Ethan noticed the motorcycle before he noticed you.

The engine roared across the student parking lot loud enough to turn heads immediately, interrupting conversations and pulling attention away from the front steps of the school.

A black motorcycle rolled into one of the empty parking spots near the edge of the lot.

Not exactly subtle.

Ethan stood near the entrance with a few student council members, halfway through discussing homecoming decorations when the rider finally killed the engine.

The helmet came off a second later.

And there you were.

Leather jacket despite the heat. Rings covering bruised knuckles. Tattoos barely visible beneath your sleeves. The kind of expression that practically dared someone to start a problem.

A few students nearby immediately started whispering.

Ethan already knew who you were before he even heard your name.

Everybody did.

The transfer student expelled from his old school.

Rumors about gangs, fights, drugs — every version worse than the last.

Exactly the kind of person this town didn’t need.

One of the cheerleaders beside Ethan shifted awkwardly. “That’s him?”

Ethan didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on you as you walked through the parking lot without a care in the world, like the staring didn’t bother you at all.

Like you were used to people looking at you that way. Annoyingly confident. Arrogant. Trouble.

The principal had already warned Ethan earlier that morning to “help the new student settle in,” mostly because Ethan was student council president and apparently responsible for keeping the school from falling apart.

Honestly, Ethan would’ve preferred literally anybody else.

You walked past the front steps then, close enough now for Ethan to notice the faint bruise near your jaw and the cigarette tucked behind your ear.

Your eyes lifted briefly. Met his. And somehow, in the span of maybe two seconds, Ethan could already tell one thing for certain:

You were going to be a problem.

Sweat clung to your skin beneath the football pads, your patience running thinner with every second you stayed on the field.

Practice had already ended almost fifteen minutes ago.

The rest of the team was heading back toward the locker rooms, laughing loudly among themselves while the sun slowly dipped lower behind the bleachers.

Except you were still here. Still running drills. Because Ethan Hayes said so.

From the sideline, the football captain watched with his arms crossed over his chest, completely composed while you were exhausted, sweaty, and seconds away from losing your temper.

Ever since Principal Carter forced you onto the football team after your latest fight, Ethan had made it painfully clear he didn’t want you there.

Extra laps. Extra drills. Extra attention. Like he was trying to break you on purpose. And maybe he was.

A sharp whistle suddenly cut through the field. “Again.” His voice carried easily across the empty bleachers. A few teammates lingering nearby exchanged looks but wisely kept their mouths shut.

Ethan stepped closer across the grass, stopping only a few feet away now. Even after hours of practice, he still looked annoyingly put together — varsity jacket thrown over one shoulder, blond hair damp from sweat, jaw tight with irritation.

His eyes dragged over you briefly before narrowing slightly. “You’re slowing down.” The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Or are anger issues the only thing you’re actually good at?”

The music from the house party pounded through the walls hard enough to shake the floor beneath Ethan’s shoes.

Normally, he wouldn’t even be here.

Not at parties like this.

But one of his teammates had begged him to show up for “at least thirty minutes,” and somehow that turned into Ethan standing in the middle of a crowded living room already irritated out of his mind.

Mostly because of you.

Of course.

You were across the room leaning against the kitchen counter with a drink in your hand, looking way too comfortable surrounded by people.

A girl Ethan vaguely recognized from cheerleading laughed at something you said before touching your arm flirtatiously.

You smirked at her.

And for some reason, Ethan’s grip tightened around the red plastic cup in his hand hard enough to nearly crack it.

Annoying.

That was all this feeling was.

Annoying.

Beside him, one of the girls from student council was talking to him about something — Ethan honestly hadn’t heard a single word she’d said for the past two minutes.

Because every single time he looked away, his eyes somehow drifted right back toward you again.

And every single time, someone else seemed to be touching you, laughing with you, trying to get your attention.

Like they couldn’t see what kind of person you actually were.

