Save Your Breath (Kings of the Ice, #4)

by Kandi Steiner

She wanted to hit me. I wanted to kiss her. That was how it had always been with us.

For a split second, we were both eighteen again. She was begging me to kiss her. I was begging her not to let me. I knew even then that we were wrong for each other. I knew even then that we’d break each other’s hearts if we ever tried to be more than friends.

Mia needed to drink to get through this, and I needed to sit on my fucking hands. Because she wanted to hit me, and I wanted to kiss her. And with the two of us forced to stay together for the night, I had no idea how the hell I was going to keep up the charade of anything I felt for this woman being fake.

I saluted with the snarky comment, ready to get the fuck out of this room and call my girl. My girl. I laughed at myself with that thought. Mia Love was far from mine, and yet she was the only person in the world I gave a single flying fuck about.

Aleksander Suter. Winger for the Tampa Bay Ospreys. Notorious troublemaker. And owner of my heart since we were teenagers.

In the top left box was my agent, Giana Johnson,

AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

She was too good for me back then. She was still too good for me now. Never stopped me from wanting her, though.

“And if you don’t want to do this, just say it and stop wasting our time.” “I didn’t say I didn’t want to do it.” “Well, you’re not exactly jumping up and down with excitement, either.” I smirked. “Is that what you want, Mia? Want me to jump for you?” I leaned toward the camera. “How high, sweetheart?”

I used my free hand to wash all the bubbles up around my neck, making sure there wasn’t so much as a glimpse of my goods, as Aleks had called them, before I allowed access to my video. “There,” I said when my image flickered on. “Happy?” “Very,” he mused, rolling his lips together in that stupid, infuriatingly sexy way he always had. “Although I’d be even happier if a strong wind would whip through and blow those bubbles away.” “I’m about to blow you, if you don’t stop,” I warned. And then I paled, because what the fuck did I just say? Aleks’s eyebrows shot up, the corner of his mouth tilting. “This is turning out rather nicely for me.”

“Well, this is a pretty long dry spell you’re asking me to have… does that offer of you blowing me still stand?” My jaw hinged open at the salacious grin on his face. “Aleks Suter,” I scolded. “If you were here, I’d splash you.” “And I’d do a victory dance because then those bubbles would be gone.”

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.

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 can’t believe you remember that.” “Come on now, Strings,” I said, tugging on the strings of her hoodie with the nickname. “I remember everything.”

“Mia, I’ve listened to every album you’ve ever released, front to back, at least a hundred times.”

“I’m just a girl with a guitar,” she breathes quietly. Her eyes fall to my lips, and my heart hammers hard in my chest. “And I’m just a boy with a stick,” I say, daring to move an inch closer. “But I bet we can rule the world one day, Strings. I bet everyone will know our names.” “You’re so cocky.” The words slide out of her in a whisper. “I’ll be confident enough for the both of us until you catch on.”

“Don’t let them steal your pen when you’re just getting to the good part.”

“Mia?” “Yeah?” “You’re my best friend.”

“I’m so sorry,” Grace said on a croaky voice before clearing it. “I swear I’m going to get my shit together and be cool in like, five minutes, but right now can I just freak the fuck out that you are Mia fucking Love?!” Mia’s resulting smile was dazzling, her laugh so light and sweet it was like honey. “Wait, I am?” She turned to me wide-eyed. “Shit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Giana bounced over to me as soon as I was free. She gave me a big hug before I was shaking the hand of her husband — Clay Johnson, star safety for Denver and one hell of a philanthropist.

AHHHHHHHHHHH AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!

“You’re scared because this album is real, Mia. It’s you.” My eyes instantly watered, a strangled breath escaping my parted lips. “I heard it in just the first few tracks. I heard you at seventeen, and at twenty-one, and at twenty-six. I heard you breaking, heard you healing, heard you finding a new way. You’re not excited tonight because this wasn’t an album written for fans or for a label. This was an album written for you. And there’s nothing more terrifying than showing someone your true self like that, let alone showing the entire world.”

“You should be scared. But you should also be proud, Mia. So fucking proud. Because you fucking did that. You put your everything into this. It isn’t just another cog in the wheel full of pop hits. It’s art — your art. “And I can tell you right fucking now that yeah, some people are going to hate it. Some people are going to call it shit. But more people are going to love it, and connect with it, and play it on repeat, and see a little of themselves in every song. Because you didn’t hold back. You let yourself be raw and honest and true. And there’s nothing better than music that hits like that.” “How can you be so sure?” I croaked. At that, the corner of his mouth tilted up. His eyes flicked between mine for a long moment, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing hard. “Because I felt it,” he admitted softly.

“I am an honest man,” he said, his voice deep but a bit shaky. “Even with myself. And I know I am not what you deserve. I know I fall short in so many ways. I know that I can be irrational, and loud, and broody and cold. I know I can shut the world out and do some really stupid shit. But I could never shut you out, Mia.” He swallowed. “And I could never stop loving you — no matter how hard I tried over the years.”

“You in this fucking jersey,” he cursed, hands running down my ribs until he was fisting the fabric and tugging. “It drives me insane, Mia. It makes me reckless.” He tugged enough to expose my collarbone, his teeth biting the flesh as I gasped. “I’m going to strip you bare and bind you with it. I’m going to make you squirm until you’re begging me for relief, until all you can do is scream my name like a desperate little fangirl.” Filthy. Degrading. Addicting. I wanted more. “You’re so full of yourself,” I said breathlessly, the bite of my rebuttal weak. “You’ll be full of me soon, too.”

“Shut up and let me ride you.” I threw his words right back at him, basking in the smirk he rewarded me with. And then Aleks threw his hands up, repeating his sentiment from earlier. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mia was everywhere for me now — in my living room, at the piano, in the kitchen, in my shower, in my bed.

Maybe that’s what I was for her. It was always what she was for me. Never Berne, or Chicago, or Seattle, or Tampa. Mia. She was my home.