Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 95

KATY’S POV

My eyes flutter open slowly and for a moment, the room is just a blur of shapes and light. I’m lying flat on Braydon’s bed, still naked,

I blink a few times and notice the empty space beside me. He’s not here,

Before I can even call out his name, my gaze lands on a sticky note by the bedside. I squint at the messy handwriting: “Out for practice, baby. Made you omelettes. Greek yogurt and granola too.”

I let out a soft, defeated sigh and slump back into the mattress. Blanket pulled over me, I stare at the ceiling. Ugh. I actually have to get up, eat and function. Why does he always have practice so early? Why can’t mornings just exist for cuddling? My eyes drift to the clock and it’s nine am. It’s not terrifyingly early, but early enough to feel like a punishment.

I lie in bed a little longer, debating if I can just stay under the blanket a few more minutes. But the omelette isn’t coming to me, no matter how much I wish it would and I’m starving. With a reluctant groan, I push myself up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, dragging my feet across the floor.

At his wardrobe, my hand fumbles over shirts until I grab one. I pull it over my head, ignoring the rumble in my stomach that’s reminding me I didn’t actually eat much last night. It was more about aesthetics than quantity.

In the kitchen, I plate the omelette, check the fridge for the Greek yogurt, and carry everything to the living room. I collapse on the sofa and eat in record time: less than ten minutes before the plates are dumped in the sink. Then it’s off to freshen up, trying to shake off the lingering grogginess.

Luckily, Braydon has an extra toothbrush. After a quick shower, I use it, rinse my mouth, and grab his headset on the way back to the living room, still in his shirt.

Maybe it’s the food finally hitting my system, or maybe it’s the thrill of having’s

apartment all to myself, but I put the headset on and turn the music up.

Next thing I know, I’m dancing. Like… really dancing. I hope he doesn’t have hidden cameras

in here, because I’m moving like I’ve got bugs crawling all over me. I’m not a good dancer, not even a little but it feels good.

So good that I don’t hear the knock at the door. So good that I don’t hear the key’s jingle. So good that I completely miss the text on my phone.

I’m lost in the rhythm with my eyes closed, hips moving, and arms doing whatever they want until I spin around and open my eyes.

I freeze.

Four pairs of eyes are staring straight at me.

I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, matching the pounding bass in the headset. Slowly, I yank the headset off, convinced I’m seeing things. But no. The four people are still there, blinking with their mouths slightly open.

A scream tears out of my throat.

And, almost in perfect sync, four semi-masculine, slightly feminine screams echo right back at me.

I scream again, my hands flying to my face.

They scream again.

I cry out and finally, the panic takes over. I’m running, feet stumbling over the floor as I crash into the room and slam the door shut. I press myself against it, my chest heaving, and heart pounding like a drum.

For a long moment, I just stay there, trying to convince myself this didn’t actually happen. It can’t have happened. No way Luke, Justin, and Martin just saw me in my absolute worst form, flailing around like some kind of maniac in Braydon’s sheer shirt, my n*****s fully visible.

Wait… did Braydon scream with them?

Oh. He fucking did. For what exactly?

I groan, burying my face in my hands. He’s in trouble, yes but I am so much worse off. My cheeks are on fire, and my brain is spiraling. I stagger toward the bed, collapsing onto it like a deflated balloon, slapping a hand over my forehead.

And then… the door opens.

Braydon steps in, and for a second he looks almost… sheepish like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“And I’m trying to fix it,” he says, standing up. He grabs a pair of shorts, a big shirt and holds them out to me. “Put these on and come out with me.”

I hesitate, staring at them. Maybe he’s right. If I’m getting on that bus with them, I can’t hide in this room forever. Still, it feels like falling on a sword after the screaming and the running and the absolute disaster of it all.

Slowly, I pull the clothes on. Braydon takes my hand and gently tugs me to my feet, guiding my reluctant steps toward the door.

“Wait,” I blurt, coming to a stop. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to breathe before letting him pull me along again.

The living room feels way smaller than it did five minutes ago. Luke, Martin, and Justin are all crammed onto one sofa, sitting stiff and awkward, like they’ve been waiting for an interrogation. Justin won’t even look at me, and that somehow makes everything worse. I suddenly have a very strong urge to melt into the floor.

“Hi, guys,” I say, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. “How was practice? Did Braydon tell you my team is hanging out with your squad?”

The words sound weird the second they leave my mouth.

“Yeah,” Luke says, way too quickly.

I nod. “That’s… cool.”

My eyes drift to Justin again. I really look at him this time and realize he’s holding something back. His lips twitch. Oh no. Is he about to laugh? At me?

Martin shifts, sitting forward on the edge of the couch. “Braydon said he’d beat me if I bring it up, but…” He glances at Justin. “Did you take dance classes?”

Justin completely loses it.

He bursts out laughing, and Braydon immediately launches something at his head. The room erupts with laughter, protests, Braydon yelling, and Justin wheezing.

Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, I make a quiet, life-altering decision: I am never. Ever. Dancing again.