I Fell For My Brother’s Rival

My pencil carved another meaningless swirl into the margins of my biology notes.

I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, the dark silhouette of Ethan Cole standing under the yellow parking lot lights flashed across my eyelids. I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead, trying to push the image away.

"You're going to rub a hole in your skull."

I jumped, my pencil snapping its lead against the paper.

Ethan dropped into the empty chair across from my usual window seat. He didn't ask if the spot was taken. He just tilted the wooden chair back on its hind legs, crossing his arms over his chest. His long legs stretched forward under the table, his sneakers boxing in my boots.

"Do you mind?" I asked, glaring at his shoes.

"Not at all." He flashed a crooked grin. "How's the new team logo coming along?"

"I haven't started."

"I'll wait."

"You're going to be waiting until graduation. I never agreed to draw anything for you."

"You're the best artist at Westbrook." He let the front legs of his chair hit the floor with a soft thud. "And the team needs a new crest for the playoff run."

"Ask the art club."

"I'm asking you."

"And I'm saying no." I picked up my eraser, scrubbing at the dark graphite mark on my biology notes. "How's the dog?"

"Sleeping on my mom's good rug."

"You actually took him home."

"I told you I would. Named him Puck."

"That's terrible."

"He likes it." Ethan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the scratched wood. "Now back to business. The logo."

"Still no. Besides, Caleb would lose his mind if he saw you sitting here."

"Your brother isn't the boss of the library."

"He thinks he is."

"Let me worry about Caleb."

His gaze dropped from my face to the open pages spread across my binder.

Panic flared in my chest.

I hadn't just been drawing biology diagrams. Last night, unable to sleep, my mind kept replaying the parking lot. The page displayed the sharp, violent arc of a hockey skate cutting through ice. Right next to it sat a shadowed profile of a guy in a heavy jacket.

I reached for the book, but Ethan was faster.

His large hand clamped down on the corner of the sketchbook. His thumb brushed the edge of the charcoal profile.

"Give that back." I grabbed the opposite corner, tugging hard.

He didn't release his grip. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. "You say you hate hockey, Lily. But you drew the ice."

"It's just a sketch."

"Looks like a masterpiece to me." His voice dropped, a teasing rasp wrapping around the words. "Especially the guy."

Heat flooded my cheeks, burning all the way to the tips of my ears. "Hand it over."

"Did you get my nose right?"

"It's not you."

"Sure it isn't." He traced the outline of the skate with his index finger. "The blade is a little dull, though. Needs more edge."

I yanked the book with both hands, tearing the corner of the paper slightly as I pulled it against my chest. "Don't touch my stuff."

"Make a deal with me."

"I don't make deals with hockey players."

"I'm not just a hockey player." He tilted his head, his amber eyes locking onto mine. "Draw the logo. I'll pay you."

"I don't need your money."

"I'll throw in a hot chocolate."

"No."

"Two hot chocolates. And a pastry."

"Are you always this annoying?" I snapped, slamming my sketchbook shut.

"Usually more." He leaned closer, invading my space. The scent of pine and cold winter air rolled off his jacket, identical to last night. "Come on, Lily. The old logo is a joke. We need something fresh."

"Why me?"

"Because you notice the details." He pointed a finger at the closed cover of my book. "You caught the exact angle of the skate. You saw the way the ice sprays. You pay attention."

"I pay attention to biology."

"Draw the logo."

"No."

"Name your price." His voice lost its teasing edge, turning rougher, lower.

"I said no, Ethan."

"And I said, name your price."

"Why is this so important to you?"

"Because I want you to do it."

"That's not a reason."

"It is to me."

I opened my mouth to shoot him down again. But the words caught in my throat.

The playful arrogance had vanished from his expression. He stared at me with an intensity that made the noisy library fade into a dull hum. He wasn't just asking for a favor anymore. It felt like a test.

I looked at his eyes. They were completely focused on me, steady and unblinking.

"Fine," I whispered.

"Fine?"

"I'll draw your stupid logo."

A triumphant grin broke across his face. "Knew you'd cave."

"I didn't cave. I just want you to stop bothering me."

"Sure you do." He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "So, when do we start?"

"We don't start anything. I draw it. I give it to you. You leave me alone."

"That's not how collaboration works."

"It's how this works."

"Hey, did you see this?" a loud voice cut through the quiet room.

I flinched, glancing toward the adjacent table. Two seniors sat hunched over a glowing phone screen, their backpacks piled high on the chairs.

"See what?" the second guy asked, munching on a chip.

"The leak from that rehab center upstate. Scarlett Vance."

The name hung in the air, sharp and intrusive.

Ethan froze.

The smug grin vanished from his face, wiped away in a fraction of a second. The warmth drained out of his amber eyes, leaving behind two flat, hollow stones. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered near his ear.

"What about her?" the second senior asked, completely oblivious to the tension radiating from our table.

"Says she checked out early. Total mess."

Ethan stood up.

He didn't grab his backpack. He didn't say goodbye. He just shoved his chair backward.

The wooden legs scraped against the linoleum floor, a harsh, screeching sound that made half the library turn and stare.

"Ethan?" I asked.

He didn't look at me.

"Ethan, where are you going?"

He didn't look at anyone.

He turned on his heel and walked away. His strides were long and rigid, his shoulders locked tight under his jacket. He didn't stop to apologize to the librarian glaring at him. He didn't glance back at our table.

I sat frozen in my chair, watching his broad back disappear through the rows of towering bookshelves. The heavy double doors swung shut behind him, cutting off his exit.

Outside the window, thick white snow began to fall, burying the campus in a quiet, heavy blanket.

I touched the cover of my sketchbook. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

The guy who had just walked out wasn't the arrogant captain from the parking lot. He wasn't the teasing boy offering me hot chocolate. He was someone else entirely.

A stranger hiding behind a careless smile.

And for the first time, that unknown terrified me—and pulled me in.