MILE HIGH

55

I’ve quickly grown to appreciate our doorman, simply because he doesn’t treat me like an outsider living in this building, even though I clearly am.

“Merry Christmas.”

He shoots me a wink before I hurry to meet up with my family in the elevator, eager to eat the Chinese takeout we ordered on the way back from the arena.

The wafting smell of chow mein noodles, broccoli beef, and orange chicken invade my nostrils as soon as I walk into our apartment, but before I can indulge, I snag the perfectly wrapped gift box from the kitchen island and slip into my room to change.

I’ve been wearing body-hugging jeans all day, but I’ve been dying to take them off. Some days I don’t mind tight denim, and some days if there’s any part of fabric touching my skin, I could murder someone. That’s why I’m always in sweatpants or baggy jeans. I don’t care if they’re not the most flattering things in the world. They’re comfortable and make me feel good. My body fluctuates almost daily. Having tight stuff in my closet that might fit one day and not the next just f***s with my body image.

The sky-blue wrapped box holds my attention as I change into my comfiest sweats. The chill of the apartment causes me to dance into them with urgency, but when I slip my left foot in, my toe gets stuck on one of the many tiny holes in the seam, causing me to trip over myself, ripping the entire bottom half of my pants.

I hit the ground with a loud thud, my pants halfway on.

“Vee, you good?” my brother calls out.

“Good.” I blow a deep breath, moving a curl from the front of my face.

My insane logic wants to yell at him for stealing all the athletic genes while we were in the womb and therefore ruining my favorite sweatpants. This is Ryan’s fault, really.

Rest in peace is the first thought that passes through my mind when they hit the bottom of the trash can.

The second thought is how happy Zanders will probably be, but I push that image away. Thinking about Evan Zanders while I’m not wearing any pants is a bad idea and has happened way more often than I’d like to admit.

Exchanging Ryan’s jersey for an oversized crewneck, I take a seat on the bed, eager to find out who the hell gave me a present. There’s no card on the outside, just perfectly crisp edges of light blue wrapping paper, orange ribbon, and a matching bow.

The box inside is some designer brand, though I don’t know which, but it’s clear from the quality of the box alone that this gift is too expensive.

And now I know exactly who it’s from.

The simple piece of cardstock, lying on top of the fancy folded tissue paper, confirms it.

Stevie-

Does me buying you pants qualify me to get back in your pants?

Kidding...sort of.

Merry Christmas,

-Zee

(Please get rid of those disgusting sweatpants. No one needs to see those.)

The smile on my face is painfully big. Zanders doesn’t seem like the type to buy presents for his past hookups, but he’s also surprised me in more ways than one since that night.

My hand grazes the soft black fabric of the top pair. It might be the most lux material I’ve ever felt, which is a very Zanders thing to find. Of course, he bought me designer sweatpants. I don’t even want to know how much they cost.

And not only did he buy me one pair, he bought me three in all different sizes.

This guy is the strangest mix of cliché and unpredictable that I’ve ever met, and he has me constantly guessing which version of him is the real one.

The box smells a little like him, like maybe it was sitting in his apartment for a few days before he wrapped it and sent it over.

I’m not going to lie, my heart flutters more than I want to admit. This is thoughtful as hell and as random as it may seem to an outsider looking in, it’s not. He’s given me s**t about my sweatpants ever since the first time I saw him off the airplane, and him not only remembering, but also picking something he knows I’ll be comfortable in, as much as he compliments when I show off my body, makes me feel...understood.

The crush I lied to my dad about earlier seems more and more unmistakable.

But just as bad of an idea.

There’s nothing that can come from this situation other than me eventually getting my feelings hurt, but I decide just for today, I’ll ignore that reminder and bask in Zanders’ thoughtful gift.

The material feels like straight-up butter as it glides over my thick thighs. And I shaved my legs this morning. Well, my lower legs because I’m too lazy to do the whole thing, so the soft fabric feels extra lovely and creamy.

I didn’t know you could feel bougie while wearing loungewear, but here I am, feeling bougie as hell.

Although he got me different sizes, I can make all three pairs work, so the other two get their own shelf in my closet, and Zanders’ note gets its own spot in the top drawer of my dresser where my brother won’t find it.

Ryan is protective as it is, but if he finds out that I slept with someone with Zanders’ reputation, he’ll be beyond disappointed.

“Who was it from?” my dad asks as I shuffle to the kitchen table wearing my brand-new fancy pants.

My eyes dart to Ryan, who seems just as curious.

“Uhh...a Christmas gift from someone I work with.”

Not a lie.

“That’s awesome, Vee. I’m so glad you’re making friends here.”

Yeah, that’s one way to describe Zanders.

Taking a seat at the dining room table, I fill my plate with a little bit of everything until you can barely see the white porcelain underneath all my food. Ryan and my dad pop up from their seats to grab themselves fresh beers, and my mother uses it as a prime opportunity.

“That’s an awful lot of food, Stevie. There’s so much added salt.” Her voice is hushed, quiet enough that my brother and dad can’t hear. As I mentioned before, Ryan is protective but rarely recognizes that the person I need protection from the most is our own mother.

As soon as my brother and dad come within hearing distance, her faux innocence is back as she brings her cloth napkin to her mouth, dabbing the corners of her perfectly lined lips.

“I’m glad you guys could all make it to the game.” Ryan takes a seat, clearly out of the loop to my mother’s antics, before putting a fresh beer in front of me. As soon as the glass touches the table, I grab it and chug half of it without taking a breath.

“Me too, Ryan. We are so proud of you.”

The beer is thick as it runs down my throat, but it’s my mother’s words that almost cause me to choke. Could it be any more obvious who her favorite child is? I swallow the cold liquid, but I do so with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Do you have something you want to say, Stevie?” My mother places her hands in her lap, c*****g her head while looking at me, testing me to speak up.

Don’t ruin Christmas. Don’t ruin Christmas. Don’t ruin Christmas.