Page 1 of Rulebreaker (Gamebreakers #4)

ONE

Atlas

“And then he says”—her voice drops into a rough approximation of mine, and if I wasn’t so annoyed at the gorgeous woman making fun of me a-fucking-gain, I’d be impressed at how good she is at that—“I haven’t had a hot dog in my mouth since college.”

Yup.

Not one of my finer moments.

But I turn into a bumbling dumbass around this woman.

Lily Maxwell is beautiful. And funny. And smart and talented, a country star who’s successfully made the transition to full and complete pop star in the last six months.

People sport T-shirts with lyrics from her songs.

Her tour dates sell out in seconds.

Social media shows her on every other video—or maybe that’s just my algorithm because I can’t seem to scroll away when she comes up on my phone .

Number one singles. Platinum records. That aforementioned worldwide, sold-out tour.

All of which has cemented her spot as an A-lister.

And none of which seems to have changed her.

She’s still the same vivacious, smart, confident, and yes, it has to be said, beautiful woman with a mischievous streak a mile wide.

“Dude,” Banks mutters, slanting his gaze at me, his green eyes dancing with mirth.

I know.

If it was anyone but me who said that shit, I’d be dying of laughter.

Unfortunately, it was me.

And it is me who’s on the receiving end of my friends’ laughter. Briar, my assistant—or in actuality, the woman who’s become my right hand in my business—cackles the loudest of them all.

And Aspen and Banks, Royal and Jade, Willow and Dash all laugh pretty fucking loudly.

I scowl, lift my glass to my lips, tossing back the dredges of my Gamebreaker, the drink our deceased friend, Colt, created way back in our college years.

No, it doesn’t pair well with hot dogs.

Probably why I hadn’t had one between then and the last concert of Lily’s I attended.

I was starving, the spread was there, and…

So was the infamous Lily Maxwell to overhear my idiocy.

To the rest of the world, I’m Atlas Delarosa, powerful businessman, billionaire before I turned thirty.

To this crew, Lily included, I’m just Atlas—a former college hockey player who is loyal and steadfast and…

Great.

I sound like a golden retriever .

Lily’s phone buzzes and, thank fuck, it cuts off the rest of her teasing.

“Excuse me,” she says softly, pushing back her chair and striding for the privacy of the hallway of The Sapphire Room.

It’s the club my friends and I own, one we started to honor Colt, and now a place that has become a second home for us.

My eyes linger on the entrance to the hall for long enough that Dash kicks my foot.

Hard.

“Dude,” he mutters, “you need to pull it together.”

“Seriously,” Royal says, “you’re giving whipped a bad name.”

“Pot meet kettle.” My words are terse, filled with warning.

One they all ignore.

Because they’re my friends. But they’re also my family.

And because our love language is giving each other shit.

I ignore Banks when he says, “You need to ask her out.”

And Briar when she says, “Exactly. He needs to shit or get off the pot.”

“Maybe we should all give Atlas a break,” Jade, the nicest of us, murmurs.

“Or maybe he needs a push,” Willow, who’s also nice, but whose wicked streak comes out more frequently now that she and Dash have fallen in love. “I know I did.”

“I need another drink,” I growl, shoving up to my feet and striding to the bar, trying very hard to keep my gaze away from that empty hallway where Lily disappeared.

It’s just…

She’s taken a lot of phone calls tonight.

Like an obscene amount—and that’s saying something, considering my cell is perpetually glued to my ear.

That’s why I leave my empty glass on the bar, turn for the hall .

Her voice reaches me before I see her.

“...I’m not trying to be dramatic Erin, but that’s not going to work for me.”

I frown, move a little closer, drifting through the corridor and toward the woman standing near to the door to the parking lot, phone to her ear, chin to her chest, tension wound tightly through every inch of her frame.

My frown deepens.

Because this isn’t the Lily I’ve come to know over the last months.

She’s light and joy, mirth and mischief…not this picture of frustration with a hint of gloominess.

As if the weight she’s carrying is heavy.

Too heavy.

When every interaction I’ve had with her before now makes it seem as if worldwide stardom has barely touched her.

I step closer and she starts, head jerking up, eyes going wide for a heartbeat before I see it.

A mask slipping back into place.

She smiles at me, tosses her hair—bright and bubbly all over again. “Just take care of it Erin, yeah? Within the next couple of hours.”

Then she’s tapping at her phone’s screen, letting her hand with it held tight in its grasp fall to her side. “Easy on the scowling, big guy,” she says lightly, her smile widening. “Otherwise your face may stay like that.”

“I—”

That’s so far from what I was expecting her to say that I fumble for a second.

Hell, who am I kidding?

I’m always fumbling over myself with this woman.

Stammering. Dropping shit. Running into things .

It’s so beyond fucking pathetic that I almost let her slip by me. Except…she has a problem.

And if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s fixing things.

I catch her arm as she starts to brush by me. “What’s wrong?”

A tug, trying to free herself from my grip. But I can’t seem to let her go.

“What does Erin need to fix?”

Her brows drag together and I want to kiss the befuddlement off her face.

But…something to fix, some way for me to stop feeling like an idiot with this woman.

“Lily,” I warn.

She jerks slightly, her startling blue eyes locking on mine, and she doesn’t fight me for once, just says, “My charter to Denver fell through. I’m supposed to leave tonight for the next leg of my tour, and my assistant has supposedly looked into every option…

and landed with me taking a commercial flight. ”

My eyebrows fly up.

“I’m not trying to be a diva,” she says quietly.

“You being on a commercial flight right now is stupid,” I mutter. “At best you’ll be mobbed. At worst things could get scary quickly.”

She nibbles at her red-painted lips. “I know.” A shrug, then the worry is wiped clear of her face. “It’ll be fine. Erin will take care of it.”

“Come with me,” I blurt.

Confusion in blue eyes. “Um…where are we going, big guy?”

“I can give you a ride on my private jet,” I say in a rush. “I was heading to Denver tomorrow, anyway.” A lie, but not a huge one. I need to check in with the office there. It just wasn’t at the top of my priority list.

“You were?” Her brow furrows.

“I have an office there.”

Her face relaxes. “I can’t ask you to?—”

“It’s not asking. I’m offering. I have a jet, Lily.” I glance at my watch. “I’ll make a call, have it ready by ten. Does that give you enough time?”

“Atlas,” she begins, and the protest hasn’t left her tone.

“It’s heading that direction,” I say, grasping at straws, unable to let this go. “God knows the environment would prefer if someone more than me was on it.”

“So, you’re saying we should carpool to minimize our carbon footprint?”

Well, now that sounds dumb.

And…I turn back into an idiot.

“I—um… Well— I just?—”

Then I catch it—humor in blue eyes, red lips curving into a hint of a smile.

The damned woman is teasing me. Again .

“Lily,” I warn.

A flicker of something through her face—heat maybe? But before I can really process it, her voice is gentling. “Thank you, Atlas.” She lifts on tiptoe, presses her lips to my cheek. “I really appreciate the offer. I’ll see you at ten.”

My skin burns from the contact, from the agreement.

Then she’s slipping her arm free of my grip and I know that nothing is going to stay the same.

Because I’m not going to let it.