The Rule Maker (Rule Breakers) Read online

  I remember my mother sat back and watched us with deep amusement, especially when my father chugged four glasses of milk and drooled like a bullmastiff for twenty minutes. She rubbed his back, and even then it was so damn clear they were in love with each other. The kind of love promised in those chick movies Zoey liked. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed that kind of love existed. The only type of girls I seemed to attract were after new purses and fifteen minutes in the limelight. I’d learned that one the hard way.

  “I told him it was a mistake to buy it,” I said. And I’d keep telling him until he came to his senses.

  My parents would have been celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary next month. Instead, they were buried together on a plot of land in Bellevue.

  I visited them once a year on the anniversary of their death whereas Jason clutched every last memory of our parents. I had one picture of them in my wallet, because anything more would just drag me back into the dark time right after their death. I worried it might do the same for Jason. Which was another reason why I thought this whole idea to buy and revamp that pile of garbage was such a shit idea. An impulse buy backed by emotion was destined for disaster.

  “I agree,” she said.

  “What was that, Grandma?”

  “I said I agree.” She huffed. “Maybe you need to book an appointment with an ENT to get your hearing checked out.”

  “No, I just wanted you to say it again.” I smiled. I couldn’t resist a chance to irritate her at least once during a conversation.

  “Your joking is not appreciated. Jason funneled a lot of money into this resort, and your grandfather is worried about the return on investment.”

  “For what it’s worth, I told him he should sell it. The land is worth more than the property.”

  “Then we need to make that happen.”

  “What?” I scrubbed my hands over my face. Once an idea took hold, there was no stopping her. The last thing my brother needed was our grandmother scheming behind his back.

  “We need to convince him to sell it. You know he hasn’t been right since the accident. This will only drag him down further.”

  “He put me in charge of the designs until he’s up and running, so maybe I can try to talk to him.”

  “He what?”

  Damn. Her low opinion worked under my skin like a splinter, adding to the irritation of the news from Andy. “Is it that surprising that I am helping out?” I may have been new to the business aspect of things, but I always kept my promises.

  “Ryder, I’ve never seen you follow through with anything when it gets tough.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. My career as a pro snowboarder earned zero consideration in her book. I didn’t hold this against her—she’d never understand my world—but for once, I’d have liked for her to think I was semi-competent. “I appreciate your vote of confidence.”

  “Listen, you are great at your little snow sport endeavor, but when have you really shown any initiative to something that isn’t all play? The only thing it has done is ruin your brother’s life.”

  She was right. Jason was out of commission because I begged him to participate in a snowboarding fundraiser a good buddy of mine had sponsored. I knew he was rusty, but I didn’t think he’d try any crazy stunts. It was for charity—he could have carved his way down the mountain without doing a single trick and it would have been fine. I’d gotten the call the night I’d been with Zoey.

  Normally, I’d push my grandmother’s comments aside, but with my sponsor just dumping me, and my manager’s faith dwindling, I was more than a little on edge. In her eyes, except for my riding stats and the near-death of my brother, I had zero credit to my name.

  “Tell me how you really feel, Grandma.” I grabbed my crutches and made my way to my bedroom. “If you need me, I’ll be working on the resort.” I ended the call and tossed my earpiece on the bed.

  This was much more than just healing a broken leg or a run-down resort. I wouldn’t let my brother down a second time.

  Chapter Five

  Zoey

  To Do List:

  • Stop buying all the leggings

  By the time I got home that evening, I still hadn’t been able to sort out my thoughts on the project. I’d prepared two more mock designs for the resort and emailed them to Ryder, ignoring the fact that he’d asked me to share them over a dinner that would never happen. Lainey arrived home around the same time as me, which was a rarity these days. I had takeout pizza ready on the coffee table when she plopped down and snagged a slice.

  “How was the rest of your day?” she asked.

