Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 66

KATY’S POV

Life has a twisted sense of humor. One day, you’re dramatically declaring to yourself that you’ll never fall for a guy, that you’ll never end up in his bed, and that you’re saving yourself for emotional stability or whatever and the next, you’re waking up sore in places you didn’t even know existed because of that same guy.

At least, I get extra points for actually enjoying the whole thing…more than him, actually.

I groan softly, blinking my eyes open. For a moment, I expect to see Braydon lying beside me, but the bed’s empty.

My head sinks into the pillow as I glance around his room. It looks half-destroyed with clothes everywhere, his hoodie draped over a chair, and my bra hanging off his lamp like a sad trophy. Then I hear it: the unmistakable clank of a pot or something.

Wait. Is he… making breakfast?

A blush crawls up my cheeks. Seriously, when did he turn into this kind of guy?

Footsteps approach, and panic instantly kicks in. I flop back down, yanking the blanket over my head like an idiot. The door creaks open, and I hear something being set on the desk before the mattress dips.

He’s sitting beside me.

And my heart is suddenly running a marathon.

I feel his hand on my head, his fingers brushing through my hair in slow, lazy strokes before he leans in close.

“Are you going to keep pretending?” he murmurs.

My stomach flutters. How does he always know? I want to melt into this bed, maybe vanish completely.

Slowly, I lower the blanket and peek up at him.

Heat floods my face instantly. Braydon’s looking down at me with those beautiful green eyes, his hair a perfect mess like he just rolled out of a magazine cover. God, is this how he looks every morning? No wonder girls lose their minds over him. If he greeted me like this every day, I’d probably lose my sanity too.

“Morning, Peach,” he drawls, his voice rough and a little deeper than usual.

“Hi,” I reply quickly, my voice a mix of shy and sweet as I bite my lip.

His lips tilt into a teasing smirk. “How was your night?”

That question alone almost makes me dive back under the blanket, but I don’t. Somehow, I hold his gaze and the way his eyes glint tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I probably got three hours of sleep, max, and he’s sitting here acting like he wasn’t the reason behind it. And I could tell him last night was unforgettable but that’d only feed his ego.

“It was very boring,” I say finally, deciding to play along.

His mouth twitches. “What parts exactly?”

“All the parts,” I reply, rolling my eyes for effect.

He leans in, close enough for his breath to brush my lips. “I highly doubt that.”

Before I can come up with a clever comeback, his lips find mine with a soft, slow, and way too good for this early in the morning kiss.

By the time he pulls away, I’m breathless, and he’s already getting up. He crosses the room, grabs a tray from the desk, and returns with it balanced in one hand.

“I made breakfast,” he says.

“You did?” I sit up a little, clutching the blanket to my chest. His gaze flickers down, just for a second but it’s enough. I see the look in his eyes, the way he gets lost for a heartbeat like he’s trying to remember what to say. And somehow, that makes me the one covered in goosebumps.

He sets the tray down carefully on the bed, the smell of pancakes and eggs filling my nose, then crosses over to his wardrobe. I watch as he pulls out a black T-shirt and walks back to me, holding it out.

“Here,” he says simply.

“Thank you,” I mumble, taking it from him.

“Your dress is in my wardrobe,” he adds, nodding toward it. “And your panties too.”

My face warms instantly. “Great. Thanks for the update.”

He smirks but doesn’t comment, just turns to fix something on the tray while I slip into his shirt. It’s soft, hanging loosely on me, and it smells like him. When I finally let the blanket fall, he glances over but quickly looks away, pretending to focus on the plates,

He hands me one: a plate with pancakes stacked neatly with sliced strawberries on top, drizzled with syrup and a side of scrambled eggs. Not just edible. Actually impressive with a cup of tea.

He pulls me closer, the distance between our bodies collapsing, and I feel the entire world narrow down to the heat of his mouth and the pressure of his hands.

I wrap my arms around his torso, leaning into the contact, completely losing track of why we are standing up in the first place. This is way better than a shower.

And just as his hands hover under my shirt, a loud shriek jolts me back. I gasp, staggering back a step, and my eyes darting frantically toward my discarded pile of clothes.

“What have you got a reminder for?” he asks, his breathing a little uneven as he tries to recapture his composure. He looks just as thrown as I feel, and it’s kind of adorable.

I spot my purse and snatch up my phone. I turn to face him, holding the screen up like evidence. “The Network Collective,” I announce. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Oh.” His eyes go wide, and he runs a hand through his hair, scratching the back of his neck. “Damn. I almost forget about that.”

“Thank God for reminders,” I tell him, shaking my head. I can’t imagine missing something like that.

Placing my phone on the desk, I advance toward him and loop my arms around his neck, leaning in close. “Are you excited to go with me?” I whisper, letting my tone drift into something suggestive.

He catches my bottom lip with his teeth, giving it a playful suck. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he murmurs back, his eyes darkening as he pulls me tighter.

I stroke the side of his ear gently, and he leans into my touch, closing his eyes briefly as he savors the contact. “I’m going to wear the diamond necklace you got me.”

His eyes snap open, surprise flashing in their depths. “You know?”

I let out a small, disbelieving scoff. “How long did you intend to act all casual about it, Braydon?”

He shrugs, a hint of awkwardness finally appearing on his usually confident face. “I don’t know… it just felt weird telling you. Felt like bragging, I guess.”

“I think you earn the right to brag when you buy a girl a diamond necklace,” I argue, running my fingers through the hair at his nape.

Suddenly, before I can say anything else, he swoops down and lifts me clean off my feet.

“I’d brag later,” he says. “but not about a necklace.”

He kisses my neck aggressively and that makes me giggle uncontrollably. He doesn’t slow down, carrying me effortlessly across the room and heading straight for the bathroom door.