“I’m giving you a curfew. I want you home by ten on school nights and midnight on weekends.”
“A curfew?” I laugh. “I don’t do curfews. I don’t need one. My mom let me stay out as late as I wanted and I never got in trouble.”
“The rules are different here. I don’t want you out all night. I want you home and in your bed.”
“Trystan and Braden follow this rule?” I ask, unable to imagine them following any rules, but especially a curfew.
“It’s different for them. They have sports and activities that go late in the night. And they’re boys. I don’t have to worry as much with them.”
I huff. “You can’t be serious. This is some type of joke, right?”
“I’m completely serious. The curfew starts tonight and will continue for the time that you’re living here.”
“But your sons can stay out as late as they want?”
“I know you don’t like it but it’s how it has to be. You’re new here and I—”
“No, that’snothow it has to be. That’s completely unfair! Guys can stay out all night, but girls can’t? Why? Because we’re precious little princesses that need a big strong man to protect us?” I storm off. “I’m not listening to this.”
He follows me to my room. “Rumor! Stop it this instant!”
“Or what?” I whip around to face him. “You’ll throw a twenty-pound bookend at my head hoping to kill me?”
“I did not—” He stops and takes a breath. “I did not throw it at her. And I don’t need to explain my behavior to you. You’re a child and I’m the adult in charge of your care. You don’t have to like my rules, but you are going to follow them.”
“Like hell I am.” I storm to my room and slam the door.
Who does Brock think he is? He can’t tell me when I can come and go. And I’m not letting him make rules for me that are different than the rules my cousins have to follow. I bet they don’t even have rules. If they did, they’d never follow them.
I have to get out of here. I can’t even look at Brock right now. I’m so freaking angry.
Grabbing my new phone and the cash I took from Brock’s office, I hurry out of my room and head to the door.
“Rumor, where are you going?” Brock yells from the hall. I hear his shoes clicking on the floor, going faster when I open the front door. “Rumor, get back here!”
“Go to hell!” I yell before slamming the door behind me.
My knee still hurts, but I take off running, afraid that if I don’t, Brock will come out and stop me. When I look back, I don’t see him.
When I’m far enough down the street, I slow down to a walk. I get out my phone to text Jackson but realize I don’t have his number. He said I could just stop by. He never said I had to call first.
His driveway is really long, surrounded by tall shrubs on both sides. His house is enormous. It looks bigger outside than it does in. The inside has a lot of wasted space because of the two-story ceilings in the entry and living room.
I ring the bell and wait. After a minute, I ring the bell again. What if he’s not home? What am I going to do? I can’t go back to the house. I’ll just end up fighting with Brock.
There’s a security camera at the top of the door, aimed down at my face. I look up at it and say, “Jackson, if you’re there, open the door. I don’t have to stay. I just wanted to give you your money.”
There’s no response. He must not be home. Dammit!
As I turn to leave, I hear the door open.
“Rumor?”
I turn around and see Jackson in workout shorts and no shirt. His hair’s messed up like he just got out of bed.
“Were you sleeping?” I ask, trying not to look at his chest. And those abs. Seriously, when did I suddenly like muscles? When I used to see guys with muscles, it didn’t do anything for me. But I see Jackson, and suddenly my hormones go into overdrive.
“I just needed a quick nap,” he says, rubbing his jaw. It’s covered in a thick layer of stubble, making him look a lot older than seventeen. If I didn’t know his age, I’d guess he was in his early twenties.