  “Quiet.” Too quiet. I didn’t know what I was expecting when I sent the plans to Ryder, but it wasn’t radio silence. More like Ryder making me regret agreeing to work with him for the umpteenth time today. I bit into the slice of pepperoni and checked my phone again. Nothing.

  Okay, maybe he wasn’t as much of an email addict as the rest of the world, but could a guy really stay off the grid for five hours?

  Lainey cleared her throat, arching a brow in my direction. “Wow. What did that pizza do you to, Z? Third degree assault on anything from Giovanni’s is a criminal offense.”

  “Sorry, just frustrated.” In so many ways. There were only so many times I could analyze what happened up on the mountain before I drove myself absolutely insane. The guy pissed me off. He was a risk to my job. I should not be thinking about him as anything else but enemy number one.

  She put her slice down on her plate and turned to me, sitting crisscross on the couch. “It’ll all work itself out. I’ve never seen a challenge you couldn’t handle. Other than…” She trailed off, smiling, a gleeful glint in her eye.

  “If you bring up the toaster-oven incident again, this pizza’s not the only thing getting assaulted.” I shook my slice at her.

  “What about the time you tried to cook pasta?”

  “How was I supposed to know you can actually burn water? Seriously, it should come with a warning label.” My dad had tried to teach me to cook throughout my childhood, but I had a mental block against it. I saw a pot or a spatula and all logic and reason went out the door.

  “Right. Because it’s not user error at all.”

  I nudged her with my foot, but we both laughed because, yeah, she was right.

  Superman had his kryptonite, and mine came in the form of a cooking utensil. Any of them. I managed to turn anything that needed a heat source into a charred mess. Lainey had limited me to the use of forks, knifes, and spoons—the rest were off-limits after that tiny kitchen fire last year. Seriously, a girl melts a countertop and that’s grounds to revoke a cooking license. I hoped my hypothetical future spouse could handle kitchen duties or else we’d be eating yogurt and granola and Hot Pockets for the rest of our lives.

  So, for my sake, I hoped dealing with Ryder was nothing like my terrible kitchen experience. I’d never had the added challenge of being grudgingly attracted to a man before—not to mention the little fact that I had shared a bed with him. But hey, there was a first for everything.

  She giggled and took another bite of pizza. “I just tell it like it is.” Her phone buzzed on the coffee table and she snapped it up. Her smile grew. “Gotta take this. It’s my mom.”

  Lainey and her mom had a really unique relationship. I’d never, to this day, seen anyone as close with their parent as she was with hers. Sometimes on visits to her house over college breaks, she’d pull us both in for hugs and I’d get this intense moment of missing my own mom. Obviously there was no way of knowing if I would have been as close with her as Lainey was with Mrs. T, but I’d like to think so. Gloria Reynolds was a fabulous woman who was taken from me way too early.

  Mrs. T had claimed me as a second daughter well before my mother passed. But it was after my mom got in the horrific car wreck that I realized how much I needed another woman in my life. The week after my thirteenth birthday, two weeks after my mom’s
funeral, my period started. Lainey’s mom took me shopping for pads and showed me the ropes, since my dad, though well-intentioned, was clueless in that regard.

  When we were in college, she made sure my favorite peanut butter was in the care packages she sent to our apartment. We may not have been related by blood, but Mrs. T was as much my mother as my own. So when she was diagnosed with cancer last summer, and then proceeded to go through a horrific battle with chemo treatments over the following months, it was a profound relief that she was now in remission.

  Lainey disappeared into her room, and I decided to go back to my email-stalking to see if my client had looked at my plans yet.

  Nothing.

  I went online and perused my favorite stores. I may have had a teensy addiction to leggings. So far I owned enough pairs to warrant buying one of those plastic shoe racks that you hang from the back of a door. Except instead of shoes, my thirty-six pocket temple was filled with buttery soft perfection for my legs. And today’s events called for a few additions to my collection.

  By the time Lainey came back out of her room, I’d ordered a pair of orange spirals, black cats wearing aviators, and sheep. I was in the depths of contemplation between a pair of bicycle leggings and pomegranate ones when an email from my work account popped up across the screen. Ryder.

