Mile High: Chapter 11

“You’re buying all my drinks tonight,” Maddison reminds me as we grab a table in the back of an overly crowded bar across the street from Nashville’s arena.

“Deal.” I keep my head down, and Maddison keeps his hat pulled low, both of us trying to fly under the radar. “Rio, you’re buying tonight,” I call out to my younger teammate.

Maddison shakes his head at me with a low chuckle.

“Again?” Rio whines over the live band filling the bar with country music. “But I always buy. I’m not even a rookie anymore.”

“You’re still the rookie until we find a new one we like.”

He takes off towards the bar without another word.

Maddison’s thumbs are moving a mile a minute, texting someone on his phone. “Logan?” I ask with assumption.

“Yeah.” He lets out a content and happy sigh.

I can’t even give my best friend shit for being completely pussy-whipped by his wife. Honestly, I’m just happy I got him out of his hotel room for once. He’s my closest friend, but I’ve never been able to relate to him in only wanting to sleep with one woman for the rest of my life, let alone spend every waking moment thinking about someone the way Maddison does Logan.

He dreads life on the road and loves being home, whereas I have no reason to look forward to home other than his family. I look forward to a different city each night.

Rio quickly comes back, his hands full, the necks of beer bottles laced between each of his fingers. A hot little redhead follows right behind him, her hands full to the brim with shots.

“No,” Maddison quickly interjects, turning to Rio. “No shots. We play in less than twenty-four hours.”

“Don’t look at me, Captain,” Rio says. “These generous women at the bar bought us a round. Wanted to wish us good luck tomorrow.”

I look over Maddison’s shoulder to the two girls sitting at the bar top, both hot as hell, as they hold a couple of shot glasses up to us in cheers.

“One won’t hurt.” I grab a shot glass filled with clear liquid.

The chick with copper strands rests her elbows on our high-top, sticking her tits out as she leans in close to Maddison.

“I’ll drink both of ours. I don’t mind,” she seductively offers with a wink.

Maddison, Rio, and I burst into laughter as the redhead furrows her brows in confusion.

I get that there are athletes out there who don’t give a shit if they’re married or not. They’ll sleep around on their partners, especially on the road. Maddison is not that athlete. The guy’s got his ring finger tattooed with his girl’s initials, for Christ’s sake.

“That’s not going to get you anywhere,” I tell the sexy ginger, referring to her hitting on my best friend. “You may as well turn your attention over here.”

Her focus zeroes in on me, quicker than you’d believe, as we connect our shot glasses and throw back the tequila simultaneously.

“Another?” she asks, batting her eyelashes.

I glance up at Maddison, who is clearly uncomfortable. I promised him a boy’s night, at least starting out. Besides, he won’t last long before he decides to sneak back to the hotel and call his wife. Maybe I’ll work on expanding my Nashville roster once he goes.

“Not tonight,” I tell her, referring to more than just another drink.

“I’m Rio!” my teammate bursts, finding an opening to get a little attention.

“Rio…I like that name.” She nods towards the bar for him to follow her back to her friends.

My teammate quickly stands from his seat, his green eyes shining with excitement.

“Have I taught him nothing?” I ask Maddison, watching Rio behind his shoulder, looking thirsty as fuck and not for more alcohol. “We don’t chase women. Women chase us.”

“You don’t chase women. Women chase you,” he corrects with a laugh. “Don’t lump me in with your bullshit.”

“Fair.”

A couple of petite blondes take the table directly next to us, trying to make eye contact as they sit. Maddison doesn’t notice, but my gaze drags up and down both of them. They’re cute, but their fake tan is leaning dangerously close to Oompa-Loompa status, and the desperation for attention radiates off them. I quickly avert my focus back to my table, uninterested in either of them.

“What’s the plan for our delayed Halloween? Has Ella decided what we’re going to be yet?”

An amused smile forms on Maddison’s lips. “Yep.”

“And?”

I don’t know if anything will compare to last year when two-year-old Ella Jo decided she was going to be The Hulk for Halloween, and therefore our crew took on the rest of the Marvel characters as we walked our block in Chicago. It was quite the sight for our neighbors to see my little niece decked out in green paint with her parents and three uncles dressed to the nines right along with her.

I’m pretty sure it’s as fun for us as it is for Ella to go all-out as much as we do. It’s been our tradition since she was born to coordinate in group costumes. Even when we miss Halloween because of road games, like this year, we make sure to make it up sometime in November.

“She’s going to be Belle from Beauty and the Beast.”

“Oh, hell yes. I call dibs on being the Beast.”

Maddison shakes his head to tell me no.

“What? I have to be the fucking teacup or something?”

“Ella said she doesn’t want to do Beauty and the Beast. Apparently, the theme this year is Disney princesses.”

I almost choke on my beer, and Maddison’s laugh is deep and full.

“Fine,” I resign, knowing I’ll do anything for my favorite three-and-a-half-year-old. “I call dibs on the Little Mermaid then.”

“Have you met my kid?” Maddison asks rhetorically. “She’s already assigned all of us. And if you think my wife, with red-ass hair, is going to let you be Ariel, you’re mistaken.”

