Page 14 of Rulebreaker (Gamebreakers #4)

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. The divorce .

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 the pressure of keeping secrets. Holding back. Keeping people at a distance.

Like Atlas.

I want him so badly it’s hard to think of anything else sometimes.

And damn, but he wants me too.

He’s as closed off as I am, and much more tightly wound, but the walls come down when we’re together. Especially when we’re alone. There’s no mistaking the passion, but also the pull. An invisible, magnetic force that propels us into emotions that go much deeper than the physical.

I’m struggling, though.

Every time he tries to get closer, I take a figurative step back.

But it’s becoming more difficult.

He’s been sending flowers to every show. Every single one. Lilies and roses and bouquets of wildflowers that fill my dressing rooms and make me smile. My crew has been teasing me relentlessly, calling Atlas my new boyfriend, and I cringe every time it happens.

I can’t have a boyfriend. I’m still married. I have a million complications in my life, and Atlas would be another one.

The problem? I want him.

As my boyfriend, my lover, a man I can rely on.

Except I can’t.

My phone buzzes and the text from my non-boyfriend makes my heart flutter and butterflies take over my system.

ATLAS: I know you arrived in Vancouver this morning but your show isn’t until tomorrow night. I’ll be at Maison de Marie at 7:00. Don’t be late. Wear that green dress with the gold heels–I promise you’re going to enjoy both dinner AND dessert .

Oh, there’s no doubt about that.

LILY: I’m looking forward to it–but how did you know about my green dress?

ATLAS: I pay attention.

Social media.

I’ve worn that dress a couple of times when I’ve been out with friends, and I like the fact that he saw it and decided he wanted me to wear it for him. Personally, I would have gone shopping for something new, but if the green dress is what’s turning him on, I’m in.

LILY: Any other instructions?

ATLAS: No panties unless you want to add to my collection.

LILY: You have a collection?

ATLAS: I’ve started one. I only have one so far but I’m happy to keep as many as you deem necessary.

Why does the idea of him having a collection of my panties turn me on?

I’m falling.

The idea whips through my mind like a bolt of lightning, leaving me breathless. Surprised. Scared .

I can’t.

Not now.

It’s too soon. But it’s also too late. The feelings already exist. It’s not overt, but all the little things are starting to add up.

The way my body hums whenever he’s close .

The intensity when we’re in the same room together.

And how safe I feel in his arms.

It makes no sense because generally speaking, I’m neither afraid nor needy. I do get lonely sometimes, and that’s a space Atlas is beginning to fill. A need I didn’t know I had until he stumbled into my life. Both literally and figuratively.

He’s not stumbling tonight, though.

When I get to the restaurant, he’s waiting by the door, and my skin tingles as he rakes his gaze over me. He likes what he sees, and now I’m not sure opting for the no-panties look was the best idea because I’m going to spend the entire evening in a state of arousal.

He doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to mine, a chaste welcome that promises so much more.

“You look beautiful,” he says softly.

“Thank you.”

He slides his hand around mine as the ma?tre d’ leads us to a table in the back, where we’ll have privacy, and we sit across from each other. I want to devour him–and he must sense a shift in my feelings because he cocks his head quizzically.

“Everything all right?”

“Yes.” I smile. “I just can’t decide which thing turns me on more–you having a collection of my panties or sitting through dinner without anything on under this dress.”

His eyes turn molten. “Well, I know which one turns me on more, but I’ll leave the rest to you.”

The waiter arrives with wine so that conversation is effectively put on hold.

“It’s nice to have an evening when you don’t have to rush on stage or to an interview or whatever,” he says as we sip an exquisite malbec.

“Agreed. Sometimes it feels like the whole world wants a piece of me. ”

He frowns a little. “Does that include me?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean you at all! Believe me, if I didn’t want to spend time with you, I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t imagine you’re able to spend time with many people when you’re touring.”

“Not really, no.”

“Lily, don’t take this the wrong way, but I looked online and saw this tour is continuing for another year. Isn’t that…exhausting? And I’m talking about your voice, your body–don’t you need a break?” He looks sincere so I don’t take offense.

“There are breaks built in. For example, between the US leg and the European leg. And then again between Europe and Australia. I’ll have a month off mid-September and another month next April, along with a couple of weeks around the holidays.”

“I work hard too, so I get it, but it doesn’t seem like enough. I spend my days reading and coordinating contracts, and occasionally yelling at people, but you’re literally on a plane every day or two. I travel but not like you.”

I can’t tell if he’s being thoughtful or judgmental, so I opt for levity.

“I need to buy a jet like you–then it’ll just be home away from home with a bedroom in the back!”

He smiles but I can tell he’s assessing, as if I’m a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out. “There are certainly perks to having a jet.”

“I’ve thought about investing, and maybe I will at the end of this tour. It just didn’t seem prudent when we were planning. I didn’t know how good sales would be.”

“So… what’s next?”

“You mean, after the tour?” I shake my head. “That’s still so far away I haven’t thought about it.”

“Vacation? Going home to Nashville? No ideas at all? ”

If he’s hinting at something, I can’t play this game. Not yet anyway.

“I’ll probably spend two weeks at a spa being pampered within an inch of my life. Daily massages, yoga, meditation, manicures, pedicures, and facials–you name it. That’s my usual. Beyond that, I honestly have no idea. What do you do after you close a big deal?”

He hesitates, his face suddenly shrouded. “I don’t really have any rituals. If anything, I make some kind of big-ticket item purchase. New car, house renovation, something.”

“What’s your house like?”

He opens his mouth and closes it again. “I would say it’s… expensive but simple. I have the best of everything, no doubt about that, but not many personal touches. The only art on the walls is what my interior designers chose when I moved in. Other than Frankie’s drawings on the fridge.”

That I can picture.

“No pictures of your friends? Not even Colt?”

His face softens, just for a moment, and he nods. “Yes. I have pictures of Colt and the others in my den. From college. Hockey. A lot of memories in my favorite room of the house. And of course, Frankie is everywhere.” There’s genuine affection in his eyes whenever he says her name.

“Do you want kids of your own?” I ask curiously.

“I don’t know.” He seems conflicted admitting that. “My general opinion has always been hell no. In addition to not having a lot of patience, I’ve never been the settling down type. And I firmly believe it takes a solid foundation and a village to raise children.”

“Like your family does with Frankie.”

“Yes.” Our eyes meet across the table and there’s a vulnerability in his I didn’t think existed. “What about you?” he asks after a moment .

“Kids?” I shrug. “I honestly don’t know. My general opinion has always been probably. Someday. But not until I’ve made a fuck-ton of money and met the right guy.”

“You’ve done the first,” he says pointedly.

I’ve also potentially accomplished the second now. Unfortunately, the timing’s off and that’s not something I can share.

“The second is tricky,” I respond carefully.

“The right guy has to be willing to wait until I’m ready.

Not be intimidated by my wealth. And not want to control me.

No matter how well-intentioned, I don’t need a man telling me how long is too long to be on tour or whether or not it’s time to put out another album.

I’ve been handling my music career for a long time. ”

“Have you encountered that a lot?”

“More than you think.”

“Then they weren’t the right guys.”

If only he knew how true that was–in more ways than one.

“And that’s why I’m in no hurry to put a timeline on babies.”