Now that I’m watching something that’s literally out of this world, the words Haze said to me on the rooftop haunt my thoughts. He’s right. The house you live in, the car you drive, and the clothes you wear do not fill you with peace when you’re lying in a hospital bed.
Little moments like this do.
I’m ripped away from my thoughts when I feel a warm hand on mine.
Haze’s hand.
I know I should move away, tell him to stop, do something. But I can’t. And I won’t. I turn my head instinctively. He’s staring at me. He rolls over to his side to face me. He should be looking at the meteor shower.
“You’re missing the best part,” I murmur.
He smiles, as well, and slowly leans in. My heart jolts against my rib cage. He’s close. Too close.
His gaze lands on my lips, and just like it was in the bathroom a week ago, the tension in the air’s so thick that I could cut it with a knife. Barely an inch separates us at this point.
“That’s not the best part, Kingston.”
He lays a hand on my cheek and slowly brushes my lower lip with his thumb. A million shivers scamper down my body as I close my eyes at the touch, my instincts taking over.
Then, he whispers something that makes my thoughts spiral out of control.
“This is.”
Our lips collide and the oxygen runs away from my lungs. His kisses are gentle at first, like he’s giving me a chance to reject him or push him away. But I don’t. I can feel that he’s holding back as he slowly caresses my lips with his. It’s driving me insane, and before I know it, I’m kissing him back. Right away, I feel him smiling. He buries his fingers in my hair and deepens the kiss. I’ve never known anything like this. I’ve never known anything like him. It’s like we both refuse to let go because if we do, we’ll be brought back to reality. Back to this world where we know we don’t stand a chance.
That’s when the truth catches up to us.
His phone rings.
When he pulls away, the castle bursts into flames, the carriage turns back into a pumpkin, and the glass slipper breaks into a million pieces.
The fairy tale crashes, and my heart does, too.
He looks at me regretfully, curses under his breath, and picks up the phone. I sit up straight and stare at the sea with empty eyes. I just kissed my cousin’s enemy. The ultimate player. Technically, he kissed me. But I kissed him back. It’s obvious now that I’ve been lying to myself. There is no going back.
I like Haze Adams.
“YEAH, I GET THAT. I HEARD you the first time.” Haze sighs, the irritation in his tone growing.
I’m not sure who he’s talking to, but my guess is his brother. The argument only serves as an open door for numerous unpleasant memories to come bursting back into my mind. Might as well put up a sign that says “Room available for guilt, second thoughts, and doubts in Winter’s head. Limited time only.”
I kissed a guy whose brother violently attacked me.
“I said I got it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hangs up, letting his phone hit the ground. The bulging vein in his neck catches my eyes, making me wonder how he manages to look this good even when he’s angry.
I don’t know what to say. Or how to act. Do we just carry on like nothing happened? Or do we acknowledge that we just kissed?
A lot?
All I know is it can’t happen again. No matter how much of a good kisser he is. I lower my gaze to his lips and ignore the desire bursting in a deep, unexplored place in my belly.
Winter, stop it.
“Sorry. Family drama.”
I was right. He was talking to Tanner.
“Don’t worry about it.”
His eyes say it all. He’s wondering how to act, too.
“It’s getting late. We should get going,” I say, getting up before he can get a word in.
I hear him sigh behind me.
“Sure.”
I pick up the blanket and shake it to get rid of the sand clinging to it. We’re halfway to the car when a drop of water hits my hand. I look up at the sky that’s now fogged and cloudy. Great. Rain. Just what I need right now.
As we walk side by side, the weather goes from let’s annoy them to let’s drown them in a matter of seconds. The rain comes pouring down on us. We’re already soaking wet by the time we reach the car and take cover inside. We have a two-hour ride ahead of us, and the rain is so bad, I’m afraid we won’t have a choice but to wait it out.
“Shit,” Haze mutters to himself. He’s staring at his phone.
“What is it?”
“It’s supposed to last all night.”
“Damn it. What are we going to do?”
“The only thing we can do—be careful on the road. We can’t stay here forever, can we?” He turns the engine on.
I have no choice but to agree with him… and pray that we’ll make it back home alive.
WHEN THE FOURTH KISSING-RELATED SONG in a row comes on the radio, the only thought consuming my mind is “I sure hope you’re enjoying this, Universe.” We’ve been driving for an hour. There are only fifty minutes left before I can collapse onto my bed and forget this ever happened. The rain hasn’t stopped. In fact, it’s only gotten worse.
The song on the radio contains the lyrics “Kiss me before it’s too late. Kiss me, that’s all it takes.”
Oh, the irony.
I look to my left and see Haze smirking.
Smirking.
As in, he thinks the unbearably heavy tension in the air is funny. Well, excuse me, bad boy, but I’m dying over here.
When we slow down and find ourselves stuck behind an endless line of cars, Haze frowns and stretches his neck to see what the reason is for the blocked road. Then, cars begin to turn around and cross to the opposite lane, going back to where they came from.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
That’s when we see the ambulance and flickering police lights from afar. It’s quite clear that there’s been an accident, and considering the terrible weather, I’m not surprised.
