Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 73

KATY’S POV

I push open the door to our little two-person room and slump against the frame with a sigh. My legs feel like wet noodles, and honestly, if teleportation was a thing, I’d have used it hours ago.

“You’re back!” Allie’s shriek from across the hall makes me jump.

“Oh my god,” I clutch my chest, collapsing to the floor. “Allieeee….one day, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

She storms closer, grabs me by the shoulders, and hauls me upright. “No way. You are too important to just die that easily. Besides,” she adds with a grin, bouncing on the tips of her toes, “I still haven’t had my wedding, and you’re my bridesmaid. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

I glare at her and shake her hands off me, suddenly remembering I didn’t see her before I flew to Chicago, thanks to her disappearing act.

She pouts, clearly expecting my scolding. “Bestie,” she tries again, reaching for me.

“Don’t even play that card,” I snap, trudging toward my room. I kick my shoes into a corner, peel off my shirt, bra, and shorts, and slump onto my bed with a sigh.

A rustling sound catches my attention and I sit up. My eyes flick to Allie and she’s already rifling through my bag, her nose practically buried in my stuff. I clear my throat, and she freezes, straightening instantly with another dramatic pout.

“Girl, your boobs look bigger,” she says, tilting her head and giving me a fake jealous glare.

“I can’t believe you,” I groan, not even glancing at my bare chest.

“Thank you for the chocolates,” She whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“They’re not for you,” I snap, beckoning for the bag. She hesitates, then hands it over like a

toddler in the middle of a tantrum. “You don’t deserve them.”

Her lips twitch into a mischievous grin. “What if I give you a massage?” She arches an eyebrow. “Will that change your mind?”

Oh. Damn it. I really do want a massage and my brain practically caves under the temptation. If Allie had been born a little earlier, I swear she would’ve been tried as a mind-reading witch.

“Only if you do it right,” I say, lying flat on my back.

She takes that as her cue and scoots closer, settling herself at the edge of the bed. Her fingers press gently at first, testing the knots in my shoulders, then gradually she starts working, kneading the tension out of my back. The warmth of her hands spreads through me, and I can’t deny how good it feels. I know how perverted this sounds, but honestly? Any guy who’s ever had the pleasure of her hands is probably ruined for life.

“So…how was the conference or convention…whatever?” She blurts.

“We are not talking until I’m satisfied with your service,” I respond.

She whimpers, “I’m sorry.”

I lift my head slightly as she massages my neck. “Are you?”

“Of course,” she replies, but then she takes her hands off.

“Continue,” I command, lying back again.

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