Page 26 of Unbroken Rules (Rules 3)

“I know,” he repeats, still without a single fuck given.

“I…”

“Something wrong, baby?” His breath bounces off my skin. I can’t focus on anything other than the sensation of his mouth working my neck.

“Haze.” His name slips out of my mouth, and the sound sets him off. It’s like a switch, a click. He grips my waist, spins me around, and plasters my back to the closed fridge with a force I didn’t expect. At first, I think he’s going kiss me, but the cockiness gleaming in his gaze tells me he’s not done playing with me just yet. He leans in, stopping right where he shouldn’t, only inches away from my mouth. He smirks.

Asshole.

I pout. And his smirk evolves into a smile.

In a heartbeat, he lowers his lips to mine. The kiss is unbearably slow, gentle. He wants me to beg for it. Let’s be real, I already am. I grip the collar of his shirt, yearning for more. His left hand trails down my side, and he cups my a…

“I think I just threw up in my mouth.”

I push Haze off me so fast you’d think your girl developed superpowers.

There, leaning against the kitchen doorway, is a girl-making-out-with-boyfriend-in-her-parents’-house nightmare.

The fourteen-year-old brother.

“Jay?” I bring a palm to my rising chest. “You’re… You’re home,” I state, but it comes out as a question.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” My brother grins, his eyes swinging between Haze and me for long seconds. “Dad said you were back. I wanted to see you.”

Idiot, you knew he was coming home tonight. I can’t believe I thought he went to the restaurant with them. I should’ve known. You’d have to pay this kid to get out of the house. I bet he only went on a trip with them last weekend because he bribed my dad into buying him a game he wanted.

I take in his appearance. He hasn’t changed one bit, wearing his go-to overwashed Iron Man T-shirt and cargo pants. His long, dirty, brown hair—I’m not talking color, it’s literally dirty—falls in front of his eyes and stops a bit under his shoulders, making me wonder how he’s not considered legally blind by society. We’ve been trying—and failing—to convince him to get a haircut for the past three years now. He says he looks better like this. I say his future self will have a good laugh one day. Oh, and showering is also an unknown concept to the kid. We’re hoping that changes once he gets a girlfriend.

“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, horrified.

“Just walked in,” he says, and relief rises within me.

Jaden and I have always been close. I was his role model growing up—weird, I know. As a kid, he’d constantly follow me around, desperate to hang out with me and my friends. I remember finding that so annoying. Typical sibling problems. I’m sure he would’ve preferred having a big brother, but he got me: crazy Winter, who dared him to fit ninety marshmallows into his mouth before our mother came back from the bathroom. Then puberty showed its face, and he started groaning at anyone who dared talk to him. I consider myself to be lucky. He says actual words to me sometimes.

“Are you going to introduce me to the guy shoving his tongue down your throat, sis?”

I almost choke on air.

“Jay! You can’t say things like that.” I sound so ridiculous I cringe at my own words. Trying to discipline him is a complete waste of time. This is Jaden. He once walked up to an overweight lady and asked her when her due date was in the middle of Taco Bell.

“Yes, I can. I just did?” He arches an eyebrow.

I clear my throat. “Jaden, this is Haze. Haze, this is Jaden.”

Jay scoffs. “Haze, huh? Weird name. Your parents hated you or something?”

I glance back at Haze, who doesn’t seem a tiny bit fazed by my brother’s complete lack of manners.

“Yeah, they did, actually.”

Jay’s mouth opens. Caught off guard, he searches for a good comeback but fails, pressing his lips into a line. He walked right into that one.

“In my defense, they hate the entire human race,” Haze adds, and I bite back a laugh. “How old are you?”

“None of your business,” Jay spits out. Man, he’s mastered his rude teenager lines down to a T.

“He’s fourteen.” I direct my attention back to my brother. “Don’t be rude!”