Unwritten Rules (Rules 1)

“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?”