Filed to story: Katy and Brayden Cooper Novel
“You say it’s nothing, but in a few weeks, you’ll be making out with him!” I scoff, heat bubbling up in my chest. “So this is because you don’t trust me? You think I’m that easy?” “It’s not you I don’t trust.” He shakes his head, his finger pointing at Braydon even though his eyes stay on me. “It’s him.” Braydon sits up straighter, looking almost offended. “Forgive me, bud, but she’s not my type.” I whip my head toward him, disbelief and anger hitting me at the same time.
My glare could burn holes through him, but he just shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “She’s definitely not my type,” he repeats, casual as ever. The room goes dead silent for a second, then Justin slowly turns his head and narrows his eyes at Braydon. “What the f**k are you saying? That my sister isn’t your type?
Are you trying to insinuate something?” Braydon rises to his feet, his palms out and eyebrows raised. “Hold on. Let me get this straight.” He points between the two of us. “Justin, are you pissed about our arrangement… or the fact that your sister’s not my type?” Justin drags in a deep breath and lets it out, his shoulders sagging like he’s suddenly tired of all of this. “I don’t care anymore.
Just stop whatever this is or I’ll cancel the whole tutoring thing.” “And I said no.” I counter. “Why do you think you get to make decisions for me? You’ve had three girlfriends in one year, and I haven’t tried to police you about it.” “That’s differe-” “Different how?” I snap before he can finish. “Because I’m a girl? You think I’m na?ve?
I’ve got a 4.0 GPA, sixteen medals from different awards, and I wasn’t dumb enough to forgive Bryan for cheating on me. So tell me, what exactly makes you think you’re smarter at making decisions than me?” The room goes quiet, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch Braydon watching me with raised brows, like he didn’t expect that speech. He looks almost impressed, but I don’t care. I’m pissed. He said I’m not his type?
Really? “And about Braydon,” I say, folding my arms tight across my chest, “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to fall for him or just topple into his bed?” I stare at Justin like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s suggested. “Look at him, he probably has a fifty-plus body count of girls. Maybe even boys. Who knows?” Braydon’s mouth opens as if to protest, but I cut him off before he can find a word.
“I’m not desperate to add my name to that list, okay? And let me make this perfectly clear: he’s not my type. Not physically, not emotionally, not sexually and hell, not even mentally.” I take a breath. “So…unless you’ve got another reason to barge into my decisions, I’d like to end this discussion now.” When I finish, Justin looks speechless. His gaze shifts to Braydon, whose easy smirk is long gone, and his face is tight now, clouded with visible displeasure.
But I don’t care. He started this. I can finish it. “So…” Justin rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting between us. “I can trust you?
No hooking up, no… other s**t when I’m not around?” “Yes.” Braydon cuts in before I can even open my mouth. “One hundred percent sure.” The way he says it isn’t for Justin. It’s for me. His eyes lock on mine, and every line in his face spells out the same thing: he’s pissed.
KATY’S POV
I close the door to Braydon’s room and sit on the edge of his bed, dropping my bag beside me. My eyes sweep the space because knowing him, it wouldn’t be shocking to find a used condom wrapper lying around.
“I think we should start with marketing theories,” I say. “Then maybe look at how they apply in real life situations.”
I flip open a textbook, pretending not to notice the way his eyes flicker toward me and then away, like he can’t stand the sight of me and also can’t help himself.
He leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Whatever. You’re the one with the 4.0 GPA, remember?”
The jab stings, but I bite my tongue. “Let’s start with Marketing Management then.”
“Okay.”
The one-word response grates on my nerves. It’s not like I expect him to serenade me or ramble on, but at least he could pretend to want this session.
“Open page fourteen in your textbook and read the first line,” I tell him.
He drags his hand across the pages, flipping them with a slowness that makes my skin crawl. “What part should I read, again?”
I exhale and press my fingers against my temples. “Do you really want to do this tonight?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he snaps the book shut and swivels toward me, his eyes sharp. “You think I’m filthy, don’t you?”
I freeze. The question catches me so off guard and from the look on his face, I can tell he could no longer hold it in.
“What do you mean?” I manage.
“Back there,” he says, his voice colder than usual. “The thing with the body count. You think I’m dirty, right?”
I swallow, suddenly shrinking under his gaze. His eyes burn with something more complicated than anger, disappointment maybe. Like he expected me to be cooler, smarter, and I fell short. The thought of that makes my chest feel heavy, and I hate that I feel bad for letting him down.
“That’s not what I meant,” I respond. “And besides… I just wanted Justin to get off our case.”
“Really?” He arches a brow, his tone skeptical. “I don’t buy that, Katy.”
I lick my lips, my eyes darting anywhere but at him: his lamp, the corner of his desk, the floor. “You started it by saying…” I stop, the words catching in my throat. God, how dumb would I sound admitting I was actually pissed he called me not his type? “Can you just let it go? I didn’t mean it that way.”
He leans back in his chair. “Here’s a piece of advice,” he says. “Don’t judge people by what you assume you see. And newsflash: life isn’t all about grades. Out there in the real world, people have s*x when and how they want. Nobody’s keeping score but you.”
My chest tightens as he pauses, his eyes flicking over me before he continues. “If it makes you feel any better, so you don’t feel dirty sitting here, I’ve only had eight s****l partners. And I’m always protected. I get tested regularly. I’m clean.”
The bluntness of it makes my nose burn. He doesn’t wait for my reaction, but just turns back to his desk like the conversation never happened.
My fingers knot tighter in the sheets. I should say something or apologize, but my brain stalls. All this time, I assumed he had some wild fifty-plus body count. Turns out, I was way off. And somehow, that makes me feel worse.
I inhale. “I’m sorry, BrayBear.” I bite my lip. “And I don’t feel dirty around you. I was totally wrong for what I said.”
He turns back slowly, his brow still furrowed. “BrayBear?”
I press my lips together. “Your new nickname.”
He stares at me, and for a moment I wonder if I just made things worse. Then he lets out a low huff, somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “You’ve officially lost it.”
Relief trickles through me, though I try to hide it with a shrug. “It’s the best I could come up with.”
“You know what, let’s just do Bray.” He mutters. “Yeah, I’ll accept that.”
A small smile slips onto my face before I can stop it. He catches it instantly and shakes his head. “You seriously need some help, Peach.”
The nickname softens something in me, but his voice is still edged, like he’s not fully letting me off the hook. Still, it’s better than his attitude.
“Let’s get started now,” I say carefully, testing the air between us.
Instead of staying on his chair, he pushes it back with a scrape and drops onto the bed beside me. The mattress dips under his weight, and for a second I think he’s about to launch into another lecture. But then his eyes flick toward the door.
“You think Justin’s eavesdropping out there?” he asks.
The tension finally cracks. A laugh bursts out of me before I can hold it in, and when it dies down, he’s smirking, leaning back like he just won something.
“Was that a laugh?” he teases. “Did Katy Evans just laugh at my joke?”
“What?” I nudge him with my elbow, trying to hide the grin tugging at my lips.
He shakes his head like he’s figured me out and, without another word, flips open his textbook. For a second, I blink at him, thrown off by how easily he shifts gears. His eyes skim the page, and his voice is low but clear as he starts reading exactly where I asked him to.
I’m caught staring. I know I shouldn’t be that surprised he can read, but for someone who acts like studying is a punishment, he goes through the entire line and page without stumbling. When he finally finishes, he slides higher up the bed and rests his head against the wooden frame, waiting for me to say something.
“That…that was good.” I admit.
He lifts an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I could read, did you?”
My eyes widen. “Hey! I didn’t say that.”