Page 7 of Rulebreaker

Is this guy for real?

We’re about to find out.

I sit up and adjust my chair.

I need to look at him. Keep him talking. Maybe make him blush again.

Mostly, I need him to keep looking at me, with those incredible dark eyes.

“Where are you from, Atlas?”

“The Boston area. What about you?”

“A little town just outside of Dallas, Texas.”

“But you live in Tennessee now?’

“That’s the heart of country music.” I pause. “Although country doesn’t seem to represent my music anymore. I’m a bit of an anomaly these days.”

“You’ve diversified. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I guess there isn’t.”

“You don’t have an accent, so I wouldn’t have guessed Texas.”

“Oh, it’s still there,” I drawl with a grin. “But I’ve worked to minimize it. No matter what people say, the truth is, they think you’re dumb if you have that southern accent. And me being a natural blond doesn’t help.”

“I don’t think it makes you sound dumb.”

“I appreciate that, but sadly, you’re the minority, so I do my best to not have any kind of accent. Unless I’ve had too much to drink–then the Texas comes out loud and clear.”

He chuckles, and the sound warms me. I don’t think he does it very often, and I really like it. I’d like to hear it more.

“Is that why you dyed it black?” he asks.

“Well that, and I decided I was going through a rebellious teenage streak with my label.” He laughs again and my pulse skitters through my veins. “Who knew my fans—and more importantly, that I would like it too.”

“You’re beautiful no matter what color hair you have.”

Butterflies in my stomach. Phantom fingers between my thighs.

Thoroughly intrigued, I lean forward, watching his face carefully. “Tell me something you like in a woman, Atlas.”

“Loyalty,” he replies without hesitation. “Tell me something you like in a man.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something crass, but I realize that’s not who Atlas is. Not at this stage of our friendship anyway.

“If we’re not talking about physical attributes, then honesty,” I tell him. “I despise being lied to.”

“Ditto.”

Our eyes meet, and I give him a lopsided smile. “Then we have at least one thing in common.”

“What else might we have in common?”

His eyes are fathomless pools of arousal…dark and heated and filled with the unspoken promise of pleasure.

I feel it in every fiber of my body.