I can’t help but laugh. And not only because it’s going to be fucking hilarious to see us all dressed up like a bunch of princesses roaming the streets of Chicago on Halloween. But because we’re having this conversation in the middle of a crowded bar in Nashville, surrounded by women who would love nothing more than our attention. However, all we can talk about is my best friend’s spunky daughter, who we’d all do just about anything to make happy.

“So, who am I?”

“You, my friend, are Elsa.”

“Elsa?!” I interject. “Fuck Frozen.”

“The little miss spoke.” Maddison puts his hands up. “She makes the rules.”

I shake my head in disappointment. “Fucking Elsa? Little EJ is killing me.” I’m going to have to have a conversation with my niece about that one.

Pulling my beer to my lips, my eyes immediately get drawn to the chestnut curls bouncing around by the bar. I’d recognize them anywhere. In fact, I thought about the owner of that mane far too often this week.

How does this keep happening? It’s like the universe wants to test me.

Stevie seems overwhelmed at the bar as she orders herself a drink.

Is she by herself again?

I press my ass into my seat, willing myself to stay put. But all I want to do is go over there, buy her drink, and maybe mess with her a bit. I like seeing her get flustered, though lately, she seems to be the one flustering me.

Maddison’s gaze follows mine as he turns to see who it is that holds my attention.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks. “Did you tell her to meet you here? Zee, what the hell are you doing, man?”

“I didn’t tell her shit. This keeps happening. It’s like the universe is begging me to fuck her.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m kidding.” Sort of. “But she’s kind of hot, right?”

“We aren’t talking about this.” Maddison shakes his head. “She works for us.”

Deciding to stay silent on that one, I keep my stare on the flight attendant across the room.

“Would it really be the worst thing in the world if we hooked up? I mean, it’d just be one time. To get it out of our systems.”

“Our systems? Like you and her?” Maddison laughs condescendingly. “You mean your system. Last I checked, she’s not a fan of yours whatsoever.”

“Everyone is a fan of me.”

Maddison peeks over his shoulder to the bar then back to me, shaking his head. “You do you, man. But that girl is going to be on our plane all year. You’re going to fuck her and never think about her again, and she’s going to fall for you, like they all do. But the difference is this time, you’re going to have to see her on the plane after every single road game.”

I kind of like the way that sounds—seeing her after every game.

Attempting to hide my smile, I bring my bottle back to my lips and take a swig. Finally, Stevie’s blue-green eyes meets mine.

“You following me?” I silently mouth across the bar to her.

“You’re so fucked,” Maddison quietly reminds me.

Stevie quickly averts her attention away from me, and it takes everything in my body to stay seated and not go over to her. She keeps her head down as she makes her way through the crowd, her hands full with three drinks.

She’s either extremely thirsty, or she’s not alone tonight.

As soon as she walks around the bar top, my dick comes to attention, waking up real quick. She looks incredible tonight, tight little skirt pulled taut around her ass. Her legs are naturally bronzed, her thighs are thick, and those heels she’s got on add a few inches to her stature.

Glad she took my advice about showing off her body. She’s a fucking smoke show, and I don’t think she has any idea.

My mouth gapes as she walks my way, partly in shock that she’s willingly coming over to me and partially in awe of how sexy she looks tonight. Her little outfit is vastly different than the sweats I saw her in last week. These clothes show off every dip and curve in her body.

But she doesn’t come to me. Instead, she keeps her focus anywhere but me and stops short at the table next to us with the two desperate girls who haven’t pulled their attention away from our table. She quickly turns to her blonde friends, pretending as if she has no idea who I am.

Setting the drinks on the table, she takes the seat facing away from me, and instantly, like a magnet being pulled, I stand from my chair.

“Leave her alone,” Maddison quietly scolds. “If she wanted to talk to you, she would’ve come over here.”

Fuck, he’s right. I retake my seat. When did I become such a desperate motherfucker? But also, why doesn’t she want to talk to me?

Just being honest here, I’ve never had someone refuse my attention, and now that I know my intentions, I think the chase is making me want to sleep with Stevie even more.

I try to focus on my conversation with my best friend as we both nurse the beers in our hands, but I’m having a hard time. It’s as if I have selective hearing tonight, and all I can focus on is the flight attendant to my left and her two friends.

If you want to call them that.

Over the last thirty minutes, all I’ve heard is them cutting Stevie down. She might not notice that these girls are not her real friends, but it’s pretty evident to me. They’ve mentioned her hair being all over the place, which I must say is ten times more amazing than either of their stringy bleached strands. They’ve underhandly made comments about her body, which makes me real sensitive about that topic for her after Stevie got upset last week.

Her body is ridiculous in the best way possible. It’s thick and curvy, and yeah, there’s a bit more to hold on to, but that’s definitely not a bad thing.

At one point, when one of them comments about wanting another drink and Stevie needing to be the one to go grab it, my eyes dart over in a scowl, unable to hide my annoyance.

Blondie number one takes my eye contact as some sort of open door instead of the “shut the fuck up” eyes I was trying to make.

