Unwritten Rules (Rules 1)

“Seriously?” He kills the ignition and gets off his bike. “Stop moving. You’ll rip your head off.”

Feeling my cheeks heat up from the sudden burst of embarrassment, I do as I’m told. He steps closer in an attempt to set me free. He tries once. Then once becomes twice. Still, the helmet doesn’t budge.

He presses his lips together, hardly suppressing the mocking smirk remolding his lips.

“Haze, just get it off.”

“I’m trying, I swear. When did you grow such a big head, Kingston?”

I roll my eyes, ignoring his comment. When the helmet wins round number five, Haze has no choice but to admit defeat.

“We need soap. Or water. Anything to make it slippery.”

I squirm. “What? Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Would you rather go to the hospital?” I can hear the amusement in his voice.

Horrifying images of me walking into the emergency room with a helmet stuck on my head wash over me. I don’t think my ego can take that today. Or ever.

I’m assuming that the sight of me with a helmet stuck on my head is enough to destroy any trace of attraction Haze might’ve ever felt toward me, if it ever existed at all.

I glance at the empty driveway and

hesitate.

“I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?”

Haze and I walk side by the side, making our way toward the entrance.

He snickers. “Looks like the Universe doesn’t want the bonding to be over just yet.”

In that moment, I look up to the sky and all I can think is, Really, life, really?

“STOP MOVING FOR GOD’S SAKE,” HAZE complains for the billionth time.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with this thing stuck on your head,” I say. “Which, by the way, isn’t exactly weightless.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, princess. I shouldn’t have given you a helmet. It’s not like it can save your life or anything.”

It’s been like this for the past fifteen minutes. The bonding session quickly turned into a sarcasm battle. He’s been doing everything he possibly can to remove the helmet from my head, rubbing soap and water all over my neck. I’d probably be affected by the physical contact if this heavy-ass helmet wasn’t weighing down on me and giving me a headache.

“We might have to go to the hospital,” he says. “I mean, you can’t exactly keep it on your head forever, can you?”

I find myself laughing at that. Yes, laughing. At this point, I’d much rather laugh about it than cry. This whole situation is the definition of ridiculous, and although right now it sucks, I’m sure I’ll laugh about it one day.

“They could make a documentary about me.”

He clears his throat. “Helmet girl. When Winter was eighteen years old, her head got stuck in a motorcycle helmet. People were never able to get it off. She’s been living without makeup and hasn’t brushed her teeth ever since.”

I laugh harder at his narrator voice.

“Winter?”

My heart crawls up my throat when a familiar voice interrupts us. I turn around and see Kassidy through the tinted glass of the helmet. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom, she is looking at us with an expression that’s worth a million dollars. I completely forgot that she was coming home at nine.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” I say instinctively.

Haze smothers a laugh. “Tell me, what exactly does this look like?”