Unbroken Rules (Rules 3)

“There. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He pats the top of my head, and I swat his arm repeatedly. Annoyed, he pins my wrists on both sides of my head. Our gazes tangle. We’re putting on a show, but we’re both holding back smiles. God, he makes me so happy I don’t know what to do with myself.

“I love you,” I exhale.

“I know.”

Pretending to be offended, I attempt to wriggle out from under him, but he stops me, keeping my arms in place.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughs, and I struggle to bury my grin. I can’t even pretend to be mad. “I love you, too. You know I do.”

“Then prove it.”

He takes his sweet time, leaning forward and back, twisting a strand of my hair around his index finger, until I’m desperate for him.

“Kiss me,” I urge. He leans in some more, his lips brushing mine, and stops.

“We have to be at the restaurant in ten minutes. Go get changed.” That’s all he says before getting off me. I watch him head for the door with my mouth agape.

“Seriously?”

“It’s called payback. Look it up.” A taunting smile warps his lips as he motions to the bathroom door. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

Silly me. Guess I should’ve known.

Haze Adams is big on revenge.

“Your mom never told you not to strip in front of people

?” This might just be the last thing I expected Haze—well, anyone, really—to tell me tonight. When I send my heels flying across the room and wince in pain, I’m reminded of why I never wear heels—as in ever. I love them, but I love my feet more.

I finish tugging my tight dress down my legs, aware of Haze’s eyes tracking my every move. He’s right. I walked in, closed the door, and pretty much started stripping without a warning. That’s how comfortable I am around him. I dig into my tiny luggage and slide an oversized T-shirt over my head with a sigh of relief. Way better.

“My mother didn’t tell me much. That would require communication,” I state, jumping onto the bed. It’s close to midnight. Dinner was amazing. The food was great, the company even better, but we were both eager to return to the hotel to pass out. Haze joins me on the bed, only taking off his jacket.

“Yeah, well, your mother’s awful, so there’s that.” He shrugs. I roll over to cuddle him.

“I don’t know what I ever did for her to hate me so much.”

“She hates everyone,” he says to make me feel better. I remember him saying that exact line to me about his own parents once. Crazy how two people with different backgrounds can relate to each other so deeply.

“Yeah. But she hates me more.”

“Was it always like this?” he asks.

I nod. “As far as I can remember.”

“Even when you were a kid?”

“Worse when I was a kid. She used to throw these monster parties in our one-bedroom when I was five. I swear, sometimes I’d be up until 3:00 a.m. playing in the sandbox out back. I hated the loud music.”

Haze’s jaw hardens like he can’t stand the thought. “And no one did anything about it?”

“Well, the cops showed up once. A neighbor saw me outside, and this lady came to talk to me at school the next day. I never knew what she wanted, but she asked me a bunch of questions about my mom. I didn’t think twice about it, but now… I think maybe social services tried to take me away.”

The gravity of the situation tugs at my heartstrings. I haven’t looked back upon this moment in years. I never saw the lady again, and my child brain tossed the memory so deep into the trash, it faded to the point of oblivion. But now that I think about it, there’s so much that didn’t add up.

“Then what happened?”

“My mom got with Harry a few days later. Before I knew it, they were getting married and we were moving into the house they have now.” The remnants of a smile color my face. Harry isn’t technically my dad. But he gave me a childhood—a home.