Page 11 of The Rule Breaker (Colton U Playbook #1)

RYAN

A ll I wanted to do tonight was sprawl on the couch, put on an action movie, and pass out before midnight. Hell, I’d have settled for a rom-com. A sitcom. A damn infomercial. Anything that didn’t involve standing in a room full of drunk, half-naked idiots.

But my roommates had other plans.

I forgot how much I hate parties.

I hadn’t been to one in so long that I almost missed it. The noise. The chaos. The thrill of being shitfaced and waking up on some random bathroom floor.

Almost .

Because right now, being stone-cold sober, I wonder how the hell I ever thought this was fun.

Especially considering I’m currently wrapped in an actual fucking curtain. Full-length, hideous pattern, scratchy fabric that looks like it belongs on my grandma’s couch.

This is all Austin’s fault, of course. His genius idea was to make the celebratory party an ‘anything but clothes’ party, so naturally, no one held back. Including him—standing across the room in a concoction of saran wrap and tin foil covering only the most strategic places.

A loud rip snaps my attention across the room.

“Fuck.” Tear . “Ah!” Tear . “Shiiiit.”

I take a slow sip of my beer, watching Logan wrestle with the duct tape around his chest.

“Jesus,” I shake my head. “That cannot be comfortable.”

Logan groans, yanking at the edges of the duct tape strapped across his chest. “Austin called dibs on the saran wrap. I had to improvise.”

“Yeah, well, at least it’s better than my outfit,” Nathan mutters, stepping into the room. I glance over—and immediately lose it.

My drink is gone, spit straight out of my mouth, my nose, probably every pore in my damn face.

Because Nathan is standing there, stone-faced, in nothing but a string of bananas covering his junk and a coconut bra.

I cough, wheezing. “Bro.”

Nathan exhales, adjusting his banana thong. “Yeah. I know. Austin’s a fucking idiot.”

“Nah, you look amazing,” Austin says with a grin.

“Hands down, best outfit here,” I tease, grinning when he flips me off.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

We turn at the sound of Cole’s voice as he finally arrives, dressed like a sane person—jeans and a t-shirt. No surprise there. Kind of pissed I didn’t think to ditch the dress code, too. This curtain is starting to itch.

Austin groans. “Aw, come on, bro. It’s an anything but clothes party. That’s so fucking boring.”

Cole scoffs. “Coming from the guy wrapped like a sandwich.”

Austin grins. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t one,” Cole deadpans.

I shake my head, handing him a drink. “Glad you’re here. These idiots are giving me a headache.”

He shakes his head, lets out a quiet huff—the closest thing to laughter we’ll probably ever get from him. “When don’t they?”

“Please don’t lump me in with those two,” Nathan sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m a victim in all of this.”

I let out a chuckle, unable to stop laughing every time I look at Nathan.

“Hey.” We turn as a brunette slides up next to Cole, her eyes shining as she looks up at him. “Cole, right?” she purrs, resting a hand on his chest.

He nods. Silent.

Her smile stretches as she rises onto her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear. He arches a brow, listening. Then, without a word, he takes her hand and leads her upstairs.

I shake my head.

Un-fucking-believable.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere near my bedroom!” Austin yells after him, scowling. Cole doesn’t so much as glance back.

“Fuck,” Austin groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “He’s gonna fuck on my bed, isn’t he? Damn it, I just changed my sheets this morning.”

Logan scoffs, popping a chip in his mouth. “You change them every fucking day, if the number of girls sneaking out of your room is anything to go by.”

Austin chuckles, nudging him. “You’re one to talk. I saw a girl sneak out of your room last week.” His eyes narrow. “She ate my cereal, by the way.”

Logan raises a brow, unimpressed. “Oh, the travesty.”

“Dude, it was Cap’n Crunch. The limited edition,” Austin blurts. “It’s my favorite one!”

“You’ll live,” Logan teases with a wink.

I shake my head, glancing around the party, my eyes scanning the crowd for a glimpse of curly brown hair. I haven’t seen her since that day in her dorm, but I did invite her to the party, and I wonder if she’s going to come.

I shake my head, reaching for another drink, and stop cold.

My eyes lock on Isabella chatting with her friend, tilting her head back as she lets out a laugh, which makes my lips tip up into a smirk as my eyes graze over her body.