The access to the bridge is completely blocked. I hope everyone’s okay. Next thing I know, a police officer comes knocking on the window, probably to tell us exactly what he’s been telling everyone else. Haze rolls down the tinted glass.
“There’s been an accident. Two cars went off the bridge into the lake. You have to find another way,” the poor man struggles to say through the pouring rain
That’s awful.
Haze thanks him and does a U-turn, watching the scene become more and more distant in the rearview mirror.
“Is there another way home?”
“Not that I know of. And even if there was, I’m not risking it.” He points out to the windshield. “I saw a motel a few miles back.”
His tone makes it clear he’s not asking. Part of me is screaming because I have to share a room with him. But the other feels relieved because I won’t have to face Kendrick’s wrath just yet. He’s been texting me all night, asking for an explanation that I can’t bring myself to give him.
What could I say? Hey, Kendrick, I just wanted to let you know that I did exactly what you told me not to do and caught feelings for your enemy. What’s for dinner?
We drive in silence. I don’t dare say a word, afraid that I’ll distract him. This kind of weather requires his undivided attention. When we see the motel in the distance and the numerous cars in the parking lot, we know that a lot of people had the same idea as we did.
We get out of the vehicle and run toward the entrance as fast as the wind and violent rain allow us to. The area around the front desk is crawling with people who are just as eager to escape the rain as we are. When our turn finally comes, Haze asks for a room with two beds. The employee tells him that they only have a room with one bed available due to the large number of unexpected arrivals.
Haze gives me a look that says, “Is that okay?” I shrug as an answer.
What else can I do? Sleep in the car?
“It’s fine,” he tells the guy.
He completely ignores me when I try and pay for half of the room and hands the employee his card.
One night stuck in a motel room with Haze Adams?
Sure, why not?
WHEN HAZE STEPS INTO THE ROOM and drops clothes on the bed, I’m not sure if I should thank him or be upset. As soon as we settled into the room—not that we really needed settling because we have no luggage—Haze said that he had some dry clothes for me in the car. Something about always bringing some of his clothes in his trunk to be prepared.
And by prepared he probably means for when he needs to change after sneaking out of his one-night stand’s bed.
The thought stings although I’ll never admit it.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I say, and when he smirks, I know the awkward moment has passed and the Haze I know is back.
“A shower, huh?”
“Don’t even think about it, Adams.” I push the door open.
He grins. “I didn’t say anything.”
The last thing I see before entering the bathroom is Haze kicking off his shoes and throwing himself onto the bed. My shower is short and cold. When I step out of it, I happily put on Haze’s dry sweatpants and hoodie. I’d hoped that they’d stop the shivers running down my spine, but they don’t. I’m afraid I’m going to catch a cold. As soon as I exit the bathroom, he complains about the fact that the TV only has two channels: the news and a channel that merely plays old black-and-white movies. He rolls to his side, looking at me, and smiles. Silent, he carefully analyzes my clothes—or should I say his clothes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
He smiles. “Because you’re adorable.”
My cheeks heat up.
“Straight to the point, aren’t we?”
“No time to beat around the bush anymore.”
He’s right. I’ve tried not to think about it, but I can’t run from the truth any longer: the fight’s the day after tomorrow, and I have to mentally and emotionally prepare myself for what I’m about to see. Haze and Kendrick fighting. Violently.
If Haze wins, I’ll have to spend a month with him.
If he loses, I can never see or talk to him ever again.
And… I’m not sure which one is worse.
I lie down on the bed next to him and glance at the clock on the nightstand. 3:03 a.m.
I yawn. “I’m exhausted.”
“Me too.”
I slide under the covers as Haze turns off the TV. I shiver, tangled up in the cold sheets that haven’t known human warmth in a while.
“Are you cold?” he asks, joining me.
“I’ll be fine in a minute,” I whisper.
He doesn’t reply, sitting up straight in the bed and removing his shirt before throwing it across the room. I’d usually check him out, but all I can think about in that moment is the heat radiating off his bare chest. He’s hot—in every way possible.
“Come here.” His voice is low, demanding.
When he opens his arms, offering me a spot on his chest, I refuse to fight myself. I’m too exhausted. I rest my head on his torso and sigh in relief when his burning skin meets mine. This is the first real physical contact between Haze and me, but it isn’t weird or stressful. It’s surprisingly easy. Natural. He circles my waist with his arm and holds me tight. I listen to the sound of his heart beating and, eventually, his breathing becomes regular.
I’ve never understood the people who say that home isn’t a place. But now that I’m lying here with him, I know…
If home is a feeling, that’s what it feels like.
F O U R T E E N
Don’t Let Me Go
“Hit me.”
This isn’t exactly what I expected him to say when I woke up at 8:00 a.m. after getting five hours of sleep. We woke up in the exact same position we fell asleep in, his eyes opening almost as soon as mine did. I thought he’d want to get breakfast.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
He doesn’t want breakfast.
