Mile High: Chapter 2

“That guy is an ass.”

“Which one?” My new coworker, Indy, cranes her neck to look down the aisle.

“That one, sitting in the exit row.”

“Eli Maddison? I’ve heard he’s like the nicest guy in the NHL.”

“Not that one. The other one. Sitting next to him.”

Though the two men occupying the exit row seem like good friends and probably have a lot in common on the inside, they’re polar opposites on the outside.

Evan Zanders’ hair is black and tightly faded to his scalp, seeming like he can’t go more than seven to ten business days without getting a fresh cut. At the same time, Eli Maddison’s brown mop falls messily over his eyes, and he probably couldn’t tell you the last time he saw his barber.

Evan Zanders’ skin is a flawless warm brown, and Eli Maddison’s is fairly pale, topped with rosy cheeks.

Evan Zanders’ neck drips with a gold chain, his fingers decorated with fashionable gold rings, while Eli Maddison wears only one piece of jewelry. And it’s a ring on his left ring finger.

I’m a single woman. Of course, the first thing I notice is a man’s hands, especially the left one.

One thing they definitely have in common is that they’re both fine as hell, and I could bet good money on the fact they know it.

Indy peers down the aisle again. Thankfully, we’re in the rear of the airplane, and everyone’s backs are to us, so no one can see how obvious she’s being.

“Are you talking about Evan Zanders? Yeah, he’s known for being a dick, but do we care? It’s like God decided to take a little extra time and sprinkle a bit more ‘sexy’ into his genetic makeup.”

“He’s an ass.”

“You’re right,” Indy agrees. “His ass was sculpted by God himself too.”

I can’t help but laugh with my new friend. We met a few weeks ago when we went through job training together, and I don’t know much about her yet, but so far, she seems great. Not to mention gorgeous. She’s tall and slender, her skin sporting a natural sun-kissed glow, with blonde hair running smoothly down her back. Her eyes are a warm brown, and I don’t think she has a stitch of makeup on, simply because she’s stunning without it.

My eyes trail down her uniform, noticing how perfectly smooth it lays on her thin frame. There’s no gaping between the buttons in her white collared shirt, and her pencil skirt shows no creasing the way mine does from everything it’s trying to hold in.

Immediately feeling self-conscious, I adjust my snug uniform. I ordered it last month when I was a few pounds smaller, but my weight has always fluctuated.

“How long have you been doing this?” I ask Indy as we wait for the rest of the team to board the plane so we can take off on our first trip of the season.

“How long have I been a flight attendant? This is my third year. But I’ve never worked for a team before. How about you?”

“This is my fourth year and my second team. I used to fly for an NBA team out of Charlotte, but my brother lives in Chicago and helped me get this gig.”

“So, you’ve been around athletes before. This is nothing new to you. I’m a little starstruck, to be honest.”

Been around athletes. Dated one. Related to one.

“Yeah, I mean, they’re just normal people, like you and me.”

“I don’t know about you, girl, but I don’t make millions of dollars a year. Nothing normal about that.”

I definitely don’t make anything near that, which is why I live in my twin brother’s insane Chicago apartment until I can find something on my own. I don’t love living off him, but I don’t know anyone else in the city, and he’s the one who wanted me out here so badly. Plus, he makes ridiculous money, that I don’t feel all that bad mooching off him for a free place to sleep.

We couldn’t be more different from each other. Ryan is focused, put-together, driven, and successful. He’s known his path since he was seven. I’m twenty-six and still trying to figure it out. But regardless of our differences, we’re the best of friends.

“Are you from Chicago?” I ask my new friend.

“Born and raised. Well, in the suburbs. How about you?”

“I grew up in Tennessee but went to college in North Carolina. I stayed there when I got my flight attendant job. I just moved to Chicago a month ago.”

“Newbie to the city.” Indy’s brown eyes shine with excitement and a bit of mischief. “We’ve gotta go out when we get back home. Well, we gotta go out when we’re on the road too, but I’ll introduce you to all the best spots in Chicago.”

