“Yes, I’m sure. Can we change the subject now?”
Okay. Sensitive nerve right here.
“But why? Why won’t you talk about it, Haze? It’d be good for you to—”
“Damn it, Winter. I said no,” he snaps, raising his voice to the point of turning my blood cold.
I don’t speak for a few seconds, shock plastered on my face.
“Fine. Gee, no need to freak out. I was just trying to be a good friend.”
As soon as I pronounce the last word, his face darkens and he lets out a bitter laugh.
“Then, as a friend, I’m asking you to respect that I don’t want to talk about it.”
I know I shouldn’t have said it, but my irritation with his infuriating habit of doing everything he possibly can not to open up to anyone got the best of me. I couldn’t help it. I had to use the forbidden word to try and get a reaction out of him. It’s like the dude would rather die than be vulnerable for five seconds.
“I’m tired. Can you help me upstairs?” I ask after a few minutes of heavy silence.
“Sure.” He nods, his voice softer than before.
When we get onto the second floor, Haze leads the way to his room. I use my crutches to head for the closest guest room instead, and he stops me.
“What are you doing?” His eyes bore into mine. “That’s one of the coldest rooms in the house. You might catch a cold.”
“I think I’ll take my chances.” I pick up my luggage—that we left in the middle of the hall when we came up in a rush earlier—get inside the guest room, and shut the door behind me. Seconds pass. I hear him sigh. Then, his door closes, too. I fall backward and collapse onto the freezing queen-size bed.
He’s never going to let me in.
No doubt about it…
These are going to be the most frustrating weeks of my life.
There are many reasons why Haze Adams and I can’t be friends. The main one is that, as a friend, I don’t think I’m supposed to drool when I see him in nothing but a towel in the morning.
I’ve been trying not to make eye contact with him too much since I ran into him walking out of the bathroom half-naked. All I can see when I look at him are the drops of water slowly rolling down his abs, and I might need a bit more than fifteen minutes to get that image out of my head.
We’re sitting in the car and heading for the breakfast restaurant Haze talked about yesterday. The atmosphere feels heavy. Mostly because of the mini fight we had last night. He’s been acting like nothing is wrong, but I can tell we both have a lot on our minds.
I hold back a small cough and see him frown from the corner of my eye. That’s the third time I’ve coughed today, and he’s had the exact same reaction each time.
He was right: I froze my butt off last night. But I was trying to prove a point: that we can’t get closer physically unless he lets me get close to him on a deeper, more meaningful level. I hope I’m not getting sick for nothing.
“We’re here,” he says and points to a restaurant on our left. Beck’s, the sign reads.
Haze quickly finds a parking spot and helps me out of the car.
We walk into the crowded although very simple restaurant, and I think this may be one of the only places I’ve seen driving around Colton Gate that doesn’t scream “exorbitant.” It’s welcoming, warm.
As soon as we step foot inside, a gorgeous waitress greets us. She immediately raises her eyebrows at the sight of Haze.
I know, girl, I know.
“Welcome to Beck’s. Table for two?” She smiles, shamelessly devouring Haze with her eyes. She could at least try to be subtle. We only nod as a response. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you a couple? We currently have a promotion for—”
He cuts her off. “We’re just friends.”
Ouch.
“Oh. All righty, then. Follow me.” She poorly tries to contain her joy and leads the way.
I do my best not to display any reaction, but I’m boiling on the inside. This is getting ridiculous.
It didn’t sound like we were just friends when you started undressing me in that motel room, Haze. Or when you told me you loved me right before I passed out.
We both sit down at a table next to the bay window and exchange looks that are packed with insinuation.
If you could read somebody’s intentions in their eyes, mine would say…
Game on.
Fidgeting with my phone, I watch the waitress pull her third attempt at getting Haze to become more than just a customer. First, it was the “Oops, I dropped something” in front of him. Then, it was the “Oh, no worries. Dessert is on the house”—which, really surprised me, by the way. Turns out she’s the daughter of the owner—but this… this is the best one yet: her phone number on a napkin when Haze asked her to get us more after I made a mess.
I’ll be honest, it’s beyond annoying. But what eases the burn is the way Haze doesn’t seem interested. He’s made sure to pretend he didn’t see her number on the napkin and ripped his eyes away when she gave him a first-class view of her behind. Now, that’s got to take some skills. I think the whole restaurant looked, to be honest.
We spent the meal talking and, surprisingly, laughing. We managed to act like there weren’t a million unresolved issues between us and went back to the way we usually are: chatty and random. But I’m not forgetting the friend stunt he pulled on me earlier. Not even close.
“There you go.” She hands him the bill, her seductive smile fading away when she sees the napkin with her number on it has been used to clean up my mess. I think she’s just starting to realize he has got to be doing it on purpose.
“I got it,” Haze says and reaches for the bill, but I lean forward, stealing it away from his fingers.
“My treat. You’ve been paying a lot recently. What are friends for?”
I’m certain the emphasis I put on my last sentence didn’t go unnoticed, but I don’t dare look up at Haze to catch a glimpse of his reaction.
