Read Online One Week (Stolen Kiss #0.5) by Shana Norris - Free Book Online Page B

house. “The rules?” he asked.
    Heat crept up my neck, and I was thankful for the darkness. “Nothing. Just this list of things that my parents have told me over the years that I put together in my head. Advice.”
    “A list of rules,” Jude said. He looked at me with interest, the first actual expression I’d seen on his face all night. “Like what kind of rules?”
    Why had I mentioned the rules? I never told anyone about them, other than Mark.
    “They’re kind of dumb,” I said.
    “Maybe,” Jude said. “Or maybe not. Let me hear them.”
    “There’s a lot of them.”
    He looked over at me again. “How many are we talking about?”
    I thought for a moment. “Last count was thirty-two. I think.”
    “Whoa,” Jude said. “Sounds like a serious list of rules. Come on. Give them to me.”
    I shook my head. “I’m not even supposed to be following them. My li—Mark says I use the rules as a way of keeping myself stuck in this idea of who I think I should be, rather than who I want to be.”
    “So then, you offering to pay me went against the rule of not following the rules.”
    I rolled my eyes. “You got me there.”
    “So why’d you do it? Why not just say thank you and go on?”
    I looked out the window at the lights of houses passing us by. “Old habits are hard to break.”
    I desperately wanted to get off the subject and talk about something that didn’t make me seem like a complete freak. “So why were you at that party? You didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself.”
    Jude cleared his throat, biting at his thumbnail for a moment. “I wasn’t, but I thought I’d give it a try. Being around other people, you know. But . . .” He shook his head. “They’re still the same as they’ve always been. Self-centered, think they’re invincible.” He was quiet for a moment, then he said softly, “Or maybe it’s me who doesn’t fit in.”
    I let out a choked laugh. “It’s not just you,” I muttered.
    Jude glanced over at me, his gray eyes studying me as the moonlight shone into the truck, before turning back to face the road. “You look different,” he told me. “More . . . relaxed.”
    I opened my mouth to take offense at this. Did everyone think I was uptight? But then I realized he was right. I did feel more relaxed. Maybe it was Ashton’s clothes—I had stopped tugging at the shirt, trying to cover my stomach—or maybe it was Asheville, and being miles away from home. Or maybe it was being in Jude’s old truck, just the two of us on a quiet night.
    Jude slowed to a stop in front of Aunt Lydia’s house. The house was dark, and I hoped Aunt Lydia was either asleep or up in her studio. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about my night.
    “Thanks for the ride,” I said, reaching for the door handle.
    “You’re welcome,” Jude said. “And you don’t have to pay me for it either.”
    I thought it was a jab until I saw the smile curling the corners of his lips. My mouth stretched into a smile before I could help it, and I climbed out of the truck.
    “Bye,” I called.
    He waved once before putting the truck into gear and pulling away from the curb, the truck groaning in protest.
    I tiptoed into the house, careful not to wake Aunt Linda, and gingerly made my way to the guest room. It didn’t feel like “my” room yet, but the bedroom I had at home didn’t feel like mine either. Mom had made a big show of asking what colors I wanted for the walls, and even let me pick out fabrics and wallpaper. I had chosen a beautiful red wallpaper with white fleur-de-lis. The bedding would be white, with red piping, and the curtains red silk.
    And then, one day, I came home from school to find that Mom had the room finished while I was gone. All of the red and white I had chosen had been replaced by baby blue and cream. Mom’s colors, not mine.
    My room at Aunt Lydia’s, with its plain white walls, was almost a relief. It didn’t belong to anyone and it wasn’t a reminder of someone