Even in a garbage bag , she looks hot as fuck.

She glances to her side, and her laugh fades the second our eyes meet, her lips twisting into a slow, knowing smile. She leans toward her friend, murmuring something. Aurora flicks her gaze to me, then back to Isabella with a grin, like she approves.

Of what? Couldn’t say. Don’t give a fuck.

Because Isabella starts walking toward me.

My grip tightens around my drink as her smile widens the closer she gets.

“Nice curtains.”

I huff out a chuckle, glancing down at the stupid-ass fabric still wrapped around me. “Nice trash bag.”

She sighs, smoothing a hand over the cheap plastic, cinched at the waist with a strip of duct tape. “So creative, I know.” A smirk tugs at her lips. “Didn’t know it was an ABC party until about two hours ago.”

I chuckle with a shake of my head. “If anyone could make trash look good, it’d be you, Curls.”

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “No curls today.”

Her hair—which is usually curly and wavy and lives in my fucking dreams, apparently—hangs sleek and straight, brushing against her waist. “I can see that.” My fingers reach out before I even think, rubbing a strand between them.

Smooth. Silky. Different. My lips curl into a smirk. “Kinda miss them.”

The space between us shrinks. I catch the faint scent of vanilla and something else just as sweet. We’re so fucking close that her brother would kill me if he saw us together right now.

What the hell am I doing?

I straighten, tension locking my shoulders just as a voice cuts in.

“Hey, Ryan.”

I glance down at the girl smiling up at me, her friend standing beside her.

I have no idea who they are. Still, I offer a polite smile. “Hi.”

“Congrats on the game.” She places a hand on my arm, fingers trailing just enough to make her intentions clear. Her friend watches, sipping her drink.

My gaze shifts—straight to Isabella.

She hasn’t moved. Hasn’t looked away. Just stands there, watching, taking a slow sip of her drink. If she has any thoughts about what’s happening, she doesn’t show it.

I glance back at the girls, shooting them a smile. “Thanks.” My mom drilled manners into me. There’s no need to be an asshole just because I’m not interested.

But right now, I really need them to leave.

Because the one girl I do have an interest in is standing here, watching another girl press up on me.

I step back, gently peeling the girl’s hand off my arm. “Enjoy the party.” Before she can respond, I turn to Isabella, grabbing her hand instead, and pull her toward the back of the house, somewhere quieter, somewhere no one can get in the way. And she lets me.

Once we’re there, I blow out a breath, dragging a hand over my face. “Sorry about that.”

Isabella just laughs, her big brown eyes glinting. “It’s fine,” she says, her lips twitching into a smirk. “You’re clearly very loved.”

I shake my head, scoffing. “Yeah, well… it’s just because we won the game.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t believe that for a second. I think girls are like that around you no matter what.”

I press my lips together, exhaling through my nose. She’s not wrong.

I’ve always been popular, I guess. Even as a kid, I knew girls found me attractive. I had game. Still do.

She chuckles when I don’t answer, knowing she’s right. “Congrats on the game, by the way.”

My lips twitch into a smirk, and I drag my thumb over my bottom lip. “Did you watch it?”

She lets out a soft laugh that makes me want to hear it again. And again . “Of course I was watching. My dad’s the coach, and my brother’s the goalie.” She lifts a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Kinda had to.”

I hum, shifting closer without even realizing it. Close enough to catch the faint scent of whatever shampoo she uses. Close enough that I probably should step back.

But I don’t.

“And maybe you were watching for me?” I tease, my voice dipping lower, testing the waters.

Because I like having her eyes on me.

She smirks, keeping her eyes locked on mine. “You wish,” she breathes, lightly shoving at my chest.

I let out a low laugh. “You can admit you watched the game for me. It’s not a crime.”

No, but it is a crime against bro code.

I’m playing a dangerous fucking game. Because I know I shouldn’t be here, in the corner, alone with her. Talking. Smiling. Touching. Flirting . And yet, here I am.

Can’t help it.

She tugs her plump bottom lip between her teeth, and I swear to God, I almost lose my mind. “I might have maybe glanced at you for a quick second during the game,” she says, rolling her eyes in a way that shouldn’t be sexy but absolutely is.

Makes me want to grab her and kiss her right-the-fuck-now.

Step the fuck away, Ryan.

