Page 22 of Save Your Breath

He smirked, heaving his bag of clubs onto his shoulder before loading them on the cart.

Chaotic Masterpiece

Mia

My stomach was in knots a week later — and not from the turbulence we hit on our way out of Los Angeles to New York City. Not because I had an appearance on a late-night show, either. In fact,thatwas about the only thing keeping me calm right now.

I loved talking to an audience. I loved performing on a stage. Music —mymusic? It was my safe place.

It was the fact that Aleks would be in that crowd that had me guzzling water and struggling to take each breath.

For the last week, the Internet had run wild with rumors about us. At this point, we were just about all anyone was talking about — at least, itfeltthat way. From social media to mainstream news, everyone was buzzing and wanting to know one thing.

Was it true?

Was Mia Love really dating bad boy Aleks Suter?

And tonight, they’d get their confirmation.

We were going to be seen together publicly for the first time since Isabella planted all the right seeds to have the rumors flying, and I was totally cool about it.

Totally,totallycool.

“Okay, unless you’re having some sort of artistic genius moment where shredding your napkin into confetti helps you visualize a tour set or something, I’m going to need you to stop.”

I blinked out of my daze, turning to where Isabella was watching me with a raised brow.

“Huh?”

She nodded toward my hands on the tray table, and I paled at the sight.

I’d literally torn all three of my napkins into tiny pieces, forming a snow-white mountain that was precariously close to overflowing onto the floor at any moment.

I cursed, trying and failing to ball the little pieces up in my fist and make the pile smaller. Isabella chuckled, waving her hand for our flight attendant, who made quick work of my trash while I hid my face and looked out the window.

“It’s fine, Mia. Everyone gets nervous with the launch of a new album and tour.”

“I’m not nervous.”

She flattened her lips as I glanced back at her, and I sat back in my chair with a huff.

“Okay, I’m not nervous aboutthat.” I waved her off. “People are already starting to move on from Garrett Orange and his stupid article, thanks to you. And besides, this is Daisy Kent. She’s my favorite late-night show host.”

“Because she doesn’t ask you about the size of your tits or which boy what song is about?”

“Exactly. It’ll be a great interview. And performing this single for the first time… this is what I’ve been waiting for. Whatwehave been preparing for. Trust me. I’ve got this.”

“Okay, I trust you,” she said immediately. “But then would you care to explain why your fingers have turned into little terrorists wreaking havoc on anything they touch?”

I frowned, then looked down at where I’d now tied the strings of my joggers into five knots, one on top of another.

With another curse, I hastily unknotted them before shoving my hands into the pocket of my hoodie to cage them.

“I’m fine, I just…” I blew out a frustrated breath.

“Aleks.”

My next breath was a slow one as I nodded. “Aleks.”