Page 99 of Ice Queen

“Déjame amarte, Princesa.⁠*”

She’s about to ask what that means when the locker room door slams open, and chaos erupts in the form of champagne from God knows where. My head snaps in the direction of our rookies, who are being sprayed in the face with said bubbly. Given the look on Monroe and Reed’s faces, though, this was planned. Making the confusion on our teammates' faces is priceless. My face splits into a smile, pure joy fills me from the inside as the scene unfolds in front of me. This is my team, my family. We did this, we made it this far.

The phone beeps, indicating the call ended. My heart sinks a bit. Did Lettie’s phone die, or did Kait hang up? Does she think whatever is happening here is more important than her? I’m not going to give her that out.

Handing Monroe his phone, I pull mine out and fire off a text.

It means “let me love you, Princesa.”

I’m sure I won’t get a text back right away, but I hope that was enough for now.

* Let me love you, Princess

CHAPTER 32

Kaitlyn

It’s almost midnight, and here I stand with one foot dipped in the pool, slowly dragging it back and forth. The water moves in lazy ripples, catching slivers of moonlight and distorting them like an abstract piece of art. The night air has settled into my skin, covering me like a blanket. There’s something so calming about being able to exist without looking over your shoulder all the time. A feeling that’s starting to become more normal, and less of a luxury like it has been in the past.

My phone sits on the pool chaise behind me, Markus’ text from the other night still open on the screen. Let me love you.

Months ago, the idea would have sent me running for the hills. The idea of being loved by someone meant the slow erasure of everything that made me, me. Of everything I’ve worked so hard to regain over the years.

I watched it happen once already, the version of me that had opinions and preferences, and a laugh that was way too loud for our circle of friends, quietly dismantled piece by piece in the name of love. Love meant unquestioned loyalty, and eventually, that loyalty led me to a place where there was nothing left inside.

But here, all the pieces are the same. Rearranged a little, sure. Softer in some places, louder in others. But they’re willing to take up the space I deserve.

I think that’s what he meant, not let me change you, but let me love you as you already are.

The door chirps. Finally.

I straighten slightly, shaking my hair over my shoulders. It’s long enough to brush against the curve of my ass, the very ass left partially exposed by the red bikini I chose on a whim tonight. Or maybe it wasn’t a whim at all.

Maggie scrambles up from her spot beside me and races toward the door, nails clicking against the wood of Markus’ deck. I don’t make the same decision, though. I simply cross my arms loosely over my stomach and turn to look over my shoulder just in time to see him pull the sliding glass door open.

“Princesa.” His gaze moves over me slowly, like he has all the time in the world and intends to use every second of it on me. His tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth as he reaches down to pet Maggie on the head, though his eyes never leave mine.

My chin raises slightly, a silent dare for him to come and get me. He takes the first step, and I bite down softly on the inside of my cheek. I love how he looks at me, like I’m the only thing that matters.

I let my arms fall to my sides as he steps off the deck onto the grass and closes the distance between us. His movements are unhurried and certain, and Lord help me, I feel the pull of him before he’s even touched me.

“Is this for me?” His finger brushes against the ties at my hip, a barely there touch that still manages to send a shiver crawling up my spine. His calloused hands slide up my sides, brushing across my ribs, continuing their torturous path until they rest flat against the small of my back, drawing me into him.

He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before his lips find mine, and my brain goes quiet. One hand moves to cup the side of my face, thumb resting against my cheekbone, the other anchored possessively at my hip.

His tongue brushes against the seam of my lips, and I open for him without hesitation, fingers curling into the sleeves of his shirt. His long-sleeved shirt. Why the hell is he still wearing a shirt?

I push gently against his biceps, breaking us apart just enough to say, “You’re overdressed.”

He laughs, low and throaty, forehead dropping to rest against mine. “Well, Ms. Tyler.” His voice drops into something that does entirely unspeakable things to my insides.

My toes curl into the grass as his eyes bore into mine.

“Allow me to fix that for you.”

The shirt comes off first, hitting the grass and sending a soft gust of air brushing against my ankles. His dark wash jeans follow, and I think what I always do when I see him like this. That it should be illegal for him to look this good without even trying, workout clothes, a suit, hell, he could wear a potato sack, and I guarantee it’d still look like it was custom-made to fit his body.

But it’s not just the way he looks, it’s who he is underneath it all. The heart he tries to keep hidden. The way he goes from zero to one hundred when someone he loves is threatened, not out of control, but out of concern. I’ve learned to tell the difference.