He wants me to punch him in the face.
Indeed, he’s been asking me to attack him for the past fifteen minutes, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Here I am, in a crappy motel room, in front of a very well-trained fighter, wondering if hitting him in the face would break my wrist.
When Haze said he wanted to show me something, I never would’ve thought that I’d end up here, fighting with him about not fighting him. Why did he suddenly decide to show me how to be a ninja? God only knows.
I’m assuming it has something to do with the clock and its incessantly rapid ticking. The fight’s tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Let that sink in, Winter.
“Seriously? You want me to hurt you?” I look up at him, and his eyes soften under my gaze.
“Nothing you do will hurt me as much as they’ll hurt you if you don’t learn basic self-defense, Winter.” He blows out a breath. “Do you want to be some damsel in distress? No? Then prove it.”
His challenging tone seems to be enough for my pride to take over. “Fine. But don’t go crying when I kick your ass.”
“No promises.” He smirks. “Now, what are the weak points again?” The playful expression in his face dissipates as quickly as it appeared.
“Eyes. Nose. Neck…” I pause, trying to remember the last one. We’ve been at it for almost three hours. He’s taught me so many moves I can’t feel my arms anymore. I learned how to disarm someone pointing a gun at me, exactly how and where to kick a man—if you know what I mean—and how to get out of someone’s grasp.
“Seriously?” he reprimands. “Knees. It’s not that hard to remember.”
I rub my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted.”
“Do you think they’re going to care if you’re exhausted? No, they won’t think twice.” He clenches his fists.
“Well, excuse me, but it’s hard to be in fight mode when I’ve barely had five hours of sleep. You’ve taught me more moves than I can count. I think I’m good. Can’t we just take a break?”
“No. You won’t be able to take a break when they’re trying to kill you. Can’t you see how important this is? One wrong move, Winter. One, and you’re dead.”
Dragging my feet, I make my way to the door. I can’t be around him when he’s like this.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls.
“Outside. I need some air.”
“The fight’s tomorrow. Who knows what could happen then? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He seizes my arm, stepping in my way.
I scoff. “You want to ask questions? Fine. Here’s one for you. Why the hell do you care so much?”
Only then do I realize my anger has made me step dangerously close to him. His gaze immediately drops to my lips.
Well, shit.
I move away, the heavy tension back to torture me. We all know what happened the last time we were too close. It’s like the closer we get, the harder it is for me to think clearly.
“Because…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he takes a step forward, bringing us back to the position we were in seconds ago. My mind screams to walk away. But my body is refusing. When I find myself locked in his breathtaking gaze, I’m brought back to the moment we shared on the beach. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. His blue eyes say more than a thousand words ever could.
They say, “Push me away. Tell me to stop. Tell me it’s wrong before I run out of self-control.”
I don’t say a word.
And silence is all he needed to hear.
My heart bursts out of my chest when he cups my face in his hands and crashes his lips on mine. I immediately give in to his eager and familiar lips, steadiness a foreign concept to my hammering heart. He kisses me with this fervent need that could drive any girl insane.
> This time is different.
This time, he’s not holding back.
He’s hungry. No, he’s starving. I said this could never happen again just a few hours ago. I should want him to stop. So why…
Why is it the last thing I want?
Our bodies collide as his hands travel from my hair, to my neck, to my waist, unable to stay in the same place for too long.
My brain isn’t strong enough to go up against my desires. My hand tugs at his hair as he backs me up against the wall roughly. I can’t stop a moan from escaping my mouth when he bites my lower lip, his fingers creating a trail from my arm to my collarbone. They stop on my tank top strap and slide the light fabric down my shoulder.
He leans forward, his mouth grazing my clavicle and sending a wave of shivers throughout my entire body. My fingers fall to his shirt. I can’t want him. I can’t want this. But I do.
I really, really do.
Just as I’m about to pull the fabric up…
Knock! Knock!
We jump and pull away like we’ve been caught committing a crime.
“Housekeeping!” a female voice says loudly.
We exchange the most awkward look possible. The “we just came back down to earth after a wild, breathtaking, and extremely hot make-out session and now it’s weird” look. It’s like falling from a cloud and hitting concrete.
Haze clears his throat and fixes his shirt. He is as overwhelmed as I am. I pull my tank top strap up, struggling to regulate my breathing. He answers the door, says something I can’t hear to the maid, and comes back.
“Checkout’s at 11:00. It’s 10:45. That’s their way of telling us to get the hell out.”
I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I keep my head down and walk toward the bed to gather the few belongings I had on me last night.
What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t believe I let it happen a second time. But most importantly, I can’t believe I want to do it again.
“Yeah, we should go.” I remember the text messages my cousin sent me last night. He’s coming home at one, and he’s literally going to kill me, then bring me back to life, then kill me again if I’m not there.
Unwritten Rules Page 17