  I’ll get back to you.

  I clicked back into the shopping site and bought both pairs.

  …

  Tuesday: Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.

  …

  Wednesday: Panic refresh. Bought two more pairs of leggings.

  …

  Thursday: Fear of thumb falling off from refresh button overuse.

  …

  Friday: What the hell?

  I’d prepared myself for massive revisions to my plans. For him to be an ass about the whole thing. What I wasn’t prepared for? Complete and utter silence for four days.

  Which was how I’d come to be wearing a path into the living room rug on Friday night.

  Lainey popped out of her room, her curls swishing from side to side in her ponytail as she readjusted her shirt. “Are you ready yet?”

  “Yep.” I’d been ready for the last half hour. I hadn’t bothered to change from my work attire, since my outfit included the infamous eyelet skirt. This time I’d made sure to wear panties that didn’t have any comic book heroes on them. It was safe to say, though, that there’d be no intentional undie flashing.

  We grabbed out jackets and made our way to Dean’s, our favorite pub-chic club a couple of blocks from our apartment. It was in the center of downtown and had the best of both worlds—cozy alcoves for people who wanted a low-key affair, or karaoke and dancing for action-seekers. I definitely fell into the latter of the two categories tonight, especially since yoga and morning runs were doing zero to alleviate my pent-up irritation at the fact I was being ignored. Whether it was on purpose or not, who knew, but with all of my other projects wrapping up this past week, there was a hell of a lot of thumb twiddling and Candy Crush playing going on right now.

  Arms linked, we made the walk in the blistering cold. Lainey’s boyfriend Brogan said he’d meet us at Dean’s once he was finished with a meeting.

  The same as on any Friday night, the line to get into the place wound around the building. A chill clung in the late winter air. Clouds puffed out of peoples’ mouths as they stood waiting to get in. Girls in short dresses and no jackets rubbed at their bare arms as they clustered together in groups. I was past the point of caring if I brought a jacket to the club. I’d rather be comfortable for thirty minutes than freeze my ass off.

  Before we had a chance to take our place at the end of the line, the bouncer called out to Lainey.

  “Miss Taylor?”

  Her head whipped around to him and then she smiled. “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Starr is here already. Told me to keep an eye out for you.” He unhooked the velvet rope from the pole and motioned us in.

  “God, I love your boyfriend.” And the fact that I did not, in fact, have to stand out in the cold for thirty minutes.

  She gave one of the sighs that I’d become accustomed to ever since Brogan had entered her life. “Me, too,” she said.

  Their relationship started out a little rocky, but I had to hand it to Brogan. He’d gotten his shit together, and it’d been smooth sailing ever since.

  The bass beat of a rap song bounced through the club, so loud that each note pulsed under my skin. As we ascended the stairs to the main area, each step brought an onslaught of thick air filled with sweat and the promise of a good time. We made our way through to the upper level, looking for Brogan. I glanced at the bar and saw Ian, our favorite bartender, shaking and pouring out mojitos. Drinks—now that would do the trick of dulling the edge of this crap week. A Tom Collins and dancing. Yep, perfect. Maybe I’d even flirt with Ian. Anything to get last weekend off my mind. “I’m going to grab a drink. I’ll meet up with you and lover boy in a minute.”

  She smiled. “Sounds good.”

  She beelined to Brogan’s booth in the back as I tracked to the bar. Ian’s face lit up as I took a seat on one of the stools. “Where’s your partner in crime?”

  I pointed toward the back of the club. “With her boyfriend.”

  He gave a dimpled grin. “Guess that means I get you all to myself tonight.”

  “You and however many people are in the club.” I motioned around me.

  “The usual?”

  Even with this crappy week, I found myself smiling. “Yeah.” This was why I liked Ian. He remembered my drinks. He was cute, if maybe a little tacky with the flirting, but I knew what to expect with him. He wouldn’t up and leave me before the crack of dawn after an incredible night of sex. Probably. Then again, any guy I’d ever been remotely interested in turned into a douche.