What I see instead is the waitress and the suspicion crossing her face. It looks like she’s thinking, “Well, damn. These two clearly have their own shit going on.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind paying.” He leans over the table and takes the bill back from me.
“But—”
He gets a look at the total and taps his credit card on the machine before I can finish my sentence. He offers me a victorious smile and leaves a twenty-dollar bill on the table. The waitress grabs it, tells us to have a good day, and awkwardly walks away. We exit the restaurant in complete silence.
When we pull back onto the road minutes later, I start coughing again.
That’s when he snaps.
“Fine. You win.”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to finally acknowledge the elephant in the room. We’ll never be friends. He knows it. I know it. Let’s stop this nonsense.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t even try.”
My heartbeat increases. I sink in my seat, ready for him to destroy the wall of lies standing between us since we got to the lake house.
“You’re obviously getting sick.”
Well, I didn’t see that coming.
“How about this? I’ll tell you one thing you don’t know about me every day that you sleep in my bedroom with me.”
A smile tugs at my lips. That’s not what I was going for, but the fact that he’s worried about me getting sick makes up for it. I narrow my eyes, pretending that I need to think about it first, when, in fact, I know I’ll take whatever he has to give me over pneumonia any day.
“Deal.”
His mouth quirks up into a smile. “Good girl.”
He turns on the radio and upbeat music bursts out of the speakers. What was left of the awkward tension from yesterday is now officially gone.
“So, shoot.” I glance at him.
“What?”
“What’s my first fact about you?”
He changes lanes and
furrows his eyebrows like he’s trying to find something to tell me that won’t give too much away.
“My birthday’s December twenty-third,” he says after a while.
“Really? Do you only get gifts for Christmas since it’s so close? Or do you only get presents on your birthday?”
“I don’t really get gifts on either day. Or at least, not in a very long time.”
Somehow, my soul aches for him. Not because Christmas and birthdays are all about gifts, but because of the way he said it. He sounded like he’d be really surprised to ever get one.
I want to ask him a dozen more questions, but, since I know he’ll tell me that I already got one fact out of him today, I push my curiosity aside, watch him take the exit to get back to the lake house, and eagerly await tomorrow.
“Is that what you call sleeping on your side of the bed, Adams?” I laugh when Haze sprawls onto the oversized mattress carelessly. The day flew by, and the moment I dreaded the most is here. The moment where I have to sleep in the same bed as the guy who’s been driving me completely nuts since the moment I met him.
We woke up so late this morning that we got out of the breakfast restaurant at around 2:00 p.m. And, from there, hours became minutes and minutes became seconds. I only realized it was nighttime when I looked out the window. Time flies when I’m with him.
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.” He grins and gets off the bed, sniggering when he catches the look on my face. “I do have to warn you though: I’m a cuddler.”
I’m tempted to tell him that I’m well aware he’s the cuddling type from the night we spent together at the motel, but decide against it. He might’ve forgotten all about our moments—and the way we fell asleep in each other’s arms—but I didn’t. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
Then—because that’s what any sane person would do—Haze rips me back to reality by taking his clothes off right in front of me. As in, his shirt and his pants. This is becoming a habit of his, I swear. All I can do is stand there and stare at his looks-like-it-was-photoshopped body.
“Really? Again?” I don’t tear my eyes away this time. Might as well enjoy it.
“What?” He beams. “You’re lucky I’m even keeping the boxers on, Kingston. I always sleep naked. But for you, I’ll make an exception.”
I can’t help but flush.
You better keep them on because I’m not sleeping comfortably knowing I could turn around and accidentally hit your dick.
“Are you going to get changed or?” He arches an eyebrow and slides under the covers.
I nod and turn on my heels to go to the bathroom—let me rephrase: I turn on my heels to go to the closest bathroom, since there two million in this house—but he stops me with just one sentence.
“Let me guess, you’re a granny pajamas kind of gal.”
I glance back at him. “What makes you say that?”
He turns off the lamp on the nightstand, the only light occupying the large bedroom now provided by the faint moon rays coming in through the window.
“I don’t know. I guess you’re just predictable like that.”
I have no idea why I do what I do next. I can’t stop myself. The urge to prove him wrong outgrows my prudishness and I act on impulse, keeping my eyes on him.
Without a warning, I pull the dress I’m wearing over my head and let it hit the floor. I’m suddenly very thankful that I chose to wear my cute undies today.
Haze’s eyes grow four sizes, and his lips part as he takes in my dimmed silhouette. It’s too dark to see properly, but he sees enough.
How’s that for predictable, Adams?
“I sleep in my underwear, too, but nice try,” I say, my heartbeat pulsing through my body.
It takes everything in me not to pick up my dress from the floor and throw it back on. I know I would’ve never done that in broad daylight. I would’ve never undressed in front of him like this if he’d seen me clearly.
“I… You… We…” Haze blabbers.
His search for the English language destroys my anxiety and makes me feel empowered. He’s not so cocky anymore. I get under the cold blanket, ignoring the heat radiating off his bare chest and the way it so desperately calls out to me.
