Page 3 of Enemies to Lovers

“All of which you won.”

An evil grin pulls her lips. “Are you surrendering already?”

“Hell no.”

“Good. I’d hate to think youletme win when I get the call from Dr. Goff.” She wrinkles her nose playfully, then turns to the west parking lot while I head east. Damn it, if she’s who I have to beat to get this internship, I have no chance.

“I’m home!” I shout at the top of my little lungs as I enter the condo I share with my brother, Logan. We’ve both learned to announce our entrances, having walked in on our frisky parents way more than we’d like to admit. I mean, it wasall over the house. Like, yay, you love each other, but they had a room with a lock. We joked all the time that they didn’t know how to use a deadbolt.

I jam out to Taylor Swift in my earbuds as I chuck my shoes into the hall closet and hang up my backpack. My mood can’t be shaken by anything in this moment. I aced my midterm for sure, got top selection for that coveted internship, and…and! Miles Stoll walked me to the parking lot.

I do a jig, my ass dipping low as I turn the corner into the living room/kitchen area, full-out decorated with lights, garland, and snowmen figurines. Logan pulls the jug of milk from his lips, his cheeks puffed with the liquid, his brows rising at my sweet moves. I sing the next line of Taylor’sYou Need to Calm Downat the top of my lungs.

He swallows his swig of milk, capping it with a half grin. “Test went well, I take it?”

I nod, continuing to sing as I move to the fridge. Our kitchen isn’t made for two, so I kinda trap him in there while I search for a celebration snack. He mumbles something I can’t hear over my music, so I yank my left earbud out as I straighten.

“Huh?”

He hands me the milk to put in the fridge. I slide it next to mine in the door. We don’t share—he likes one percent. Bleck.

“You up for a party tonight?”

I tilt my head, eyeing the piece of cheesecake I saved for this moment. “No date?”

“Was I supposed to find one?” he jokes. I huff as I grab my cheesecake and hipcheck the fridge shut. My brother is notorious for avoiding any and all relationships. He doesn’t want to get married, doesn’t want kids, doesn’t want any of it, and whenever I prod him about it, he shuts me out.

I slide a fork from the silverware drawer and pop the top on my slice of chocolate Oreo. “You’re gonna get an earful.” Mom and Dad—mostly Dad—will drill him about taking his sister to a work party instead of a girlfriend. None of us even know if he has one; heaven knows he’d never tell us about her if he did.

Logan nods, rolling his eyes. He bumps me out of the way for a fork of his own, and I grudgingly share my treat with him. “So, you think you aced it?”

Ah, the change in subject. I’ll oblige, since I’m a great twin and all. A wide grin wraps around my fork.

“Professor Young put me in for the internship!” I squeal with no prelude. Might as well get to the good stuff—I’m a dessert first kinda girl.

“Nice.” He indulges me with a loud high five, the clap echoing in our tiny kitchen. He tosses his fork into the sink with a clink, then slides around me. My brow furrows as he rushes to his room just around the corner.

“O-kay,” I say around a mouthful of cheesecake. “Didn’t think we were done talking, but whatever.”

He laughs as he comes back, carrying a giant, sparkly pink gift bag.

“Ooh.” I rub my hands together, and he holds it out to me. “What’s this?”

“Early Christmas,” he lies through his teeth. My unemotional brother. “Just open it.”

I rip into it, the crinkle of the tissue paper filling my heart. Presents are my love language… that and food.

My fingers tumble over soft material, and I squeak out a gleeful, “Eep!” as I pull the big stuffed pit bull from the bag. “He’s adorable.” I cuddle him to my chest, rubbing my cheek against the soft fluff. My dream dog, and my whole family knows it. One day I’ll get one.

Logan’s cheeks blossom red. He hates all the cheese, and I soak it up, laughing and grabbing him in a hug. He can be embarrassed all he wants.

“Ugh, get off!” He tries to wriggle from my grip, but I’ve always been the more determined of the two of us. I top it off with a kiss to his cheek, which he cringes from, then I finally let him go.

“Thank you.” I boop the nose of my new furry friend. He’ll be added to my collection upstairs. I have a stuffed animal obsession, and I know I should have grown out of it a long time ago, but oh well. If I can’t have a real animal, I’ll pretend for as long as possible.

“I almost don’t want to tell you what it really means.”

My fingers run over the stitching along the paws. “Huh?”

---