Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 96

KATY’S POV

“Do you think this jacket is too flowery?” Lucy asks, turning slightly as she smooths the fabric between her fingers. “I wanted to go for black, but this looked better. Right?”

Ngozi studies her from head to toe, taking her time before answering. “It’s not flowery,” she says finally. “It’s cool.” Then her attention shifts to herself and she reaches up, lightly touching her hair. “What about mine? Is it too much? I don’t want it to look like I really tried.”

I let out a quiet sigh as their voices fade into background noise. We’re standing outside, waiting for the hockey team bus to pull in, and I can’t help thinking that I’ve never seen Lucy or any of these girls put this much thought into debate. And I don’t mean preparation to actually win.

It’s seven in the morning. Seven. It’s freezing and I came out in my long coat and loose cargos, no makeup, hair half-falling out of place. It’s comfortable and practical. I’m just here to get on the bus and survive the cold.

Everyone else looks like they’re headed somewhere important. Somewhere with cameras. Lucy’s outfit looks expensive, and her makeup is flawless at an hour when most people are still half-asleep. A few of the girls are in leggings, which honestly feels criminal in this weather.

They keep insisting they didn’t make an effort, but everything about them says otherwise. The extra outfits, the subtle checking of reflections, the way they keep adjusting things that don’t need fixing. Trying not to look like you tried still counts as trying.

It’s actually kind of hilarious. When I first told Lucy about the plan, she tried badly to hide how excited she was. The original list was ten people, which already felt like a lot. Now we’re twelve. Jake and Solomon somehow got replaced, and suddenly it’s all girls. I guess the debate team is suddenly very into hockey. Good for us.

“Katy.” Lucy appears at my side, eyes darting around like she’s counting heads. “Are you sure we’re all going to fit? It’s one bus, right?”

“It’s a charter bus,” I say. “They’ve got, like, forty seats.”

She nods, a little smile playing on her lips. “I just wanted to confirm the arrangement.”

Behind her, Ngozi leans in. “So we’re good, right?”

Lucy nods again, and the two of them giggle quietly to themselves.

Jesus. I already feel a headache coming on.

Even Allie tried to sign up for debate this morning just to come along. Crazy, right?

Maybe I’m speaking from a privileged position, considering I’m dating the captain but I really don’t remember being this giddy every time I saw a bunch of jocks. Or was I?

The long-awaited bus finally comes into view, easing toward the curb before coming to a slow stop. Around me, everyone starts shifting; hands going to bag straps, nervous energy rippling through the group. I lift my bag onto my shoulder and wait.

The assistant coach steps down from the bus. I recognize him immediately because the dyed beard gives him away and Luke had already given me the rundown. Apparently, this is the guy who loves making things difficult, especially when it comes to seating or benching players. According to Luke, he’s a pain in the ass.

He barely shows up for practice, but always appears on game days because he somehow has NHL connections. No one really knows the details and no one really cares either.

He stops in front of us and plants his hands on his hips. A whistle hangs loose around his neck, tapping lightly against his chest.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says. “I’m Coach Brisket, and I hope this is everyone.”

I nod. “Yes. There are twelve of us.”

He looks us over slowly, eyes moving from one face to the next. Then he gives a small nod of his own. “Are you the president?”

I shake my head slightly. “That’s Lucy,” I say, pointing toward her. “But for the purpose of this trip, I’m the one in charge.”

Brisket narrows his eyes, like he doesn’t quite like what I’ve said. Or maybe he just doesn’t like me already. Either way, he holds my gaze a second longer than necessary.

Thanks to everything I picked up from my painfully awkward semi-friendship with Braydon’s friends-formed after they caught me dancing yesterday, of all things, I’ve learned not to look away first. So I don’t.

“Why are you suddenly the leader?” he asks. “Isn’t Lucy capable?”

“Oh, she is,” I say evenly. “Very capable. But this was my suggestion, and she thought it made sense for me to represent the group.”

One of his eyebrows lifts. “And who did you suggest this to?”

Don’t lose it yet, Katy. This man is an asshole but you were warned. Breathe. Embrace it.

“Braydon Cooper,” I reply. “He spoke with Coach Turner and they approved us traveling with the team.”

“Braydon Cooper,” he repeats slowly.

I know he’s been briefed about all this which only makes the questioning feel unnecessary.

“I assume you didn’t just walk up to him and ask for a free seat on the team bus,” he continues. “So how did this-”

“He’s my boyfriend,” I say, cutting him off.

That seems to shut him up. He swallows whatever he was about to say, his jaw tightening before he looks past me. He scans the group one last time, like he’s counting again even though he already knows the number.

“Very well,” he says finally. He turns and starts toward the bus. “Come with me. All of you.”

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