“Relax, I’m kidding. It gets cold around here. That’s the warmest room in the house, so it’s either that or pneumonia. But, hey, it’s your choice.” He puts his hands up.
Dang it.
“Look, I promise to stay on my side of the bed. Plus, it’s only for a few weeks. What are you afraid of?”
I bite my tongue so as not to talk back.
“So this is where you used to sleep, huh?” I change the topic.
“Yep.” He sits on the edge of a bed he knows all too well.
“Where are these clothes of yours?”
He gets up, walks to his dresser, and opens a drawer.
I can’t help myself. “Five bucks says it doesn’t fit.”
He arches an eyebrow, accepting the challenge, and reaches for a blue T-shirt in the bottom drawer.
“Oh my God.” I gasp.
“What?” He jumps a little.
“Colors!”
I catch his grin. “You’re an idiot.”
“What? It’s true. You never wear any. Do you actually own something other than black T-shirts?”
“Colors aren’t my thing,” he says.
“Could you be more of a Casanova cliché?” I roll my eyes.
“I mean, if you insist.”
He casually removes his shirt and throws it on the floor. I can’t help but pry my eyes away.
“Haze!” I yelp.
“What? You asked.”
Right. Because this is totally helping me in the “let’s be friends” department.
“Did you put it on yet?”
“Yeah.”
I turn around, only to find him still very much half-naked. “But you said…”
“I know what I said.” He smiles.
Oh freaking hell.
I miserably lose the fight and let myself stare at his toned body. It’s almost like he’s doing it on purpose. Like he wants to see me drool over him.
“Enjoying the show?” he asks after a few seconds of me gawking.
I come back to the land of the non-drooling living and shake my head in the hope that it will shake the embarrassment off my cheeks, too.
“Just put the damn shirt on.”
Finally, he does. No, wait—he tries, but it doesn’t go quite as planned. Uncontrollable laughter crawls up my throat at the unexpected sight offering itself to me.
Haze. Stuck in an undersized T-shirt that stops in the middle of his stomach.
His broad shoulders stretch the fabric that holds on for dear life to his sculpted body. It might not sound like much, but it’s hands down the most hilarious thing I’ve seen in a while.
“It’s not funny,” he hisses.
This only makes me laugh harder. This is definitely Karma punishing him for all the teasing he’s been doing. Needed to kick the sexual tension down a notch.
He tries to remove it but struggles to free himself.
“Winter… I can’t take it off.”
I’m suffocating at this point.
I try to speak between chuckles. “Are… are you serious?”
“Do you think I’d still be wearing this ridiculous thing if I wasn’t?”
“You said you used to come here two years ago.”
“Maybe it was two. Maybe it was five. Same thing.” He growls in annoyance.
This strangely reminds me of the motorcycle helmet incident. He had to get the helmet off of my head, and now I need to free him from a T-shirt.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
“Don’t just stand there. Help me.”
I barely swallow my laughter when he motions to come closer. Swiftly, he grabs my wrists and places both my hands on his chest.
“There,” he says.
I wait for him to tell me what to do next. But he doesn’t. Instead, he stares. All I can do is feel his torso through the light fabric of the nightmare he calls a T-shirt. The fact that I’m still attracted to him when he’s stuck in a kid’s T-shirt just shows me how far gone I am.
Like he can hear every forbidden thought clouding my judgment, he fixes on my lips and nibbles on his lightly. He starts to lean in.
He wouldn’t…
He wouldn’t kiss me again, would he?
As though he’s come back to his senses, he stops.
“Never mind, I got it.”
He pulls away and takes the shirt off like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“Wait… You clearly didn’t need me,” I stutter.
“I know. I wanted to feel your hands on my chest.” He grins and heads back for the drawer.
This guy.
Haze Adams masters playing with my emotions like there’s an instruction manual.
Amused by the shock I’m drowning in, he picks up his old shirt from the ground and throws it back on.
“Come on. We have to go.”
“Go where?”
“Shopping. I need new clothes, and we’re eventually going to need to eat to, you know, survive,” he teases.
I hold back a sigh. I haven’t even been here with him for a day yet and I already feel like the tension’s going to end me. His careless words sneak their way back inside my head.
It’s only for a few weeks. What are you afraid of?
And all I have to say to that is…
Oh, Haze. Do you have any idea how many things can happen in a few weeks?
7
Jealous Much?
As we drive around Colton Gate, I watch the small but luxurious town parade in the rearview mirror of Haze’s black car. I can’t stop myself from wondering how I went from crashing at Thomas’s place to living with Haze Adams in less than forty-eight hours. How I went from eating takeout food with my cousin to going on a shopping spree with his enemy in a town whose mall is meant for millionaires.
I wonder how his parents could even afford a place like this.
“What do your parents do for a living?” I try.
He shifts in his seat. “Nothing that would interest you.”
Predictable.
“You must have one hell of a boring life according to all the topics I wouldn’t be interested in.”
“Something like that.”
I grow annoyed. “You do know that the more you dodge my questions, the more I want to know, right?”
