Page 9

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, that was about the only thing keeping me calm right now.

I loved talking to an audience. I loved performing on a stage. Music — my music? 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, it felt that 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, totally cool.

“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 about that .” 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. What we have 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.”

“He’s not going to fuck this up, Mia,” Isabella assured me, like that was the issue. “Giana and I are on the same page. He’s in this, too. He will behave himself.”

I nodded but felt my skin heating at the thought of what behaving himself would entail.

It wasn’t unusual for me to have butterflies any time I knew I was going to be in the same place as my best friend. I knew he’d pick me up in a big hug, knew we’d rag on each other and give one another shit. I knew it would feel easy, just like it always did — even if, under the surface of that calm water, there was a stormy past threatening to take me down with the current.

But this time was different.

This time, I didn’t have a boyfriend, nor was I freshly out of a relationship and so heartbroken that I couldn’t be interested in another man even if I tried.

And this time, Aleks would be putting on a show for every camera aimed our way.

He wouldn’t just hug me like a little sister, he’d hold me like a girlfriend. He’d lace his fingers with mine.

God… would he kiss me?

My stomach did another violent roll at the thought, enough that I squirmed in my seat and groaned a bit.

“Dude, what the actual fuck is going on,” Isabella asked on a laugh, sliding me her glass of water when she realized mine was empty. “You’re being so weird. You’re acting like…”

Her voice faded as I chugged the water, and then her mouth popped open as she blinked a few times.

“Oh shit… are you in love with him?”

“Stop,” I said, sucking my teeth and swatting her arm. I looked around the small jet to make sure no one else on our team had overheard her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You have a crush on him?”

“Absolutely not,” I said with more insistence. “He’s like a brother to me.”

Lie .

Big, fat lie.

Did I sell that big fat lie?

Judging by my publicist’s face, the answer was no.

“Stop bullshitting me. Was there something between you two when you were younger?”

“No,” I answered immediately. “Yes. No, not really… but kind of?”

Isabella’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head, and she looked around, too, before tugging on my sleeve so I was leaning down toward her and could hear her whispering.

“Okay, bitch. You need to tell me everything — right now.”

I sighed, pulling my hood up over my head and tugging on the strings that tightened them until I was looking at Isabella through a tiny hole of thick fabric.

“I may or may not have had a little tiny crush on him,” I admitted.

“Mia! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not a big deal,” I said. “It’s fine. Really. We… I don’t know, I thought we had something. I thought maybe he liked me more than a friend. So, one night, when I was drunk and young and stupid, I tried to kiss him.”

“ Tried ?”

“He turned me down.”

“He what ?!”

“Calm down,” I said on a laugh. “He was right to do it. First of all, I was hammered. Secondly, it would have messed everything up — our friendship, our family. He’s pretty much like a son to my parents.”

“Okay, that’s kinda ew , considering we’re now about to convince the world you’re engaged.”

“Mom and Dad know it’s fake,” I assured her. “Because trust me, otherwise? Dad would have a lot to say about it.”

“He doesn’t like Aleks?”

“He loves Aleks,” I refuted. “But… he’s also very protective of me.”

“Ah, and he doesn’t think Mr. Bad Boy is the right choice, huh?”

I fell quiet instead of answering because truthfully… I didn’t know. All I did know was that there was some sort of silent understanding between my father and Aleks, something they shared that only the two of them knew about when it came to me.

“I still don’t really understand how he came to live with you,” Isabella remarked.

“We were his billet family.”

“Which means…”

“It’s pretty common in hockey. Basically, when a teenager exhibits major talent, they might get the opportunity to play in a major junior league like the USHL or OHL. But there are only a select number of teams in the junior leagues, and they’re in certain cities. Aleks was in Switzerland, and he definitely could have stayed there and gone on to be very successful. But… I think he wanted out. I think his foster mom wanted him out. They both knew he needed a fresh start, and besides — Aleks didn’t want to just play hockey professionally. He wanted the NHL. And his best shot at that was in the States or Canada.”

Isabella nodded, following along. “So, how did he end up with you?”

