Unwritten Rules (Rules 1)

“We’re at my house.” He steps out of the vehicle. “You’re spending the night.”

He shuts the door and walks around his rich-kid car to—believe it or not—open my door and hold out his hand for me.

“Haze Adams opening doors. What a gentleman.” I don’t move, ignoring his hand.

“Well, I can’t exactly let you sleep in my brand-new car, can I? I have a ‘no drool on my leather seats’ policy.”

I look down at my phone. Ten missed calls from Maria. Seven from Kendrick. Five from Kass. This is really bad.

“Listen, thank you for what you did. But I really need to go home now. Kendrick’s probably worried sick, and my aunt will literally murder me if—”

He cuts me off. “I can’t. As much as Kendrick hates me, he’d much rather have you here than back at the party, trust me.” His hand hasn’t moved. He’s waiting for me to take it. “It’s too risky being out in the streets after the attack. I’ll drive you home tomorrow. Come on.”

I stay still for a few seconds, hesitating. Then, after mentally making a list of every option presenting itself to me, I step out of the car while making sure to ignore his hand held out in my direction.

Do I trust him? Never in a million years.

But I don’t have a choice.

I turn off my phone to save the battery as Haze unlocks the front door to his castle—I’m sorry, his house. I follow him as he casually walks into the impressively big living room, making it clear that he’s used to it. It’s an everyday thing for him.

I can’t stop myself. “You are literally the definition of spoiled, you know that, right?”

He turns around and flashes a smile. Only this one is tainted with a distant sadness. “Yeah, well, it’s not all it’s cut out to be.”

Kicking off his shoes, he removes his jacket and sends it flying onto the leather couch next to him. My eyes instantly connect with the lean back muscles peeking through his T-shirt. Oh freaking hell, is the perfect body necessary? As if the pale blue eyes, perfect smile, and undeniable charisma isn’t enough.

Winter, stop checking out the enemy.

“Come on. Your room’s this way.” We pass through the kitchen to reach the stairs. As I glance around the high-ceiling room that’s surprisingly clean, I wonder if he has a maid. Probably.

The second floor is as spacious as the first. But the lack of decoration and white walls give it an impersonal vibe, like no one lives there at all. That’s what differentiates a house from a home.

Haze finally stops in front of a door and pushes it open. Behind it is a very empty room with, yet again, white walls. A bed and a nightstand are neatly placed in the center of the room.

“Your parents won’t mind that I’m spending the night?”

He scoffs. “It would require for them to be here in the first place.”

I look down, so many possibilities colliding in my mind.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Winter, stop.” He half-smiles. “They’re not dead. We just don’t live with them.”

“Oh.”

Oh is also code for “I have no idea what to say, but I have to say something before it gets awkward.”

“Wait, you said we?” I remember what Kendrick said. Haze is the best fighter there is, and his brother is next in line.

“My brother and me.” His eyes become cold, an obvious sign that he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be nosy.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Whose room is this?” I narrow my eyes, still analyzing my surroundings.