  In less than a minute, a Tom Collins was sitting in front of me. I went to dig for my wallet in my purse, but Ian waved me off. “This one’s on the house.”

  I took a sip. “Thank you.” Okay, this was the part where I was supposed to flirt. The man had essentially paid for my drink, and all that came to my mind was a procession of crickets. Maybe I really was out of practice.

  He looked at me expectantly.

  Awkward…

  Go go gadget flirting. Nope.

  Go go gadget smooth-talking. Nada.

  I took another sip of the drink and made an exaggerated groan. “Mmm, so good.”

  Jesus. Why not get a damn room with the drink, girl?

  Ian was polite enough not to laugh. “It’s one of my favorite drinks to make.”

  “A-plus. It’s going down really smooth tonight.” I drummed my nails on the counter. “So smooth.”

  Just. Stop. Talking. This was an embarrassment to all lady-kind.

  I was all for the well-timed double entendre, but I was starting to sound like I was starring in my own soft core porno. “I mean you did a great job shaking it.” I stopped myself again. “I’m going to stop right there because this is getting way too awkward, and I haven’t had enough to drink yet.”

  And now I was pretty sure I would never be able to show my face at Dean’s again.

  “You know I’d shake it for you anytime, Zoey.” He winked.

  I snapped my gaze to his. That was such a Ryder-like comment that I had to make sure I was still talking to Ian. If it were Ryder, I probably would have had a decent comeback. Instead, there was nada. Might as well cut my losses before I made any other stupid comments.

  I managed a polite smile. “Thanks again, Ian.” I saluted him with my drink as I scooted off the stool.

  Well, if I didn’t know it before, I just confirmed my skills with the opposite sex had succumbed to the “use it or lose it” curse.

  I made my way across the bar, through the packed dance floor, and into the section with booths lining the wall. As I neared the table, Lainey looked at me and gave a quick shake of her head.

  The hell?

  I continued towa
rd the table because, really, where else was I going to go? No way in heck I was going back to the bar.

  She gave me another look, jutting her chin toward Brogan and whoever he was talking to. I couldn’t tell who it was because the lighting in this place sucked.

  I sidled up to the table just in time for a familiar voice to say, “Flash!”

  …

  Ryder

  If I thought Zoey had perfected the glare, her roommate Lainey was her sensei. My body temperature dropped a good two degrees each time she shot me a look. One parka minimum to sit in this booth.

  “When do you go back on tour?” Brogan asked me.

  Lainey lifted a brow. “Yes, when do you go?”

  I looked between the two of them. Brogan and I went way back. He was my first friend at Culver Academy, one of my only friendships that had lasted over ten years, besides our buddy Jace. When we first met, he could barely manage two words when talking to the opposite sex. Looked like he was doing just fine now. In fact, that was what we met about today. Before Lainey’d come in, he asked me to go ring shopping with him. The irony did not escape me that he’d asked the person with the worst luck with women to pick out the most important gift of his life. Even so, I couldn’t say no to him.

  “A few weeks. As soon as I get the cast off and get back to training.”

  “Good,” she said. When Brogan gave her a questioning look, she said, “I mean, it’s good you’ll get back to your snowboarding. I bet you’re bored here. I hear snowboarders can’t even manage to stay in one place very long because of commitment issues.”

  “Lainey.” Brogan chuckled but squeezed her a little tighter. “What is with you tonight?”

  “Nothing. Just stating something I heard through the grapevine.” She shrugged and then discreetly slid another glare my way.

  I expected Zoey to be annoyed with me after leaving her in the middle of the night. It seemed pointless to call her the next day and explain, especially when it’d been a one-time thing, but now I wasn’t so sure I’d made the smartest choice. My chest tightened to think she’d been so upset that her friend now ranked me as enemy number one.