I shoot her a grateful smile, thankful to have such a cool and accepting chick on my plane this season. This industry can be cutthroat, and sometimes the girls aren’t the nicest to each other, but Indy seems genuine. She and I are about to spend an entire hockey season on the road together, so I’m even more thankful that we get along.

Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the other flight attendant. Over the two weeks of training, Tara, the lead flight attendant, seemed anything but welcoming. Territorial might be a better word for her. Or bitchy. Either or.

“I have to admit something,” Indy begins in a whisper, brushing her wispy blonde hair out of her face. “I don’t know shit about hockey.”

A giggle slips past my lips. “Yeah, me neither.”

“Okay, thank God. I’m glad it’s not a job requirement. I mean, I know who they all are because I did my FBI-level investigation of them on social media, but I’ve never seen a game. My boyfriend is plenty versed in the sport, though. He even gave me a hall pass if needed.”

“Wait, really?”

She brushes me off. “As a joke. I’d never do that. If anything, he’d want a hall pass for one of them. He’s in love with watching sports, following athletes, all of it.”

Before I can tell Indy that I have someone at home that her boyfriend might fanboy over, the jerk from the exit row starts walking down the aisle towards us.

I can’t lie to myself and say that Evan Zanders is not a beautiful man. He looks like he just stepped off a runway with the way he’s walking towards me right now. His cheeky smile can’t hide his perfect teeth, and his eyes are the definition of a hazel dream. The tailored three-piece suit he’s rocking has a slight herringbone and screams that he doesn’t leave the house unless he’s dressed to impress.

But he’s a pompous asshole who assumed I wanted his autograph and stared at photos of half-naked beautiful women while I was trying to explain how I could save his life in case of an emergency.

I mean, the likelihood of him needing to know anything I was trying to explain is slim to none, but that’s not the point. The point is, he’s an arrogant athlete that’s in love with himself. I know his type. I’ve dated that type, and I’ll never do it again.

So, I stop admiring and turn around to distract myself with something meaningless in the galley, but his presence is overwhelming. He’s the type of man that everyone notices when he walks into the room, and that just annoys me even more.

“Okay, Miss Shay,” Indy whispers my last name with a nudge.

I look back at her, but she motions towards Zanders. Turning around, I glance up at him, his piercing eyes locked on mine. The most arrogant grin slides across his lips as he stands in the small entryway of the airplane’s back galley. He puts both arms up against the barrier, causally blocking Indy and me in.

“I need a sparkling water with extra lime.” His focus is lasered in on me.

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes because I just told him where he could find one. There’s a big fancy cooler not even a foot away from him, stocked with all kinds of drinks for a reason. Athletes are essentially famished after their games, and since we do a lot of overnight flights post-game, the plane is set up like an all-you-can-eat buffet with food and drinks tucked in every crevice you can find, ready to be snatched and consumed.

“It’s in the cooler.” I motion to the last row of seats, right beside him.

“But I need you to get it for me.”

The arrogance.

“I’ll get it for you!” Indy pipes up with excitement, eager to do a job she doesn’t need to do.

“No need,” Zanders stops her. “Stevie here will get it for me.”

My eyes narrow at him as his sparkling teeth finally show because he happens to find himself hilarious right now. He’s not. He’s annoying.

“Won’t you, Stevie?”

I would like to tell him to fuck off and not because I don’t want to do my job, but because of the point he’s trying to prove. He’s trying to tell me that I work for him. But just because he’s our client doesn’t mean he can be rude and expect me not to be rude right back.

I hesitate, not wanting to make a bad impression in front of my new coworker on our first day. I couldn’t care less what this guy thinks of me, but I’d rather not look like a total bitch in front of Indy.

“Of course, I will.” My voice comes out too high, but neither of these people knows me well enough to realize I’m faking it.

Zanders shifts, giving me the slightest opening to slip past him, and that alone makes me self-conscious. I’m not the smallest girl, and I’m not trying to embarrass myself by being unable to squeeze past him. A bit of my internal self-doubt surfaces before I catch it and replace it with the mask of confidence I’ve trained myself to wear. But Zanders moves a bit more out of the way, thankfully giving me space.

