Page 49 of Rulebreaker
“Like many women creeping up to thirty, I’ve lived a full life, and with that comes mistakes. Regrets. Things we can’t change so we learn to live with the pain, the shame, or whatever it may be.”
“I try not to dwell on the past,” he says after a moment. “All we can do is move forward.”
The last thing I want is to talk about the past, but it’s so easy with him. I feel…safe. Wanted. Happy.
“I try to do that too,” I admit softly. “But it doesn’t always work.”
“Do you regret the direction your life has taken?”
“Not professionally, no. But my personal life has taken a lot of hits.”
He nods. “Same. But I wouldn’t trade it. I have my family–the family I chose, not those I share blood with–and enough money to tell the past to take a hike.”
“Sometimes money isn’t enough.”
I see a spark of something in his eyes–annoyance? Disbelief–but then it’s gone before I can decipher it.
“Let’s talk while we make dinner,” he suggests. He holds out his hand and I take it, letting him lead me through the house and into a professional chef’s wet dream.
I have a fantastic kitchen, but his is gorgeous. So much so I want to take pictures and immediately remodel the one in my Tennessee home.
“Good Lord in heaven,” I breathe. “This is amazing–is that a hidden pantry?” I push at the large cabinet and sure enough it reveals another room behind it with a second fridge, a sink, another dishwasher and cabinets galore.
“I don’t entertain enough to get much use out of it,” he admits, leaning against the doorway. “But my housekeeper seems to get a kick out of it.”
“Can I copy this layout for my house?” I ask, drinking it all in.
“Of course.” He seems amused by my interest but that’s better than the far-too-serious road we were just going down.
“You cook?” I ask.
“Not a lot but enough. I make a great gnocchi dish with mushrooms and truffles.”
My stomach inadvertently rumbles.
“That sounds good. Can I help?”
“Sure.” He starts pulling things out of the pantry and refrigerator and before I know what’s happening I’m grating a huge block of parmesan while he boils water and sautés mushrooms.
“Do you cook?” he asks.
“I know how, and I used to love it, but I can’t remember the last time I actually did it. I’m almost never home, you know?”
“Why are you single, Lily?” There isn’t so much as a hint of censure in his voice, but it’s a question that’s going to be incredibly difficult to answer. “And don’t give me any bullshitabout being busy. Tons of rockstars tour like you do and still have relationships.”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“But I asked you first.”
I sigh and put down the block of parmesan. “It’s complicated, Atlas. The music industry can chew you up and spit you out if you let it, and I refuse to let it, which means I have to be tougher than any man I cross paths with professionally. And men don’t like women with bigger dicks than them.”
He pauses, his expression thoughtful. “I suppose there’s some truth to that.”
“Wouldyoudate any of the tough-as-nails women you run into?”
“Well, it seems to me Iam.”
Oh, shit.