“Good night, Haze,” I whisper.
The tension between us is so thick I know I won’t be falling asleep anytime soon. He doesn’t say a word for a while, until eventually, he breaks the silence.
“Good night, Kingston.”
I have no idea how long this teasing thing is going to last, or what it’s going to take for us to stop lying to ourselves, but from what I can gather, neither of us intend to break first.
I think back to what happened at the restaurant and mentally curse. Just friends, huh? Really, Haze? You want to play this game with me?
Fine.
May the best “friend” win.
9
Kiss Me
“Let’s just say we’re sick.” Haze’s voice echoes all the way from the kitchen to the second floor.
“Don’t even try. We’re going,” I say from the bedroom and analyze the girl staring back at me in the mirror. I barely recognize myself under the winged eyeliner and mascara. This is the first time, since I moved into the lake house with Haze, that I’ve made the effort of wearing some of the makeup I bought—because Kendrick didn’t pack mine as it would go against his plan to make me look like a hobo.
Today is Vic and Bea’s dinner party. It’s already been a week since I promised to make my “friendship” with Haze unbearable, and we’re supposed to be spending the day at Vic’s apartment. Since we won’t be coming back to the house to get ready, I figured I’d pick out a dress to put on later and do my makeup in advance.
I open one of the many closets in the room—more specifically the one Haze told me to use—and reach for the black dress the creepy Ryder guy bought for me. I have two other dresses lined up, but I can’t choose. I walk back to the mirror and hold dress number three up in front of my body.
Apparently, they weren’t kidding when they said to dress up. Vic even called to make sure Haze wouldn’t show up in a T-shirt. But what else did I expect from someone who lives in a town like this?
The six weeks are up and I’ve been able to walk again for a few days now. When I got my splint removed and put my foot back down for the first time in a while, I realized how much I’d missed it. Not needing Haze for everything I do felt strange at first, but I easily slid right back into my routine.
I throw the tight and fancy black dress on to refresh my memory. It looks even better than I remember. It rounds up my behind and accentuates curves I didn’t even know I had. This is definitely going in my “catfish people into thinking I work out” pile.
“What’s taking so lo—” I hear Haze come in and turn around quickly. My mouth opens on its own. I’ve never seen him look hotter. He’s wearing a white shirt that looks like it was designed for him, the rolled-up sleeves revealing his inked left arm and making me wonder why he only got one arm tattooed.
The contrast is intriguing, endearing. One side is dark, intimidating while the other is bright and bare. One side says, “I’ll make you scream my name,” while the other says, “I’ll meet your mama.” This constant fight between good and evil, the troubled and the wise, the light and the darkness… this is such an accurate representation of who he is as a person.
I wonder if he knows his life story is written on his skin.
Escaping my thoughts, I stare and wait for him to finish speaking. I don’t know if it’s the makeup or the dress, but his words seem to have left him.
“What?” I glance back at my reflection, a bit worried.
“Winter, you look…” He doesn’t speak for a little while. “Amazing.”
I flush. “Thanks.”
He stares for a few more seconds. Then, like he just remembered that we’re still torturing each other, he looks away and clears his throat.
“What’s taking so long? We have to b
e at Vic’s in twenty minutes.”
I hold back a sigh.
“I can’t choose a dress. Can you help me?”
“Meh. I’m not sure I’m qualified, Kingston.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway.
“Come on, do it for me.” I let our eyes meet. “Be a good friend.”
As it always does when I mention the word friend, discomfort and annoyance run through his traits. Or at least, I love to believe it.
“What do you need me to do?” He lowers his voice.
“What do you think of this one? Does it make my ass look big?” I spin to get an overall look in the mirror. He shifts from one foot to the other, chewing on his bottom lip.
“No… no, it doesn’t. It’s not too big. Not that it looks too small either, I mean… it’s okay. It’s perfect,” he rambles.
I smile.
Anyone who knows Haze knows he is not the speechless kind of guy. Moments like this are the only way I know I have any effect on him these days. His nervous answers, his furtive glances… they’re the only confirmation I have that I didn’t imagine everything that happened before the lake house.
He’s really going along with this friends thing, and it’s driving me crazy. What’s a girl got to do to get a guy to wake up around here? It’d be so much easier if I just confronted him about it, but he could’ve made a move on me multiple times by now, and he hasn’t. That’s got to mean something.
Maybe he’s just not that into me anymore.
“So I should go with this one?” I ask.
“Definitely.” He nods.
He makes sure to avoid looking at my body, sliding his hands into his pockets and fidgeting with his keys.
An idea comes to me.
“Do you think you could unzip me? I’ll change back into my dress tonight.” I pretend to struggle to reach the zipper.
He seems surprised by my request but agrees. He clears his throat again and walks toward me with hesitation lingering in his steps. Shivers erupt all over my body when he places one of his hands on my shoulder and pushes my hair to the front with the other. I see from his reflection that his jaw is clenched and his eyes are darker. He’s battling himself.
Unspoken Rules Page 7
