Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 92

KATY’S POV

Braydon buries his face in my hair, tugging me closer until my body molds against his bare chest. I press my cheek to him, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

His fingers trace lazy patterns along my shoulder, then drift up to cup my chin. I feel him tilt my face gently toward his, and I meet his gaze.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asks.

I blink at him, running through my schedule in my head: classes, Allie’s tutoring session… nothing that stressful.

“Depends,” I say slowly, biting my lip. “On what time.”

“Seven pm.”

I furrow my brows, searching his face for clues, but he’s already fighting back a smirk.” What’s happening at seven?” I ask, curiosity tinged with suspicion.

He picks up a strand of my hair, rolling it between his fingers before leaning in, his breath warm against my ear. “I’ll send a dress,” he whispers.

Before I can process that, he’s already getting up from the bed.

“I haven’t said yes,” I call after him, trying to look unimpressed even though my insides are doing a whole cheerleading routine.

Because yes, despite everything, I’m still a sucker for the small things: actual dates, being asked out properly, and someone picking a dress for me. Those are the moments that make me kick my feet when I read romance books, and living them in real life feels unreal.

Braydon pokes his head out from the bathroom doorway, leaning against the frame with a playful smirk.

“And what will it take to change your mind, mi lady?” he asks in this terrible medieval accent that almost has me laughing before I can stop myself.

I sit up, cross my arms, and plant my lips in a dramatic pout.

“I told you I need a favor from you,” I say, trying to sound annoyed but failing spectacularly.” You don’t even care about me.”

He comes out of the bathroom, looking genuinely appalled, and stops in front of me. His arms hang loosely at his sides, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“You know I said I’d do it regardless,” he says, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “But tell me, what is it?”

I exhale slowly. “Okay… so,” I start, “we have a debate round in Salem on Saturday, right? And we don’t have a bus to get us there. And… well, I may have mentioned, um, that you have a car I could borrow.” I shrug, trying to act casual. “So now… I need to save my image and my ego.”

When I finish, he’s wearing that amused smirk again. Honestly, I expected it. I’ve come to realize that he finds basically everything I do perpetually funny or cute, and I’ve learned to live with it. Whatever works for him.

He settles beside me, still grinning.

“I love you, Peach,” he says, “but have you considered that you might actually be a bad driver? And, you know… maybe endanger other people if I let you use my car?”

I gasp, my eyes narrowing as I glare at him. “I can drive.”

“Really?” He lifts an eyebrow.

“Ughh.” I run a hand through my hair. “You’re so annoying. I’m serious, I got my license even before Justin. He’s the terrible driver.”

I expect him to fire back with some sarcastic remark, but instead, he presses his lips together, holding back a laugh. I hate to say it but it’s actually worse than if he’d teased me outright.

“You know what, forget it.” I snap, turning away and folding my arms. Deep down, my mind mutters, “Hold me. Apologize to me.” And, of course, a tiny smile creeps onto my face when his hands wrap around me, pulling me closer.

“Come on,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my chin while I gently push at him. “You know I’m just pulling your leg. You’re so cute when you act like this.”

I nudge his head away, trying to keep my composure. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

For some reason, I can still hear the humor in his voice when he says, “Okay, let’s do it this way.” He gently forces me to face him, and his tone shifts to something more serious.

“I’m Maria Jefferson,” the woman says. “You reached out via sss regarding your pitch for the Blackrock grant.”

My heart slams against my ribs, and I have to cover my mouth with one hand to keep from squealing. I feel my knees go a little weak, and I catch my own breath. “Oh… yes! That… that’s me,” I stammer, my words rushing out in a nervous jumble. “I… I emailed after speaking with Leo Vance on the phone a few days ago. I didn’t… I didn’t expect you to respond so quickly.”

Her calm, professional voice continues on the other end, but all I can focus on is how unreal this feels. She coached one of the previous winners of the Blackrock grant. Her. The actual Maria Jefferson. My fingers tighten around the phone, my stomach twisting into knots of excitement and nerves.

“How about we schedule a call to discuss this further?” Maria asks.

“Of course,” I manage to say, my voice trembling just a little despite my best effort to sound calm. “I’d love that.”

She begins explaining the next steps, and I can hardly focus on her words because my mind is spinning. My grin stretches across my face like it might crack. Every instruction, and every detail, feels surreal. I keep nodding and murmuring small affirmations, but inside, it’s chaos with my heartbeat racing like it’s trying to jump out of my chest.

When the call finally ends, I can’t help myself. I barely notice Braydon as I spring toward him, practically leaping into his arms.

“Woah,” he says, steadying me easily. “What’s with all the excitement?”

I lean back just enough to look at him, my grin still wide and ridiculous. “Remember Leo Vance said he has a friend who coached one of the previous Blackrock winners and asked me to sss her?” I explain. He nods and I continue. “Well… that was her. She actually wants to know more about my idea, about my product. She wants a call. Braydon… she actually wants to talk to me.”

For a moment, he just stares at me, his grin spreading slowly across his face until it’s impossible not to match it. Then, without warning, he grabs my chin and presses an aggressive kiss to my lips.

“That’s so cool,” he murmurs, his forehead resting briefly against mine. “You’re so cool.”

I can’t help but smile, shaking my head. “No, you’re the cool one,” I argue. “How else would this even happen if you hadn’t walked up to them and told them about me?”

He tilts his head, pretending to consider this seriously. “Well… that’s true,” he admits, his smirk creeping back. “In that case,” he leans a little closer, “show your appreciation by staying over tonight.”

I reach out instinctively and smack the back of his head, laughing. “Seriously?”