Meanwhile across the room, your eyes lifted suddenly.

Straight toward him.

For a brief second, neither of you looked away.

Then the girl beside Ethan laughed softly and rested a hand against his arm.

Your expression changed instantly. Subtle, but noticeable. The amused look on your face disappeared completely. Ethan noticed it immediately. And somehow, that felt worse.

The hallway buzzed with noise between classes — lockers slamming, students laughing, shoes squeaking against the floor — but the second you turned the corner, the atmosphere shifted almost immediately.

Mostly because Ethan Hayes was already there.

Leaning against the row of lockers with a few football players beside him, looking annoyingly put together as always in his varsity jacket while half the hallway practically moved around him.

His attention lifted the second he noticed you approaching.

And instantly, his expression hardened.

One of the guys beside him muttered something quietly under his breath, earning a short laugh from another teammate while their eyes flicked toward the bruises on your knuckles.

Ethan didn’t laugh though.

He just watched you.

Calm. Sharp. Irritatingly unreadable.

Then his gaze dropped briefly toward the cigarette pack sticking out of your pocket before returning to your face again.

Disapproval written all over him.

A cheerleader suddenly grabbed Ethan’s arm beside him, smiling brightly while talking about something involving the upcoming game.

Normally, he would’ve answered immediately.

Instead, his eyes stayed on you for one second too long.

And you noticed.

Unfortunately, so did she.

The fight started halfway through practice.

Again.

One second Ethan was yelling at you for missing a tackle, the next you had him shoved against the ground with half the team screaming and trying to pull you apart. Helmets were thrown, punches landed, and by the time Coach Wilson stormed across the field, Ethan had blood on his lip while your knuckles were burning.

Apparently tackling each other into the mud during practice was “crossing the line.”

So now both of you were sitting in Coach Wilson’s office covered in dirt and sweat while the atmosphere felt one wrong word away from another fight breaking out.

Coach slammed the office door hard enough to rattle the framed football trophies hanging on the walls.

Neither you nor Ethan said a word.

The tension in the tiny office was already unbearable — both of you breathing heavily after having to be physically dragged apart in the middle of practice.

Coach looked furious.

Actually furious.

He pointed sharply between the two of you. “I am this close to kicking both of you off my team.”

Ethan sat stiffly in the chair beside you, jaw clenched hard enough to twitch, while dried blood lingered near his split lip.

Honestly? Seeing the sheriff’s perfect son looking just as wrecked as you almost made the suspension worth it.

Almost.

Coach threw a thick stack of papers onto the desk between you both.

“You two hate each other so much it’s ruining my practices, my players, and my patience,” he snapped. “So congratulations. Since acting like mature human beings is apparently impossible, I’m handling it myself.”

Ethan finally frowned. “Coach—”

“No,” Coach cut him off immediately. “You’re both gonna learn how to work together or neither of you plays another game this season.”

Silence.

Then Coach shoved the papers closer.

A contract.

Your eyes skimmed the page quickly.

DAY ONE: Remain handcuffed together for twenty-four hours.

DAY TWO: Complete football drills while attached by a rope tied around both waists.

DAY THREE: Spend one full lunch period together without fighting, leaving, or involving anyone else.

DAY FOUR: Attend a school event together and stay beside each other the entire time.

DAY FIVE: Complete a partnered trust exercise chosen by Coach Wilson.

DAY SIX: Spend three hours outside of school working together on a community service assignment.

DAY SEVEN: One final private meeting with Coach Wilson to determine whether either of you learned anything at all.

At the bottom of the page was one final sentence written in bold:

Any physical fighting, threats, or refusal to cooperate results in immediate removal from the football team.

You almost laughed.

Across from you, Ethan looked genuinely horrified for the first time since you’d met him.

Coach leaned back in his chair coldly. “You sign it, or you’re both off the team permanently.”

The room fell silent again.

Then came the metallic clink of handcuffs hitting the desk.