“Yep.”
I roll my eyes. “Jerk.”
“Prude.” He smiles.
I can’t erase the grin creeping in the corner of my mouth. I have no idea when or how “jerk” and “prude” became our thing, but somehow, it did.
Haze takes a right and pulls up into the mall parking lot. It looks just like any other mall, but the sign at the parking entrance indicates that mostly expensive clothing stores are located inside the building. I’ve always had a slight problem with expensive clothes. Unfortunately, to me, expensive doesn’t always mean “pretty.” And, from what I can tell looking at the clothes displayed in one of the shops’ windows, the millionaires in this town have strange taste.
This won’t be easy.
Haze stops the car and makes a face, indicating that he’s having the same train of thoughts as I am.
We exchange looks and smile.
Let’s go shopping.
“You are not going to believe it,” I say, fidgeting with the price tag of the most hideous polka dot slash floral dress I’ve ever seen.
“How much?” he asks.
“A hundred and fifty.”
Haze smothers a laugh, on the other side of the changing room. We’ve been going around the mall and trying on the most ridiculous clothes we could find for two hours now. Haze found what he needed in like minus two seconds. Finding plain T-shirts isn’t a very demanding task, apparently.
As soon as we walked inside the mall, a million missed calls and messages came rushing in on my cracked phone screen. My dinosaur could barely get signal at the lake house, but it’s way stronger at the mall.
They’re all from Kendrick and Maria. They must be worried out of their mi
nds.
I don’t even want to think about how Maria reacted when Kendrick told her that I left Tom’s “safe” house.
“Who on earth would pay almost two hundred dollars for this?” I take off my clothes the best I can to put on the dress.
“Yeah, well, it’s either this mall’s clothes or driving two hours out of town. I told you, we’re a bit isolated.”
“What is this place anyway? Like a top-secret town for the Kardashians?” I struggle with the tight fabric.
Haze cackles, then speaks to someone. The clothing store employee, I assume.
“Yes, Mr. Adams, right away,” I hear a female voice say.
I furrow my eyebrows. Mr. Adams? First, how the heck does the employee know Haze’s last name? And why so formal to someone who’s younger than her?
He brings his attention back to me. “It’s just a wealthy area.”
It’s a gated community with huge houses and a mall filled with luxurious brands. I’d say this is more than just a wealthy area, but I guess for Haze this is an everyday thing.
“This isn’t even close to a bit isolated. We’re in the middle of nowhere. If you left me here, I’d die. Especially since my ancient phone won’t let me use the GPS.” I laugh, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Good thing this dress doesn’t have a zipper.
“How’s that going, by the way? Living without your phone? It’s been a while since you…” He pauses, erupting in laughter. “Since you threw it in the toilet.”
Here we go.
It’s official. He is never going to let me forget this one.
“Shut up.”
It takes him a few seconds to stop laughing. “Are you done yet?” He knocks on the door.
Someone’s getting impatient.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” I wince.
“That bad, huh?”
“More like disastrous.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. Come on out.”
I fidget with the sleeves of the dress. “Okay, but if you take a picture, I’ll stab you in the eyes, rip your eyeballs out, and slowly make you swallow them, are we clear?”
“You’re creepy as fuck, Kingston, you know that?”
“Are we clear?” I ask again.
He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am.”
I get on my crutches and push the changing-room door open. Haze instantly starts laughing, and truth be told, I can’t really blame him. I don’t consider myself to be a fashion expert with unbeatable style, but this… this is something else.
“You look like my grandma’s curtains.” He snorts.
I mean, he’s not wrong.
“You know what? I think I’m good with my clothes. Like you said, it’s only for a few weeks.”
Again, special shout-out to Kendrick for making sure I only had the ugliest clothes in my closet to wear during this “let’s keep Winter safe” adventure. Sometimes, I think he did it on purpose.
Maybe somewhere, deep down, Kendrick knew Haze would show up and that’s why he decided to have me wear hideous pajamas every single day. What better way to make sure Haze wouldn’t make a move on me than to make me look like a hobo? My oversized sweatpants and band T-shirts aren’t very attractive, to say the least.
“This isn’t just ugly. It’s uncomfortable, too.” I wiggle, the dress itching. “I need to change.”
Haze checks the time on his phone. “There’s something I have to go do real quick. I’ll be thirty minutes tops. You going to be okay on your own?”
“Sure. As long as you don’t leave me here—you’re supposed to protect me, remember?” I taunt.
He smiles. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back. Plus, you have the nice employees to keep you safe. Not that anybody would want to make a move on you dressed like this.” He looks me up and down.
“Jerk,” I mutter under my breath.
“Prude,” he says as he walks away.
I watch him disappear with an idiotic grin on my lips and turn around to find myself alone with the pile of clothes I have yet to try on. I did find some decent clothes in the discount section. Nothing was below fifty dollars, but this will have to do. I’m hoping they’ll fit and I’ll be able to look semi-cute from now on. I spend the next thirty minutes making faces and throwing clothes in the “never again” pile. I’m happy to get at least a few items to bring back with me.