I shrugged. “My father loves hockey, always has. And since he never went past playing in college, he wanted to find a way to be involved. After years of being a sponsor for our local USHL team, the coach asked him if he’d be interested in billeting. Coach said he had his eyes on this kid overseas whom he just knew would be a monster scorer for the team.”

“Aleks.”

“Aleks.”

“So he just lived with you for two years?”

I nodded. “Yep. From the time we were sixteen until we graduated.”

“I mean, it would make sense that your father put some boundaries in place. It had to be a hard decision as a father to have a teenage boy living under the same roof as his daughter.”

“Aleks never crossed any lines,” I said, almost smiling at the memory of that boy he used to be. “He was too focused on hockey.”

“But you tried to kiss him.”

I cringed, picking at my nails before Isabella swatted my hand for me to stop. “I tried to kiss him,” I confirmed. “He was right to stop it. Like I said — I was not in the right mind to consent to anything. And we weren’t right for each other. He was going into the league as a top draft pick, I was focused on my music…” I shrugged. “I was just a silly drunk girl with a crush on a hot boy who happened to live with me. I mean, come on — it would happen to anyone. Seeing Aleks Suter walk around in nothing but basketball shorts after a shower? That’s like every teenage girl’s wet dream.”

Isabella smirked, but let out a long, heavy sigh. “If I’d have known all this, I wouldn’t have proposed—”

“It’s fine ,” I promised again. “There’s no one I’d trust to do this with other than him.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

She flattened her lips again.

“I’m just a little nervous about the whole pretending thing, okay?” I said on what I hoped was a light laugh, tossing my hood back and taking a calmer sip of the water that had been refilled by our flight attendant. “I’m not immune to getting butterflies from him. That’s all it is. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fun . And knowing him, he’ll make some smart-ass remark to make me growl at him and remember why I’m glad nothing ever happened between us. He’s infuriating,” I reminded her. “And I’m sure he’ll take any chance he can to annoy me. It’s his specialty.”

Isabella didn’t look convinced as she sat back in her seat. “Okay,” she said on another sigh. “But… if at any point this gets to be too much…”

“It won’t.”

“But if it does…”

“It won’t ,” I said again, grabbing her arm in a gentle squeeze. “Now, can you hush? Your client needs a beauty nap.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re always beautiful, but yes, I’ll let you sleep. Wake you when we’re starting descent?”

I nodded, and with a kiss on my cheek, Isabella left me in the row alone as she went to join where my manager, Rina, and my booking agent, Glo, were no doubt going over every step of the evening.

I waited until she was deep in conversation, and then I pulled up my phone, reading the last texts from Aleks.

Aleks: Made it to NYC. Your security team is insane. They act like you’re a world-famous pop star or something.

Me: Wonder what gave them that idea.

Aleks: Surely not your dance skills.

Me: Better than your golf skills, judging by that video your teammate posted.

Aleks: Scrolling through my social media looking for ex-girlfriends already?

Me: I’d come up empty-handed if that was my goal, wouldn’t I? Unless one night of drunken sex counts as a relationship to you.

Aleks: Drunken sex is fun. You should try it.

Aleks: I volunteer as teacher if you find yourself curious.

Me: Tempting, but I’d hate for you to pull a muscle trying to keep up.

Aleks: Coach wouldn’t be happy with me then, would he?

I’d smiled, setting my phone down then, but he followed up with another text.

Aleks: In all seriousness… are you ready for this?

It had taken me a long time to write back to that, wondering if he could sense my anxiety from across the country.

Me: I think so. Are you?

Aleks: Been dreaming about making that punk reporter cry. I’d much rather kick him right in the teeth, but I’ll play by your rules, I suppose.

I’d chuckled at that, tucking my phone away.

But a few minutes later, it’d vibrated again.

Aleks: I’ve got your back, Strings. Always.

My heart squeezed as I stared at that text again now. I stared at it a long moment before thumbing up to look at older conversations. I made it all the way to when he’d texted me the night news broke about mine and Austin’s breakup last summer before I clicked the screen off and sighed.

Then, I sank farther into my seat, pulled my hood back up, and dreamed about the boy I used to know.

