Page 3 of Rules

Maximillian Sanders.

Poor little rich boy.

Hotshot hockey player.

Quasi-bad boy.

And Jeanette’s twin brother.

My stomach rolls uncomfortably, making me realize that I drank much more than I’m used to drinking—which is part of the reason why I’m here chatting about random stuff with Jeanette instead of ditching the party or hiding in some dark corner.

Liar.

That’s the story I’m rolling with anyway.

He’s standing in the shadows, his back pressed against the wall, eyes glued to the couple swaying on the dance floor. Even with the distance between us and the dim lights, I notice his hand clenched tightly around the beer bottle he’s holding.

Always trying to be the good guy.

The hero.

I want to barf at the irony. The guy’s a poser if I’ve ever seen one. He’s full of contradictions, the way he looks and the way he acts are so different, it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around him. It’s hard to figure him out.To understand him.

From the moment my eyes landed on him, I couldn’t stand him. That’s not saying much though since I can’t stand a lot of people. I’m simply not a people person. I like my solitude and silence. I’m a quiet observer. Always looking, standing on the sidelines, but never actually participating. And something about him doesn’t sit well with me.

Dressing in all black with his leather jacket, biker boots and black Ducati, you’d think he’s some kind of rebel.

A bad boy.

But as soon as he opens his mouth, contradictions come out. And what he did tonight just proves that.

Maximillian Sanders is just like Lia.

A good guy, a good friend who puts other people first without thinking about himself.

Or just plain stupid because what he did tonight can’t be described otherwise.

You might think I’m harsh, but I’m only realistic. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is that good. That selfless. Including Max.

His jaw clenches. The hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle tightens so hard his knuckles turn white as he brings it to his lips and takes a long pull.

I watch his throat work as he swallows, my mouth going dry as one drop falls on the corner of his lips and starts sliding down, only to be caught by the swift swipe of his tongue.

Forcing my gaze away from him, I turn and look at what he’s watching. Lia and Derek, kissing in the middle of the dance floor like their lives depend on it.

Something ugly wraps around my insides, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I lift the cup to my lips, but there is nothing that could wash away the sourness.

“I’m going to get a refill,” I say over my shoulder, only Jeanette’s not there. She’s already walking toward her brother.

* * *

MAX

“You like her.” My twin’s intent gaze drills into me. Even if we didn’t have this stupid twin connection or whatever you want to call it, she’s so annoying it’s difficult to ignore her.

“I do.” My eyes don’t leave the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the room. Although they should, because looking at her in his arms is a special kind of torture I like to put myself through. If for no other reason than to remind myself that she belongs to him now. She has always belonged to him. “But not the way you think.”

“Right,” she huffs, which is a clear enough giveaway that she doesn’t believe me. And she shouldn’t because I’m full of crap.

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