MILE HIGH

2

“Well, I have a one-week-old son, so I can guarantee that I’m not going out tonight. I need some sleep.”

“How is little MJ?” Scott asks at the top of the stairs.

“Cutest little shit.” Maddison pulls out his phone to show off the countless pictures he’s sent me over the week. “Already ten times more chill than Ella was as a newborn.”

Stepping in front of them, I walk into our new plane, taken aback by how amazing it is. It’s completely brand new with custom carpet, seats, and our team logo plastered everywhere.

Bypassing the front half of the plane, where the coaches and staff sit, I make my way to the exit row, where Maddison and I have sat for years now, ever since he became Captain and I became Alternate Captain. We run every aspect of this team, including where we sit on the airplane.

Veterans sit in the exit row, and as your seniority on the team falls, the further back you sit, with rookies all the way in the last row.

“Abso-f*****g-lutely not,” I quickly state, finding our second-year defenseman, Rio, sitting in my seat. “Get up.”

“I was thinking,” Rio begins, his goofy-ass grin taking up his entire face. “New plane, maybe new seats? Maybe you and Maddison want to sit in the back of the plane with the rookies this year?”

“f**k no. Get up. I don’t care if you’re not a rookie this season. I’ll still treat you like one.”

His curly hair falls over his dark green eyes, but I can still see them shining with amusement as he tests me. Little fucker.

He’s from Boston, Massachusetts. An Italian mama’s boy who likes to test my patience. But almost every time he opens his damn mouth, I end up laughing. He’s pretty f*****g funny. I will say that.

“Rio, get out of our seats,” Maddison commands from behind me.

“Yes, sir.” He quickly stands, snagging his boom box from the next seat over, and hurries to the back of the plane where he belongs.

“Why does he listen to you and not to me? I’m ten times more intimidating than you.”

“Maybe because you take him out whenever we’re on the road and treat him like your little wingman, whereas I’m his captain and keep the line clear.”

Maybe if my closest friend would come out with me, I wouldn’t have to recruit a twenty-two-year-old to be my backup when we’re out on the town.

Throwing my bag in the overhead bin, I take the seat closest to the window.

“f**k no.” Maddison stands, staring down at me. “You had the window last year. You’re in the aisle seat this season.”

I look at the seat directly next to mine then back to him. “I get motion sickness.”

Maddison bursts into a fit of laughter. “No, you don’t. Stop being a little b***h and get up.”

I unwillingly move to the next seat over, each row on this plane only having two seats on either side of the aisle. A couple of other long-time vets sit in the row opposite us.

Pulling my phone out, I reread the messages from the girls in Denver, contemplating how I want my night to go. “Would you go for a great lay, a mind-blowing b*****b, or take your chances with someone new?”

Maddison completely ignores me.

“All three?” I answer for him. “I might be able to swing that.”

Another text comes through. This time it’s a group message from our agent, Rich.

Rich: Interview with the Chicago Tribune before the game tomorrow. Play it up. Make us that money.

“Rich texted,” I tell my captain. “Interview tomorrow before the game. Wants us to play up our little schtick.”

“What’s new?” Maddison sighs. “Zee, you know you have the short end of the stick on this one. Whenever you’re ready to let people know you’re not the dickhead they all think you are, you let me know, and we’ll stop the act.”

This right here is why Maddison is my best friend. He might be the only person, other than his family and my sister, who knows I’m not the bad guy that the media makes me out to be. But my image has its perks, one being that women throw themselves at the self-proclaimed “unlovable bad-boy,” and our contrasting personas make us both a ton of money.

“Nah, I’m still enjoying it,” I tell him honestly. “I gotta get that renewed contract by the end of the season, so until then, we have to keep it going.”

Ever since Maddison came to Chicago five years ago, we’ve created this storyline that the fans and media eat up. We make a shitload of money for the organization because our duo puts fans in the seats. The once-hated rivals turned best friends and teammates. Maddison has been married for years to his college sweetheart, and they have two kids together. I have nights where two different women come over to my penthouse. We couldn’t be more different from the outsider’s perspective. He’s hockey’s golden boy, and I’m the city’s troublemaker. He scores the goals, and I score with the ladies.

People eat this s**t up. We play it up for the media, but the truth is I’m not the piece of s**t people think I am. I care about a lot more than just the women I take home from the arena. But I’m also confident in who I am. I like having s*x with beautiful women, so I’m not going to apologize for it. If that makes me a bad person, f**k it. I make a hell of a lot of money from being the “bad guy.”