Filed to story: Katy and Brayden Cooper Novel
He steps closer, and with a maddening slowness, pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. My skin burns at the contact.
“We just made a deal, Peach,” he says softly. “And the way I see it, that makes you my girlfriend now. If we’re gonna convince Bryan, we don’t get to half-ass it. He can smell bullshit a mile away so we do what real couples do.”
The room feels like it’s closing in, the air too thick, my heartbeat too loud. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. If I want Bryan to choke on this, I have to play the part.
I nod, forcing the words out. “Maybe…we should practice holding hands and some physical stuff. Just to make it natural.”
He almost laughs but reins it in, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Practice, huh? Okay, Peach. Let’s practice.”
He guides me stiffly to the couch and sits beside me. Then he extends his hand, and my throat dries. Slowly, I reach out and take it. The moment our skin touches, a zap of electricity shoots through me, and I yank my hand back. He feels it too, and I can tell because he doesn’t tease me.
Instead, he licks his lips. “Let’s try again. Extend your hand.”
I swallow, shove my hand forward, and he takes it. His fingers weave through mine, and my heart slams against my ribs, so loud it feels impossible he can’t hear it. His gaze lingers on me as he strokes the back of my hand with his thumb, and shivers ripple down my spine. Why does something as simple as holding his hand make me feel this way?
“See?” he murmurs. “It’s not that hard.”
I nod quickly, pretending the heat in my belly isn’t getting worse with every second. He shifts closer, his shoulder brushing mine, and his scent floods my senses.
“Now,” he says, his voice dropping, “next on the list of physical contact is kissing.”
KATY’S POV
I rip my hand away, glaring at him, my pulse thundering in my ears. “Are you out of your mind?”
He snorts. “Do you, or do you not, want Bryan to believe we’re dating?”
My jaw drops in outrage. “What does that have to do with my lips?”
He shakes his head like I’m hopeless. “What do you think relationships are? Study groups? Business meetings?” He leans closer, and I instinctively lean back, my heart racing. “Men are physical beings and I’m the most physical of all. Bryan knows that. If he notices I’m not all over you, we’ve got a problem. And we don’t want problems, do we?”
I bite my lip and look away, my brain spiraling. Maybe I should find someone else for this fake-dating nonsense, because his suggestions are ridiculous. He makes me react in ways I don’t understand, and now I’m actually considering kissing him. Him, of all people.
No.
I cross my arms and face him. “This isn’t a game. It’s fake dating, and I am not kissing you.”
He leans back, unfazed. “Okay, then what do you suggest we do when we’re out? Bars, my hockey games…”
I blink. “Wait, bars? I have to go with you to bars? Why?”
He lifts a brow like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because that’s what girlfriends do.”
Oh, this is already too much. The thought of hanging out with his friends, who I’m sure are just as loud and cocky as he is, makes my stomach turn.
“Trust me, Peach,” he says with that maddening grin, “if you show up on my arm at a bar, Bryan will lose his mind. You’ve got to do things with me you’d never do with him, or he’ll never buy it.”
I narrow my eyes. “And what exactly happens at this bar?”
“We have fun, grab a couple drinks, and I introduce you as my girlfriend…” His grin widens. “Oh, and heads up? Half the girls there will probably want to kill you.”
I roll my eyes, though I can’t deny it makes sense. Going out with him and stepping into his world will convince anyone we’re together. Bryan especially. He knows I hate loud places, so if he hears I went to a bar with Braydon, he’ll lose it.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll go.”
“And at least one home game,” he adds quickly.
I sigh. “That too.”
“And you’ll wear my jacket around campus.”
I give him a tight nod. “But no kissing. If you want that, call the redhead.”
His lips curve. “Why don’t you want to kiss me? Scared you’re bad at it?”
I scowl. “I’m a great kisser!”
“Yeah?” He leans in, close enough for my breath to catch. My heart skips, heat curling low in my stomach. “Then prove it.”
“Why do I have to prove anything to you?” I snap, though my palms are slick with sweat. “I know I’m a good kisser. End of story.”
His tilts his head. “I see fear in your eyes. Don’t worry, I get it.”
“Wh-” The sound sputters out of me. He’s unbelievable. “Why would I be scared to kiss you?”
He shakes his head slowly, like he’s humoring me. “A lot of people freeze up when-“
“Fine!” The word rips out of me before I can stop it. “Let’s do it.”
For a second, his eyes widen, shock flickering there before it melts into a smile. His green eyes darken, heat sparking in them or maybe it’s just me burning up. My hands tremble against my thighs, and my whole body feels like it’s caught fire.
This cannot be happening.
Except it is, because he leans in and closes the gap between us. Our knees brush, and it feels like sparks shooting through me. My hand lifts almost on its own, my fingers brushing his cheek and my thumb traces along his jawline. His eyes catch the light, and I swear I can see the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat.
Slowly, I tilt forward until my lips press against his.
The instant they touch, heat floods through me, racing from my mouth down the length of my body. My skin prickles, every nerve coming alive with a low pull in my stomach that I can’t control. He tastes faintly of beer as his tongue slides in my mouth, but somehow it’s addictive, like I’ve never tasted it before.
For a moment, I forget everything: where we are, why we’re doing this, and even who I’m with. All I feel is heat rolling through me.
And then reality slams back.
I’m kissing Braydon. The last person I should ever be kissing.
Panic claws at my chest, and I rip myself away, breathless. My face burns hot, my chest rising and falling too fast. From the corner of my eye, I catch him licking his lips, and I tighten my thighs.
I should say something smart, but my throat is dry, and I don’t trust my voice not to give me away. My palms are damp, so I rub them against my jeans, praying he won’t point out how rattled I am.
“Well,” he drawls at last, his eyes locked on me, “I guess we have chemistry. We’ve got nothing to worry about.”