Chapter 6: The Rules

I stood in the middle of the apartment with my arms crossed over my chest. This couldn't be happening. I’d hoped I could still get out of Mom’s and her fiancé’s terrible plan, but I completely failed.

I stared at the gray couch across from the big flat-screen TV. There was only one chair, and I was determined it would be mine. If Wade wanted one, he could buy it himself.

Next to the kitchen island was a small dining table with two chairs, and the kitchen looked more modern than I expected. The apartment was obviously designed for two people to share comfortably.

And unfortunately, those two people were me and Wade. Except it didn’t feel comfortable.

I turned around and let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding when I saw there were two doors, and each door led to its own bedrooms.

Thank God. At least our parents hadn’t gone completely insane.

"Are you done inspecting the place?" I heard his voice come in, and I instantly lost my mood again.

I turned to him. Wade had already dropped his hockey duffel near one of the bedroom doors. He looked around the apartment with his usual calm expression. He put his hands in the pockets of his pants. And that annoyed me even more.

Could he look a little miserable?

"This is your mother's decision," he said.

I squinted my eyes. "Your father too."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It was Aunt Diana’s idea, and Dad just went along with it, for your information."

I bit my lower lip, squeezed my eyes shut, and took a deep breath. I forced myself to calm down.

Did Mom actually think Wade and I could get along before we even became siblings? Wow, she clearly wasn’t worried about starting world war three.

"Look, there's nothing we can do now since it's already happened," he started. "And stop looking like you're about to declare war over a couch."

"It's my couch."

"It isn't."

"It will be," I defended.

He let out a sigh and rubbed his nose, then pressed his eyes shut for a second. He looked wiped out from the day, but it wasn’t just tiredness. I could also see the irritation written all over his face.

"We've been here for less than two minutes, for God's sake."

"Ugh! This is torture!" I marched over to the table, snatched up a sheet of paper with writing on it, and walked back to stand in front of him. I held it up for him to see. His brows knit together.

"I made rules," I started.

"You made what?" His brows pulled together even tighter, like he couldn’t believe what I’d just said.

"Rules." I adjusted my glasses, looked up at him, and raised an eyebrow.

"You've been planning this?"

"I did this while Mom was driving."

His mouth opened and for the second time, he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose. "Of course, you did."

"Rule number one. You are never allowed inside my bedroom."

He sighed. "I wasn't planning to. What would I even do in your room?" he asked, but I ignored that.

"Rule number two. You are never allowed to speak to me, unless it's important or an emergency."

"I'm not planning to talk to you. Drain yourself dry for all I care." He shrugged.

I glared at him. This jerk.

"Rule number three. All lights should be off at exactly nine p.m."

"No."

"What do you mean no?" I frowned.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I have night practices, I go jogging after dark sometimes, and I usually eat late too."

"Not my problem."

He shook his head. My eyes widened when he snatched the paper from my hand, grabbed a pen, and scratched out rule number three.

"It becomes my problem if you take away my right for electricity."

I quickly snatched the paper back from his hand. "I need sleep!"

"So do I."

"I sleep at nine!" I shot back.

"Look, I'm not changing my schedule just because you have the sleeping habits of an eight-year-old kid."

I gasped. I was this close to crumpling the paper and throwing it in his face.

"I do not!" I glared at him so hard my glasses nearly slid down my nose. "Geez, okay! Lights can be on until eleven p.m. only!"

He didn't say anything else, so I guess that meant he agreed.

"Rule number four. No hockey equipment in the living room."

"No," he shook his head again. "I can leave my gear wherever I want."

"No, you can't. It smells!"

He tilted his head like he was insulting me. "Then you can't leave paintings in the living room."

I smirked at him. "Oh, yes, for sure. Because I'm putting my paintings in my bedroom."

I saw a hint of annoyance on his face, so I felt a little pleased. Then his eyes moved and landed on the table in the living room. He smirked at me, mimicking what I just did.

"No lavender candles then."

My eyes widened. "Why not? It'll make the apartment smell like flowers."

"I don't want flowers."

"And I don't like sweaty hockey gear."

We stared at each other. A few seconds passed, but we stayed silent. I was a little surprised when he stepped closer to me. His footsteps were heavy, and I suddenly felt nervous.

"I've got one rule," he said in a dark tone.

"You're not allowed to make rules," I said boldly.

He tilted his head again, still walking closer to me, so I decided to step back.

"Why is that? Are you the only one allowed to make rules?"

"Fine! Just one rule."

"You don't touch my stuff," he started. "Even if you see my things lying around. You can't touch them."

He said it like a warning. Why was he threatening me?

"I wasn't planning to," I said. His green eyes pinned me in place. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. I swallowed hard.

"You already did once."

That reminder slammed harder than I expected. I nibbled my lower lip.

The reason I’m so guarded, and why I refuse to let him anywhere near my room, is because his gear is still there. It's still hidden somewhere in my stuff. And because I was so mad and irritated at him that night, I didn’t just hide it.

I covered it in paint. I painted it with doodles.

So I’ll do anything to make sure he never sees it, because I know for a fact that the second he does, he’ll lose it completely. And of course, I’m not trying to end up crushed under his grip.

"I mean it, Layla," he said darkly.

I swallowed again when I realized I had nowhere left to back away. My back hit the cold, hard surface behind me. I looked up at Wade. He had me pinned between him and the wall.

"You touch my things again..."

I tried to lift my chin. "Or what?" I said boldly.

He stared at me, but before he could answer, I heard an unexpected knock at the door.

"Move," I said. I took the chance to get away from him, pushed him, and quickly walked to the door.

I pulled the door open and froze. A familiar, tall guy was standing there, grinning. In his hands was a plate of food that smelled incredible.

"Hey, Layla," he greeted with a smile. "I live across the hall. My roommate found out we have new neighbors. He made too much lasagna. So... welcome."

I looked at the food before forcing an awkward smile and taking the plate from his hands.

"Thanks," I said shortly.

"I'm Ethan Hayes. I'm sure you already know who I am."

I nodded. I took his hand and shook it. "Layla Anderson."

Before he could speak again, I saw his eyes move over my shoulder. I saw Ethan’s expression harden immediately.

"What do you want?" Wade asked, irritated in his tone.

"You're living with him?" Ethan asked and pointed at Wade.

I was startled when Wade suddenly pulled me back.

"Thanks for the food. You can leave now."

And then Wade slammed the door in Ethan’s face.

What a total jerk.

But why did he look so bothered that Ethan Hayes was at our door?