MILE HIGH

47

“I’m sorry if we did something you didn’t want. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” I cut him off, shaking my head. “No, I don’t regret it.”

It’s a lie, but not for the reasons he’s thinking.

A relieved sigh escapes him as he reaches up with his index finger, delicately moving a single curl from in front of my eyes.

“Are you shitting me?”

Zanders’ hand retreats quicker than you’d believe as both of our heads snap to Maddison standing in the threshold between the galley and the rest of the plane, his large frame blocking us from anyone else’s view.

“You’re the girl from last night?” Maddison’s tone is hushed, his brown eyes wide, pleading for me to say no.

But I don’t.

“Stevie, I had faith in you,” he whines.

“Go sit the f**k down,” Zanders adds.

“He ain’t s**t, huh?” Maddison continues. “I’ve heard he’s got a tiny d**k and has no idea what to do with it. Terrible in bed.”

“f**k you,” Zanders spits, but there’s a laugh that follows it.

I can’t help but giggle, knowing his teammate has probably seen what he’s packing in the locker room, the same as I saw it last night. “Tiny” is the exact opposite of what’s going on between his legs.

“Stevie, I’m disappointed. I’m going to need you to keep giving him s**t regardless of this.” Maddison motions between Zanders and me. “Because it’s quite literally my only entertainment on this f*****g airplane.”

With that, he turns to walk back to his seat, leaving his best friend and me alone once again.

“So, you don’t regret last night?” Zanders doesn’t waste a second before asking again, concern evident on his face.

“I don’t regret it, but it shouldn’t happen again.”

“I was thinking quite the opposite. I was thinking it should happen again. Like every single time we’re on the road.”

“We can’t. Zanders, I’ll get fired if anyone finds out about last night.”

“The blondie already knows!”

“Let me rephrase that. I will get fired if that one finds out.” I motion towards the front of the plane.

“The bitchy one? You’re worried about her? Sweetheart, I can keep a secret.”

“What happened to the whole ‘I don’t lie’ thing?” c*****g my brow, I hold his eye, testing him.

His hand grips my hip, fingers curling, pulling me into him. His assertive touch ignites my whole body, but I push the fire down, needing to extinguish it.

“This lie would be worth it.” He wets his lower lip before pulling it between his teeth, his gaze locked on my mouth.

Swallowing hard, I take a large step back. Well, as large as I can manage in this tiny galley. Zanders’ hand falls from my hip as I pin my arms across my chest, needing to use them as a makeshift barrier.

“It was a one-time thing.”

Zanders shakes his head, not buying it. “It was a one-time thing until it’s not.”

He turns to head back to his seat, leaving me alone in the galley. But before he goes, he quickly looks back, his eyes raking down my body, taking in every inch. “Because one time sure as hell wasn’t enough for me and I don’t think it was for you either.”

I squeeze my thighs together, my face flush with the memory of last night.

“Oh, and I’ll take a sparkling water.”

Rolling my eyes, I tell him for the thousandth time, “It’s in the cooler.”

“Extra lime, Stevie Sweetheart.” Zanders’ overly smug face wears a satisfied smile as he saunters his way back to his seat.

STEVIE

“R

osie girl, when are we going to get you adopted?”

Of course, the question is rhetorical, seeing as Rosie is a beautiful black and tan five-year-old Doberman who can’t answer me.

I give her one more scratch behind the ears before locking up her crate for the night as Rosie’s big body curls up on the fleece blanket I thrifted for her last week. She’s plenty comfortable in her crate, which makes sense. She’s lived here for an entire year already.

I’ve only lived in Chicago for a few months, but from what Cheryl, the shelter owner, told me, I’m Rosie’s favorite.

Most people think she’s scary from the outside, but Rosie is a sweet softie on the inside, with plenty of love to give, as long as it’s for the right person.

“You really should take that sweet girl home with you.” Cheryl stands behind me as I stay sitting in front of Rosie’s crate, watching her fall asleep.

“If only I could. Twin brother is still allergic.”

“Ehh. I think I’d trade the brother for the dog.”

“I contemplate it sometimes,” I tease. “I can close up for you tonight.”

Cheryl brushes me off. “Stevie, you are twenty-six years old, and it’s a Saturday night. I’m sure you have better things to do than hang out here with an old lady and some old dogs.”

Cheryl may be a sixty-something-year-old widow, but there’s nothing old about her. She’s still got a total pep in her step and works insane hours at the shelter. And that’s because she loves this place and these dogs, as do I.

Senior Dogs of Chicago is a nonprofit that Cheryl and her late husband founded, rescuing dogs from kill shelters or taking in abandoned pups that families had the audacity to give up once their family pet got too old for them.

Don’t get me started on it. I don’t cry too often, but it happens every single time an older dog gets dropped off by its owners for some god-awful excuse or another.

How do you not choose the one who has loved you unconditionally?

The building has started to get run-down ever since Cheryl’s husband passed away, and unfortunately, most people still choose to buy puppies over adopting an older animal. The donations are slim to none, barely keeping the doors open and keeping food in the dogs’ bowls.

My brother Ryan is our biggest donator, and I think that’s because he feels guilty I can’t bring any of them home.

I’d spend all my time here if I could, but unfortunately, it doesn’t pay the bills. Not that I have many, I don’t even pay rent. But, when I do move out, I need to keep my paying job to make ends meet.