Filed to story: Katy and Brayden Cooper Novel
His tone leaves no room for argument. Gently but firmly, he guides me toward the bed and every time I try to speak, he talks over me. “Don’t talk. Just sleep.”
He tucks the blanket around me and once I’m settled, he straightens up and points toward the bags Mrs. Katherine brought. “I’m guessing most of this stuff won’t spoil overnight. Eat it tomorrow, yeah?”
I nod wordlessly, watching him as he crouches beside the mini-fridge and starts loading it in. When he finally grabs his hoodie and duffel bag, he pauses at the door, glancing back once.
“Goodnight, Katy,” he says softly. And then he leaves, shutting the door behind him.
I let out a long sigh and squeeze my eyes shut. Way to go, Katy,
BRAYDON’S POV
I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Not even a damn minute.
For someone who has three classes today, hockey practice, and a paper due tomorrow, I’m really testing how far I can push my body before it crashes.
And if you’re wondering why…yeah, it’s because of Katy Evans.
That girl.
She’s been living rent-free in my head for weeks, and last night? She took the penthouse suite. Honestly, one of these days, she’s gonna be the death of me.
I used to be the guy who had everything figured out. The guy who could walk into a room, flash a grin, and walk out with a number or two. I knew what I was doing, especially in bed. Not to sound cocky, but I could make a girl lose her mind with a single finger. Hell, I once thought I could turn an asexual person sexual if I wanted to.
But after meeting Katy, I’m now questioning every damn thing. So much that I actually spent five hours last night staring at the ceiling, wondering if all the times I thought I was good in bed, I was just fooling myself. Two hundred times-give or take-and now I can’t stop thinking, were they all faking it?
That thought alone messed with my head more than I want to admit.
And as much as that stung my ego, the thought that the only reason Katy almost fucked me last night was because she was tipsy, straight-up killed it.
The image of her sobering up and looking at me with regret, maybe even disgust is stuck in my mind. It’s just there, looping on repeat like some messed-up memory. My d**k wouldn’t even harden to take a piss this morning. Yeah, that’s how bad it got.
I’ve come to the conclusion that she loathes my body. I don’t think she sees me the way I see her. She probably hates how close we’ve gotten, hates that her body reacts to mine. I can tell she only enjoys being around me when I’m teaching her about sex, when we’re in lesson mode. Then, she can hide behind curiosity, like it’s academic or something.
But I’m not trying to exploit that side of her.
I want her to want me. Not because she’s curious, not because she’s tipsy. But because she feels it, like really feels it.
Because when that happens, when Katy Evans finally wants me the way I want her-God help me, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.
A sigh rips out of me as I open my hotel door and sling my duffel over my shoulder. Here’s to another day of pretending she’s not killing me.
“Hey, Braydon.”
Talk about the devil.
I drag in a breath and turn, forcing my face into something that looks like a smile. “Hi, Peach.
She stops in front of me, her hair pulled into this messy ponytail that works for just her and her scent wraps into my nose. Always roses and caramel. I swear I’d know she was close even if I were blindfolded.
“Did you sleep well?” she asks, like she didn’t completely destroy my mental stability last night.
“Uh, yeah,” I say.
“Good, because you’ve got a long day ahead.” She taps my shoulder lightly, her lips curling. “I checked your schedule. Good luck, you’ll need it.”
I give a half-laugh that sounds more like a cough and my stomach’s twisting itself into knots because she’s doing it again – acting like nothing ever happened. Same polite smile, same easy tone. She’s not avoiding me, not awkward, or even flustered.
It’s insane how she can look at me like I’m just… her friend. Her student, even. It messes with
“Let’s get you to the hospital,” I say, letting out a breath.
She nods. “Let’s go.”
I grab her bag before she can protest and sling it over my shoulder. It’s heavier than it looks and she gives me this small frown, the kind that says I can do it myself, but I ignore her.
“Relax, Peach. I work out,” I say with a grin.
That earns me an eye roll. “You think everything’s about your biceps.”
“It usually is.”
She shakes her head, smiling under her breath. And damn it, that smile gets me every time.
We walk toward my car, the quiet between us both comfortable and not. Just as I toss her bag into the back seat and reach for the door handle, my phone starts ringing.
I pull it out, ready to silence it, but stop when I see the name flashing on the screen.
My old man.
I sigh. It’s bloody eight twelve in the morning. Why the hell is he calling?
I hit mute anyway but before I can shove it into my pocket, a text follows.
HIM: You’re needed at the family lawyer’s office. Be here by 3 p.m. or you may regret it.
My jaw tightens, lips twitching as I stare at the screen. The family lawyer’s office? By three?
Seriously? Does he think I can just drop everything and teleport across the state? I’ve got classes, practice, and an actual life here.
And you may regret it? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I drag a hand through my hair and let out a humorless laugh. He can’t just ask for something like a normal person. Always a threat, always a game. He probably wants me there so he can dangle something over my head again.
Still, as much as I want to ignore it, I know better. When my father starts scheming, it’s usually smarter to play along than get blindsided later.
With a sigh, I shove the phone into my pocket and climb into the car. I’ve got to get Katy to the hospital first.
“What are you saying, Mr. Park?”
The family lawyer adjusts his glasses, clearing his throat before pointing to the printed document in front of me.