· · ·

When we touched down in New York, I felt like a haggard beast.

I had thankfully scrubbed away the drool on my chin, but I knew my face was puffy and my hair was a mess from hiding it under my hood all that time. I found myself counting the blessings of my incredible hair and makeup artists who would no doubt have me looking like a million bucks by showtime as my team and I filed off the jet.

And then I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of Aleks waiting at the bottom step on the tarmac.

Everyone said hello to him as they passed, Isabella muttering something under her breath that made him chuckle before she was patting his chest and making her way toward the row of black cars waiting for us.

But I just stood frozen, my feet unwilling to move, heart paused in my chest as I took him in.

Aleks Suter was a chaotic masterpiece.

Whether he was drenched in sweat and bleeding, wearing his hockey uniform, or scowling and clean cut in his after-game suit — that man had the power to turn every head. He wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t handsome. He was just plain hot — rugged, lined with hard edges and scars that had the power to make every pussy tingle.

Right now, he looked calm, cool, and collected in a pair of light gray joggers and a navy-blue Tampa Bay Ospreys performance tee. It was long sleeved, covering the tattoos that I knew lined those muscular forearms of his. I knew the first one he’d ever gotten was in script on his rib cage right below his heart. It said as you are . He’d gotten it the week after his foster mom passed away. And I knew the chain she’d bought for him was under that shirt, resting against his chest, even though I couldn’t see it.

He wore a hat, too — flat-billed — and he turned it around to face backward as I finally managed to take one step down toward him. It was just enough of a movement for me to see he still had his hair cut short, almost like a military buzz cut.

I’d always loved to run my fingers through that spiky hair, to feel how it was somehow soft even if a bit prickly. It would tickle my palms as I mindlessly played with it when we watched movies as teens.

But of all his features — the abs, arms, thighs, and back muscles built by years of hockey — it was still his face that stole the show.

The scar over his eyebrow was always what I noticed first. I was there when he got it, when he was a dumb kid shooting pucks at an empty net late one night to blow off steam. He wasn’t wearing any gear, and the puck popped back off the bar and hit him so hard I’d shrieked and sprinted for the ice.

He’d grinned at me through the blood running down his face.

“ I’m okay, Strings,” he’d said, running his thumb over where a tear had slid down my cheek. “ Don’t cry for me. I never want to make you cry.”

I swallowed at the flash of a memory, taking another step as I cataloged the rest of his features. His full lips, square jaw, the hollowness of his cheeks, the stubble on his chin…

And then his mouth curled into a smile, the one I swore was meant only for me.

“Strings,” he said in greeting, offering me his hand as I hit the last step.

“Aleks,” I replied. The moment I slid my hand into his, heat ripped through me with enough zap to have my next breath lodged in my throat.

He pulled me into him the moment my feet hit the tarmac, wrapping me in a hug that was tight and fierce and warm. He still smelled the same, like fresh ice and mint. But his arms were bigger now, more muscular, his chest hard as stone as he pulled me against it.

A sigh left him the longer he held me, and I melted into him with a smile.

“You look like shit,” he murmured against my ear, pulling me under his arm. He pressed a soft kiss to my hair, holding his lips there like it was the most natural thing in the world while I tried to fight off an earthquake threatening to destroy my entire body.

“Gee, thanks,” I said, elbowing him, but he wouldn’t let me pull away.

Instead, he slid his arm down to curve protectively around the small of my back, his massive fingers hooking over my hip bone. His other hand swept my messy hair out of my face, and he thumbed my jaw, his endless brown eyes searching mine.

When his gaze fell to my lips, my knees buckled.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Just looking at you.”

I swallowed. “I don’t think there are any cameras around.”

He smirked at that, running his palm along my cheek before he was cupping my neck. I couldn’t help but lean into the touch, and my skin flamed when I did, when Aleks realized that I did.

“No time like the present to practice, right?”

With that, he leaned in just long enough to press a searing kiss to my forehead.

Then, he took my hand in his and walked us toward the cars, all while I willed my heart not to beat right out of my chest.