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.

If it was anyone else, I’d contemplate if this is transactional. Maybe I feel this way because he helped me and maybe he’s looking at me like this for a reward. But with him, it’s different. I can’t tell if it’s because I want to kiss him so bad I can’t think straight. Or because I want to trace his chest and hear him whimper in my ears.

Before my brain can tell me this is a terrible idea, I lean in, bridging the gap, and catch his lips with mine. I kiss him slowly, tasting the faint wine in his tongue and he’s completely in sync. He moves immediately, and he scoops me up onto his lap, shoving the pillow out of the way.

I grip his hoodie, my fingers curling in the fabric to match his pace. As I struggle to close the last impossible inch of space, I plunge my fingers into his hair, using the grip to pull his mouth down harder onto mine and he lets out a soft moan when I nibble on his bottom lip.

His large hands grip my ass, squeezing in a way that sends heat pooling between my legs.

Then he tears his mouth away, just an inch, his breath hot against my chin. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he admits and he’s back, his kiss deeper, and more consuming.

His hands abandon my waist and find the hem of my oversized shirt, sliding underneath to trace a line up my ribs and shivers chase the path of every touch. When his fingers find my n*****s and pinch the sensitive skin, a moan tears out of me.

“Do that again,” I demand, as I rotate my hips, straddling him fully.

He obeys instantly, his eyes darkening as he repeats the motion. The piercing pleasure is too much and my head snaps back to the dizzying feeling. God, how is he driving me this insane with just his fingers?

“Take this off,” he orders, as he grabs my shirt, already pulling. In a split second, it’s gone, tossed somewhere over the messy desk, and his hot mouth clamps down immediately on my n****e.

“Oh, Brayd..,” I start to whisper, but the name dies in my throat as he sucks hard, pulling my skin tight. I’m instantly dizzy, a hot, liquid need rushing through me. I plunge my hands into his hair, pushing his head down, encouraging the pleasure as his tongue swirls and teases me. He moves to the other side while his fingers torture the first, and I’m a shivering, desperate mess on his lap.

“I need to feel you on my mouth,” he murmurs, lifting his head just enough for his eyes to lock onto mine. “Will you let me?”

My head is bobbing into a frantic, immediate nod before I even process the question. He spins me then, pinning me to the mattress, and I swallow as his gaze, hot and dark, fixes on

Slowly, his hands begin their dance, tracing a line from my ankles, up my calves, and then across the skin of my thighs. The feeling is intoxicating, making my head swim. Just as his fingers brush the sensitive skin of my inner thigh-

“Katy?”

We freeze. My eyes fly open, darting to the door. A knock follows, and my phone starts buzzing its ugly, cheerful ringtone on the bedside table.

In a flash of panicked adrenaline, I scramble off the bed, grabbing my top and shoving it over my head. I grab the phone and it’s Mrs. Katherine calling.