I’m about to step out of the changing room when my phone rings. My heart sinks at the caller ID.
Maria.
I take a breath and pick up.
“Winter, thank God. Where are you?” my aunt says as soon as I press the button.
“Hey, Aunt Maria,” I say, careful not to be too loud.
“Are you okay? We’ve been trying to call you since last night.” She speaks rapidly.
“I’m okay, I promise.”
She sighs in relief. “What in the world happened?”
“Kendrick didn’t tell you?”
“He just said you’re with this Haze kid. Tell me where you are. I can come get you right now.”
I proceed to tell her exactly what happened. I start with how easily Haze tracked us down, and she listens to every word. No matter how much I wish I could stay, I know that she’s probably right. This is insane. She’s my guardian. I can’t stay here if she doesn’t want me with Haze.
“I’ll text you the address,” I say in defeat when I’m finished with the story.
She doesn’t speak for a few seconds.
“Don’t.”
“What?” I ask, certain I heard that wrong.
“I hate to admit it, but we don’t know what we’re doing. We can’t protect you right now. If what you’re saying is true, if it really took him fifteen minutes to find you, I… I think the safest place you can be right now is with him.”
Joy, surprise, disbelief—so many emotions fill me when she says that. Deep down, I’m happy because I don’t want to leave.
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me, I don’t like the idea, but this is for the best. You just need to stick it out until school’s over and you can go back home. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” I agree.
“We should really tell your mom about this though,” she says, guilt overwhelming her.
“Please, like she would care. She hasn’t called me once in the whole time I’ve been living with you. I’ve only talked to my dad. She’s happier not hearing from me, believe me.”
“Oh, sweetie, don’t say that. You know how she is. Lauren’s not too good with emotions. I’m sure she’s just been busy traveling with Harry,” she lies to make me feel better.
“Busy hating me maybe,” I grumble to myself. My aunt doesn’t want to admit it, but there is a reason my mother jumped at the opportunity to join my father—well, technically stepfather, but I consider him to be blood—on his work trip. The less she has to look at my face, the happier she is.
Maria fights my claims for a few more minutes and makes me promise to call her often. She also tries to get into a very awkward safe-sex conversation that I dodge like a pro.
“I have to go. I love you,” I say.
“I love you, too, honey. Be safe. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
I hang up and shove my phone in my jeans pocket. I step out of the changing room with all the clothes I don’t want in my hands, and the employee from earlier walks up to me with a black dress hanging from her left arm. She tells me that Haze wanted me to try it on. This is probably what they were talking about earlier.
“How much is it?” I ask.
“Two hundred and eighty.”
How about an organ with that?
I begin to decline but tell myself that there’s no harm in just trying it on. Minutes later, I’m out of the changing room and beyond conflicted. The dress looks like it was meant for me, even with my splint on.
“You looked fabulous.” The ginger employee smiles when I hand her the dress. I almost didn’t take it off.
“Thank y
ou. But I really don’t have that kind of money for a dress.”
“I do.”
I’m a bit surprised when an unknown voice reaches my ears. I turn my head and see a guy who’s around my age standing a few feet away from me. Black hair covers part of his eyes, and his jaw is so sharp I’m sure you can throw a cucumber at it and have instant crudités.
“I’m sorry, manners. Name’s Ryder.”
He’s cute and all, but his offer pushes him into the slightly creepy category.
“Hi, I’m Winter,” I say politely.
“Are you new in town? I think I’d remember seeing you around.”
I almost scoff. Original. There should be a limit of uses allowed for cheesy pickup lines so you have to pay a fine every time you use one as old as time.
“I’m on vacation. Not staying for long.”
“That’s a shame. Well, enjoy the dress. It’s on me.”
“You really don’t have to d—”
He cuts me off. “I insist.”
The employee motions to follow her to the front of the store where the cash registers are.
Okay? Because this isn’t weird at all.
All I can do is stand back and watch this perfect stranger spend three hundred dollars on me. He pays and comes back to hand me the bag.
“There you go.”
I thank him. He starts walking but stops midway and turns around.
“Oh, and good luck for next Saturday.”
I nod faintly, confusion pouring over me. What is that supposed to mean?
What’s happening next Saturday?
Ryder waves goodbye and exits the store. At the same time, Haze walks back in with a bag of his own. He frowns and stares at Ryder until he’s out of sight.
“What was that about?” he asks.
“What do you know? Rich people are more generous than I thought. Dude insisted on buying me a three-hundred-dollar dress for no reason, can you believe it?”
“And you let him?” he blurts.
I’m a bit shocked by his reaction. “What was I going to do? Punch him? He didn’t give me much of a choice.”
The kind employee comes to my rescue. “It’s true, Mr. Adams. He didn’t give her a choice.”
I frown. This Mr. Adams thing again. Why would she call him that?
Haze barely acknowledges her, too focused on being angry for no reason. The employee knows how to take a hint and goes back to the storefront. I follow her, pay for the few items I’m getting and return to his side.
Unspoken Rules Page 5