Page 45 of Unbroken Rules (Rules 3)

“Are you kidding me?” I stalk inside the hotel room Haze unexpectedly booked for us. “It’s official. You’re crazy.”

He opens his mouth, but I cut him off.

“And don’t say crazy for you. That’s way too cheesy.”

He squeezes his mouth shut. Ah, do I know him or what? He walks in after me, the door barely shutting before he swoops me into his arms and carries me straight to the large bed. I didn’t even get a chance to scour the room, but I can’t find it in myself to care when Haze drops on top of me, covering my cheek with hot kisses. Truth is, I’ve been waiting for this moment all day.

“Does that mean you like the room?” he asks.

“Meh. It’s okay,” I shrug but I can’t stop smiling. This is, by a long shot, the nicest room I’ve ever stayed in, and he knows it.

“Glad you approve.” His mouth finds mine for a heated kiss. I think back to the moment he pulled up to my school in my dad’s car, rolled down the window, and threw me his best Colgate smile. The snobby girl I’d just met in class was waiting for her ride as well and hit me with a confused “That’s your boyfriend?” Poor girl was conflicted. Hot as heck young guy driving a minivan? She was almost as amazed as she was weirded out.

Walking out of the building to see Haze waiting for me completely turned my mood around. He took the crappiest of days and made it bearable. Just one smile and I could barely remember why I was upset to begin with.

I thought journalism was my calling, thought being the key word here. I’m not so sure anymore. Between one of my teachers being a human tsunami and another saying most of us would not make it to graduation, I didn’t exactly have a blast.

Mr. Spit invited a full-time journalist to come present herself as well as her job to the class. Come to find out the woman was mostly writing about run-over dogs and liquor store holdups. She said she’s been working for the same company for years and still struggles to write about something she cares about.

I kick the unpleasant thoughts aside and sneak out from under Haze’s strong body, eager to explore our room. I expected many things from this perfect date. Walking into a gigantic suite to find numerous roses creating a path to the bed was not one of those things. I know Haze promised me a hotel room and a romantic dinner, but this is something else.

You see, I have this theory that Haze Adams secretly wants my heart to explode.

I twist the knob to the bathroom and gasp.

“There’s a hot tub?” I squeal, my eyes drifting to Haze over my shoulder. He’s lying on the bed, arms under his head. “That’s the part you tell me you’re kidding and take me to the regular room you booked for us.”

“You might be waiting a while.” He makes his way over to me. A huge basket filled with more rose petals, champagne, lube, and condoms sits on the bathroom counter.

“Well, someone’s got a plan for tonight.” I pick up the five linked condoms.

He snorts. “This is the romance suite, Kingston. What did you expect? Puzzles?”

I laugh and he picks the hanging condoms from my hands, wrinkling his nose. “This won’t do.”

“Why not?”

“We’re going to need way more than that,” he smirks, so unbelievably sure of himself.

“Haze, you’re doing that thing again.” I lean against his chest, my lips teasingly hovering over his.

“What thing?”

I get on the tip of my toes, leaning so close he shuts his eyes in anticipation of a kiss. “That thing where you confuse your dreams with reality.”

Without another word, I leave him stranded with his eyes closed. I can’t stop laughing at the look on his face when he comes running after me. Next thing I know, he’s thrown me over his shoulder.

“Put me down,” I scream in between laughter.

“What’s a guy got to do to get some gratitude around here?” He smacks my ass. “I take you on a romantic date and this is what you do to me?” He throws me on the bed again, his blue eyes meeting mine as my heartbeat increases considerably. I laugh louder when he starts tickling me. Just a heads up: I am not responsible for breaking any part of your body if you tickle me.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“You’re sorry.”

“Say it.” He tickles me until I’m laughing so hard my stomach aches and I can’t take it any longer.

“Okay, okay!” I relent, out of breath, and stick my hands up. “I’m sorry.”