“I like hearing that,” I admit, my voice a little quieter. Because I do. I like knowing she was out there, in the crowd, looking at me. Watching me play.

No one ever really does. Not like it matters. It’s just a college game, not the fucking Stanley Cup or anything.

She inhales softly, swirling the liquid in her cup before bringing it to her lips for a slow sip. “So… How was your date?”

Ice cold fucking water.

That’s what those words feel like. Dumped right over my head.

I don’t want to think about another girl.

And I definitely don’t want Isabella thinking about her, either.

“Great,” I lie.

Isabella’s brows shoot up, her drink hovering just below her lips. “Yeah? Do tell. Did you kiss her?” She tilts her head, pressing her lips together.

I scoff, shaking my head. She’s trying to play it cool, but I see right through her. She’s jealous. Or pissed. Maybe both. And I like it more than I should.

“Don’t try and act coy,” I say, tilting my head slightly. “Ask me outright, Isabella.”

Her forced smile falters just a little before she masks it with a sip of her drink. “Did you hook up with her?”

My smirk widens. I like teasing her, talking to her like this, even if I shouldn’t. “I didn’t even go.”

Her brows knit together. “What?”

I shrug, leaning back against the wall, letting my fingers graze the rim of my cup. “I didn’t go on the date,” I admit.

Ask me , I silently beg her. Ask me why .

“Why?”

My jaw clenches, a muscle ticking. “Kinda can’t stop thinking about someone else.”

Her lips part slightly, but she recovers quickly, arching a brow. “Oh yeah? Blondie and her friend back there?” she teases, tilting her head toward the party behind us.

I let out a low laugh. “Definitely not.” My gaze drifts over her face, the curve of her lips, the way the dim lighting catches the gold specks in her eyes. “Kinda think this girl doesn’t like me or something,” I joke, letting out a dramatic sigh. “It’s a tragedy.”

“No?” She tuts, shaking her head. “Might be your overinflated ego.” A smirk tugs at her lips as she lifts her drink. “Well, I’m sure there are plenty of girls willing to take your sorrows away. You won the game, after all. There must be thousands of girls willing to hook up with you tonight.”

“Thousands?” I arch a brow, stepping just a little closer.

“You know what I mean,” she says, waving her hand dismissively, but there’s a challenge in her eyes.

I nod, taking a step closer, though every instinct in my body screams at me to take a step back. And then another. And another. But I can’t help it. Not with her standing so close, her silky hair falling around her face, the scent of her shampoo filling the space between us.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” My gaze drops to hers, and for a second, I lose myself in those big brown eyes.

They’re pulling me in like gravity. Her words, though, feel so fucking arbitrary.

If she knew just how often I think of those curls of hers, of her lips, of the way she fits into every thought I have, she wouldn’t have even asked me that question.

“If I were interested in hooking up with anyone else, I wouldn’t be here talking to you, would I?”

The silence stretches between us, and I’m very fucking aware of her breath, shallow and hesitant. The only sound is the trash bag crinkling with every breath she takes.

Her eyes flicker up to mine, a challenge in them. “Too bad nothing can ever happen between us.”

Why is that again?

Right.

Brother. Dad… Rules .

There are a million barriers between us, but in this moment, it’s just me and her, standing close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.

No one else around to stop us. And all I can think about is the dirty thoughts running through my head—starting with those lips and ending with ripping off that garbage bag off her body.

I hum, brushing my thumb along her soft cheek before cupping it, feeling her warmth seeping into my palm. “You’re right.” I stifle a groan when her lips part, and a soft noise leaves her lips. Fuck, I want to kiss her. Want to swallow those noises.

But I drop my hand and take a step back before I do something we’ll both regret. Though, I’m not sure if I’d regret it all that much.

I shoot her a smirk. “But it’s still fun to tease you.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “You’re such an asshole.”

I laugh, the tension between us easing as if nothing happened. “And you were two seconds away from telling me how you want to rip off my old lady curtains.”

Her brow arches, her lips curling into a playful smile. “Definitely not.”

I chuckle. “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that.”

I like Isabella. A lot. But I know better than to act on it. We both do. Hooking up with her would be a mistake. There are just too many lines I can’t cross.

And besides, I agreed when I met her, I’d be her friend.

And that’s all I can be.