”

I raise a brow. “Since when did you become a gentleman?”

He presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “Wow. Okay. Didn’t expect to get roasted the second I walked in.”

I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head as I climb back onto the bed and pull my knees up. He joins me after a second, taking off his hoodie and tossing it over the chair. First the duffel, now the hoodie. Is he planning to stay the night or something? My stomach does this weird flip and I swallow.

The room goes quiet for a beat, comfortable but still heavy with whatever it is he came here to say. I rake my fingers through my hair, searching for the right way to start this conversation that’s been eating at me for the past twenty minutes.

“So…”

“We should drink this,” he cuts in. He gets up, pulling two plastic cups from the bag that held the wine. “You can take this, right?”

I nod quickly. “Yeah. I drink wine. Besides, I’m sleeping alone here, so… it’s kind of perfect.”

He smirks a little, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Perfect setup, huh? Guess I came prepared then.”

He opens the bottle with a pop that makes us both flinch, and pours a little into my cup, then fills his own.

“Cheers,” I say, raising my cup.

He taps his against mine, a faint chuckle slipping out. I take a sip, and my eyes widen. “This is actually so good.”

“I have good taste,” he says, grinning in that smug, teasing way that makes me want to roll my eyes and I do.

“You have decent taste.” I mutter, taking another sip.

“Decent?” He scoffs playfully. “You’re drinking free wine and still judging me?”

I grin into my cup, take another sip and the room slips into a quiet rhythm after that. Somehow, fifteen minutes pass and the bottle’s nearly empty.

I swirl what’s left in my cup, glancing at him. He’s leaning back against the headboard now, his cup in hand, and eyes a little distant.

“So…” he starts, and just like that, my pulse jumps. Here it comes. He hesitates, his thumb brushing the rim of his cup. “I did something,” he says finally, his voice lower now. “And I haven’t been completely honest with you about it.”

My stomach tightens.”What do you mean?”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair before setting his cup down on the bedside table.

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