Page 40 of Rulebreaker

I just ignore it.

“Tell me how you decide on a setlist,” I order.

“I—” A pause. “What?”

“You have the songs you play every night,” I say. “But the others rotate through. How do you choose those?”

She stares at me for a long moment. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you’re interesting, Texas. And I want to know every part of you.”

“I—” Her mouth opens and closes. “I’m not that interesting.”

I lift my brows. “Andthatreply speaks for itself. Is it too personal?”

“Wh-what?”

“Your reason for choosing the songs,” I elaborate. “Is the reason you choose them too personal?”

Her cheeks go slightly pink.

And now I’m almost desperate to know.

Unfortunately, I don’t think her answer is the truth–or not the whole truth, anyway.

“I get into moods,” she says. “Sometimes I want to go back to my roots and do the country thing, sometimes I’m angry and want to rock out.” She lifts a shoulder, drops it, smile turning seductive. “Sometimes there’s someone in the crowd I want tosing too.” She rolls into me. “Kind of like I sang ‘Always a Lover’ to you in the wings tonight.”

I think about her eyes locked onto mine, her lush body undulating to the music, knowing that we’d end up exactly here—and that combined with her hand wrapping around my cock again means that’s the only glimmer I get of the real Lily Maxwell before she succeeds in distracting me.

For hours.

Until we’re both limp and exhausted and mere seconds away from passing out.

But that glimpse means that I’m even more entranced with the stubborn pop star.

Especially when I wake up to an empty bed, a note telling me to sleep as late as I want because the room is paid for on the pillow beside me.

Because I’m not giving up.

Not until I have every last piece of her.

FOURTEEN

Lily

Fatigue is setting in.Not a physical exhaustion–I sleep well ninety percent of the time–but it’s more a mental thing. Having to be “on” before, during, and after every show. Playing night after night in a different city, with a few exceptions where I play multiple nights in the same place, and the constant drive to do better.

I push myself hard for a lot of reasons.

Because I love what I do and the money that comes with it.

Because I know how fickle the industry is and the idea is to ride this wave of megastardom for as long as possible–I shot to the top but I can always tailspin back to the bottom.

And because work keeps me from thinking about what’s waiting at home. And what isn’t.

At some point, I have to deal with Stan. The marriage. The separation. Thedivorce.

I’m almost there. Less than a year until I’m free and no longer have to battle not just his fuckwad of an attorney but thepressure of keeping secrets. Holding back. Keeping people at a distance.