“Those guys are on the team you work for, right?” she asks Stevie, keeping her eyes on me. I’ve looked away from her, but I can feel her stare. “Introduce us.”

“No,” Stevie says in a hush, though since she’s all I’m focused on right now, I can hear her perfectly clear. “I mean, yes, they’re on the team, but leave them alone. They don’t want us bothering them.”

I wouldn’t mind Stevie bothering me.

“You mean they probably don’t even realize you work for them. Do they even know your name?” The two blondes burst into grossly high-pitched cackles.

These girls are brutally mean, and I have no idea why the hell Stevie would hang out with them.

“Probably not,” she says, though I know she realizes that’s a lie. I’ve called her “Stevie Sweetheart” more times than I could count.

It’s strange seeing this side of her, the side where she won’t stand up for herself, because in the time I’ve known her, she’s had no problem putting me in my place.

Without thinking about it any longer, I stand from my seat, finally fed up with these girls for Stevie’s sake. But still, I need to play it cool. Or as cool as I can. I really feel like I’ve lost some of my fucking game this week.

I casually turn towards the restroom, even though I don’t need to use it. As I walk by Stevie’s table, I gently run my hand over her shoulders, trailing my touch across the back of her exposed neck. I brush my fingertips against the goosebumps peppering her skin before giving her a light squeeze.

Fuck, her skin is soft.

“Hey, Stevie girl,” I toss over my shoulder as I walk by, my lips lifting on one side. “Good to see you.” I turn to face her, slowly walking backward to the restroom, my smirk all charm as I keep my focus on her pretty freckled face.

She runs a hand up her neck, exactly where I touched her as her cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink.

I spot the look of surprise and confusion on her friends’ faces. Fully satisfied, I turn back and walk down the hall towards the bathroom.

As I’m waiting in this ridiculously long line for the bathroom that I don’t even need to use, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Maddison: You’re so fucked.

He’s not wrong.

Maddison: I figured that was my cue to go. Tab is closed. See you tomorrow.

Even though I don’t need to piss, I do so anyway. I can’t exactly turn around right away and head back to my table. My not-so-stealth cover would be blown.

On my way out, I keep my head low, hoping to go unrecognized as I pass by a trio of dudes dressed like dumbass cowboys. And I’m not talking about authentic cowboys. I’m talking about “I’m in the South for the first time in my life, so I bought a pair of cowboy boots” cowboys.

“I call dibs on sparkly dress,” one of them says, nodding towards Stevie’s table.

“I get the other blonde,” another chimes in.

“Fuck that,” the third one argues. “You’re not leaving me with the big girl.”

It takes everything in me not to turn around and punch this fucker in the face. I know he did not just talk about her that way. He doesn’t know shit about her. Well, I don’t really either, but I do know she’s ten times sexier than either of her desperate friends. And she’s got the attitude to back it up. Why wouldn’t he want her?

Obviously, he’s got a tiny dick. It’s the only explanation. If he can’t handle a woman’s body, he may as well say that instead of cutting her down to make himself feel better.

Oh fuck.

I’m so fucked. It’s decided. I need to sleep with her before my balls turn the deepest shade of blue.

The threesome of frat bros takes off towards Stevie’s table before I have the chance to.

Maddison is long gone by the time I make it back to my seat, and Rio is still batting his eyelashes at the girls at the bar. My beer is empty, and I’m not going to drink another the night before a game, but I can’t get myself to leave while Stevie is here surrounded by five of the shittiest people on the planet.

Trying to be sly but surely failing at it, I keep my selective hearing locked on the table next to mine, peering over every once in a while. Stevie’s two friends are entirely entranced by frat bro Chad and frat bro Brad while leaving her to the biggest asshole of them all.

He’s clearly uninterested and not even trying to be subtle about the fact that he got “stuck” with her as he sits a good two feet away and refuses to make eye contact, even when she’s speaking.

I fucking hate this for her. I’d hate this for anyone.

I also hate the way I can’t stay put.

Standing from my table, I go right over to hers.

“Holy shit, you’re Evan Zanders!” the one who refuses to give Stevie the time of day announces. “Can I get an autograph?”

I pause for a moment, letting him get his hopes up. “No.”

Looking down at the curly-haired girl next to me, I push her locks away from her face, and without thinking, I lift her chin to look at me. My tatted hand surrounds her cheek as I rub my thumb against the flushed and freckled skin. Stevie’s piercing eyes are blazing into me with confusion as her mouth gapes open. Not that I blame her. I don’t even know what I’m doing.

“Ready to go?” I ask, my eyes locked and focused on her blue-green ones.

She doesn’t answer. She just sits there in a surprised daze as the five onlookers share the same shocked expression.

“Thanks for keeping her company,” I tell the group as I lace my hand with Stevie’s, ushering her to stand and follow me out. They might not note the sarcasm in my voice, but I sure as hell do.

She drags behind me, still in a confused trance, so I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her body into mine, essentially guiding her outside. I can feel the group’s eyes on our backs, so I lean down and kiss the top of Stevie’s head to really sell the act.

I’ve never kissed a chick’s head before, and I’m not going to lie, it felt kind of weird.