Page 44 of Rulebreaker
“Am I working you too hard?”
She laughs. “We all work too hard, but you know the moment that you tried to push me too hard, I’d tell you…” A shrug. “Either that or sic the guys on you.”
“You could try,” I say, finding my feet and rounding the desk, also not missing that she’s inching toward the door.
To end this conversation.
Hmm again.
“West,” I say and she freezes–holy shit–her cheeks going the slightest bit pink.
She’s blushing.
Over a man.
And I simultaneously want to commit murder and pump her for details.
My little sister in all but blood is interested in aman–something that never happens. Or well, it’s obviouslyhappenedbecause Briar had Frankie, but as far as I know, it hasn’t happenedsinceFrankie.
As in, I’ve seen plenty of men express interest in her.
And she’s shot down each and every one.
Except for West, apparently.
My mouth hitches up. Hockey players. Why do they always get pussy?
And I mean that as a former player–because once a pussy magnet, always a pussy magnet.
Ha.
And that’s a thought I’ll never allow to escape my lips–mostly because Briar would not delay in putting me in my place…and also because it took me far too much time to get Lily to open up.
A modicum.
Because I’m far from inside those ironclad shields.
Every tidbit I glean, every smile, every time I get something real from her, something that isn’t just sex–and I’m not complaining about the sex, I just…never thought it wouldn’t be enough for me.
Sex. Orgasms. Goodbye.
With Lily, I want the sex, the orgasms, and…I want what Royal and Jade have, and Dash and Willow, and Banks and Aspen.
And maybe Briar and West?
“I thought you always said you’d never fall for a hockey player,” I tease, pushing down the blip of fear that bubbles up in my chest when I think that maybe–just maybe–I could be part of Lily and Atlas.
“Stop,” she says. “We’ve gone on a couple of dates. I’m hardly falling for him.”
Another blip–because I’m certainly falling, though luckily not for a hockey player.
Just a gorgeous, talented, smart, wickedly funny pop star.
“I don’t know,” I tease, shoving down more blips of fear.
More worries.
Morelonging.
