Filed to story: Katy and Brayden Cooper Novel
His eyes dart between me and the bed. “Were you expecting something?”
“No.”
“Not even this?”
Before I can respond, he pulls his hand from behind his back, holding out two slips of paper.
I blink. “What is that?”
He tilts his head. “Guess.”
I reach for them, but he dodges, moving just out of my grasp.
“Movie tickets?” I try. “Concert? Gosh, I hate not knowing things.”
He smirks, clearly enjoying every second of this. “Close.”
“Close?” I frown, trying to peek at the print. “Just tell me already!”
He holds the papers above his head. “You’re really bad at surprises, you know that?”
“Because you’re bad at giving them,” I shoot back.
He laughs, his perfect, pearly-white smile flashing before he steps closer. He grabs my hand, gently pries my fingers open, and places the slips in my palm.
I look down and freeze, my eyes widening.
Wait. Am I reading this right?
My eyes shoot back up to his face. “The Network Collective?”
His grin widens, full of satisfaction. “I was really looking forward to that look on your face.”
“No way.” I choke out. “Is this real?”
“Why would they be fake, Katy?” he drawls, leaning casually against the wall. “You think I can’t get them?”
“N-no, it’s not that,” I stammer. “It’s just, do you know how expensive these tickets are? Like, insane-level expensive.”
He shrugs. “Guess I like doing insane things.”
I look back down, the golden logo on the ticket glinting under his room lights and my brain’s short-circuiting. The Network Collective. It’s the biggest annual business conference in Chicago and every business major dreams of attending because it’s where CEOs, founders, and investors come to scout top students. Basically, the Met Gala for overachievers.
I’ve been obsessed with it since freshman year, but the tickets kept getting more ridiculous. They started at five grand, then seven and this year, it’s practically ten. Ten thousand dollars for a chance to breathe the same air as billionaires and somehow, I’m holding two tickets.
“This is like… a dream,” I whisper, still staring at them. My throat tightens as I look up at Braydon, who’s now watching me with that stupidly soft expression he tries to hide.
“How did you get this?” I ask, pouting slightly.
He crosses his arms and tilts his head. “I have my ways.”
“Braydon,” I press, narrowing my eyes. “You don’t come across as someone who likes business events.”
He shrugs, crossing one foot over the other. “Let’s just say I came up with an unconventional date plan for my very nerdy, fake girlfriend.”
I squeak and before my brain catches up, I’ve already thrown myself at him. I wrap my arms around his neck as I hug him tight, practically bouncing in place. “Thank you so much. Thank you.”
He laughs softly, his voice muffled against my hair. “Are you that happy?”
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, brushing my hair behind my ear. “I’ve literally wanted to attend this since freshman year. I’ve watched every livestream, stalked every panel online. This is, like, dream-level stuff.”
He nods. “Well, then, you better start picking out an outfit because it’s in three weeks.”
“Oh my gosh!” I squeal, hugging him again. “You’re actually the best, Braydon!”
When he pulls back, his hands rest lightly on my waist as he tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Then maybe I should get some kind of… tax.”
I blink. “Tax?”
“Boyfriend tax,” he clarifies, tapping his chin and pretending to think. “You know, like a kiss on the cheek or something. It’s only fair.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
But I still lean in and give him a quick peck.
He raises a brow. “That was too fast.”
I bite back a smile and do it again and again until he suddenly turns his head and my lips brush against his unexpectedly.
I stop.
The air shifts immediately, and my pulse skips. Slowly, I pull away, my hand flying to scratch the back of my neck.
I don’t even need to look up to know he’s smirking. I can feel it radiating off him.
“Let’s, um…” I mumble. “Go over some topics. I have an hour.”
He moves to the bed, tapping the space beside him. “Sit.”
The way his lips twitch tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Rolling my eyes, I walk to the other side of the bed and sit down, putting a safe distance between us. I pull out my textbook and start flipping through the pages. He watches me for a second, clearly amused, before mirroring my moves, grabbing his own textbook and pretending to be serious.
“Page 142,” I say.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies.
For the next hour, we actually manage to study. Well, mostly. Braydon pays more attention than usual, though he keeps throwing in random, ridiculous questions just to make me laugh. At one point, he asks if corporate finance could be applied to running a lemonade stand, and somehow, I spend five minutes explaining profit margins before realizing he’s just teasing me again.
By the end, I quiz him on ten questions. He gets seven right, an actual improvement compared to last time.