Forgotten Rules (Rules 4)

That’s the last thing he says before taking off his shirt and pants in front of me.

No heads-up.

He just strips.

I swear I can feel my throat tighten when I take in his hard, defined body. Even in the dim-lit backyard, my eyes effortlessly trace along the lines of his abs. Broad shoulders, strong pec—

Holy fuck, he has the V.

If you’re down to create a law that states William Martins has to be shirtless twenty-four seven, raise your hand.

He throws his T-shirt at me—probably for me to wear—but I’m so busy drooling over him that I jump out of my skin, failing to catch it. He laughs as I bend over to pick it up. I don’t know if he saw me eye-fuck him, but if he did, he doesn’t comment on it, which I’m immensely thankful for.

“Put it on if you want.” He gestures to the balled-up shirt in my hands.

I fold my arms over my chest. “This is BS. Hot tubs don’t sober you up.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You sure as hell aren’t going to find out just standing there, are you?” He flashes me a cocky grin, slipping into the hot tub himself. Motion-activated blue lights come on, reflecting in the water.

“I don’t even feel high. Maybe I’m immune or something.”

He scoffs. “It’s only been twenty minutes. And that brownie was for a six-foot-five football player. Trust me, you’re going to feel it. Come on, live a little. Or… is fun against your control- freak lifestyle?”

The challenge in his voice eats away at me.

I can’t believe myself when I tell him to turn around and peel off my clothes to sling his T-shirt over my head. I tug at its extremities, relieved to see it covers everything it needs to, and usher myself to the tub, dipping my big toe into the sizzling water. I can’t help flinching at the temperature, accidentally brushing Will’s shoulder on my way in. The contact turns my stomach into a gigantic bag of knots.

What’s with me tonight?

Oh, you know, you just had a pot brownie the size of your hand.

I’m about to give Will some “You were saying?” attitude when it hits me.

Like a tornado.

Like a punch in the face.

My head starts to spin.

My whole body relaxes.

Shit…

I’m high.

“You did not.” I chortle so loud my own ears hate me. I don’t think I’ve ever been this annoying in my life. And the craziest part? I don’t even care. Being high is not as bad as I thought it would be, although I would never willingly put myself through this experience again.

I’ve spent the last thirty minutes laughing for no reason, putting on a killer show for Will, who seems to be having the time of his life roasting me.

“Why is it so hard for everyone to believe?” he argues.

“Because you’re… you. You’re Will, Willy, Willy Wonka.” I’m so proud of my new nickname for him I could high-five myself. “You’re the guy who shoves fries up his nose to make his friends laugh. You’re against relationships. So, working at a retirement home for a whole summer? Forgive me for having doubts.”

His face goes from amused to serious in a heartbeat. “What makes you think I’m against relationships?”

I’m a bit taken aback. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’ve never been in one?”

There was a rumor going around school these past few weeks. Something about a cheerleader having a massive crush on him. Last I heard, he let her down easy. Almost makes you wonder if he ever… gets lucky. I mean, a guy has needs, right?