I take one step, literally one step out of the galley, past Zanders to the cooler that he was so close to, he was practically touching. I open the lid and pull out the first drink I see, which is a sparkling water. This would’ve taken him less than three seconds to do, but he wanted to prove a point.

As I pull his water from the cooler, I sense him looming over me. He’s tall as hell, probably around 6’5′, and over my 5’6′ stature, he overpowers me. He barely leaves me enough space in the aisle to turn around, and when I do, I’m greeted with his chest right in my face.

“Thank you so much, Stevie.” He says my name in the same condescending manner that I did earlier as he lazily takes the bottle out of my hand. His long fingers slightly graze mine, all the while his hazels stare at me. His empty hand reaches up, adjusting my wings on my shirt, straightening out my disheveled name tag.

His eyes hold mischief, amusement, and a whole lot of arrogance as they dance between mine, but I can’t, for the life of me, find the will to break eye contact.

My heart rate picks up, and not just because only a few layers of fabric separate his hand from my chest, but because I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. It’s intense and focused. Like I’m his new task this season.

His task to make my job a living hell.

“Extra limes?” Indy interrupts, holding out a napkin piled high with lime wedges.

Zanders’ gaze breaks its stare as he looks back to Indy in the galley, and an audible breath of relief leaves my lungs when his attention leaves me.

“Wow, thank you so much.” Zanders’ tone holds far too much joy as he takes them from her. “You’re great at your job—”

“Indy.”

“Okay.” He brushes her off, his attention finding me again. Bending down slightly, he makes us eye level. “Stevie. Great work,” he adds in farewell before taking off towards his seat.

I stand up straight, composing myself as I smooth my uniform once again and push my untamable curly hair out of my face.

“Please fuck him,” Indy begs when it’s only the two of us in the galley again.

“What?”

“Please, please, please fuck him and then tell me every little detail.”

“I am not sleeping with him.”

“Why the hell not?”

My brows furrow. “Because we work for him. Because he’s in love with himself, and because I’m pretty sure he has sex with just about anything that has a vagina, and I doubt he knows their name when he screws them.”

And I don’t fit the typical model-esque mold these guys go for. I don’t get chosen by men like that, but I keep that insecurity to myself.

“Well, he knows your name.”

“Huh?”

“He knows your name.” She bends down close to me, making herself eye level, the same way Zanders did. “Stevie,” Indy whispers in a seductive tone before breaking into a giggle.

“Get out of here.” I playfully push her away.

As soon as all the passengers are boarded and the cabin doors are closed and armed, Indy and I lock up the galley, ensuring everything is secure for takeoff. And as we do, the most magical, beautiful thing that has ever happened in my four years of flying occurs.

Simultaneously, every one of the suited-up hockey players stands from their seats and begins to strip down until the only thing that’s covered is their junk.

“Sweet mother of—” I drift off, unable to speak, my eyes bugged out of my head.

“What. Is. Happening?” Indy asks in the same daze, her mouth gaped.

The entire back half of the airplane is filled with naked men, toned asses, and tattoos everywhere I look. Indy and I don’t even pretend to act like we aren’t staring. We are staring, and you couldn’t pay us to look away.

The players all carefully lay their suits flat in the overhead bins, being sure not to wrinkle them on the flight to Denver before they re-dress in more comfortable and casual clothing.

“Like the show, ladies?” one of the players playfully asks, breaking me out of my daze. His dark waves dance in front of his deep emerald eyes.

“Yes,” Indy answers without hesitation.

“Well, enjoy. Happens every time we take off and land. We have to wear suits on and off the plane for the media, but whenever we’re on board, we get to do whatever the fuck we want.”

That wasn’t the case when I flew a basketball team. They walked on and off the plane as casually as they could be, so this is new.

“I can come back there and give you guys a better view next flight.”

“Rio, stop being so damn thirsty all the time!” another player calls out.

“This is the best job,” Indy adds, her stare still locked on the half-naked men.

“I love hockey,” I decide without a second thought.