MILE HIGH

3

As I scroll on my phone, I spot a figure in my peripheral, but I don’t look up to see who is standing in front of me. Though from my sightline of vision, I can tell the curvy frame belongs to a woman, and the only women on board are flight attendants.

“Are you—” she begins.

“Yes, I’m Evan Zanders,” I cut her off, keeping my eyes down on my phone screen. “And yes, that’s Eli Maddison,” I add with exhaustion. “Sorry, no autographs.”

This happens almost every flight. The new flight crew drools over meeting professional athletes. It’s a bit annoying, but it’s part of the job, being recognized as much as the two of us are.

“Good for you. And I don’t want your autograph.” Her tone is entirely unimpressed. “What I was going to ask is, are you ready for me to give you your exit row briefing?”

Finally, I look up at her, her blue-green eyes piercing and pointed. Her hair bounces with chestnut curls, unable to be tamed. Her skin is a light brown, speckled with soft freckles across her nose and cheeks, but her expression could not be less impressed with me.

Not that I give a f**k.

My eyes wander her body. Her tight work uniform hugs every curve of her full frame.

“You do realize you’re in the exit row, right, Evan Zanders?” she asks as if I’m an i***t, her almond-shaped eyes narrowing.

Maddison snickers next to me, neither one of us ever hearing a woman speak to me with such disdain.

My eyes form into slits, not backing down, a little shocked that she just spoke to me that way.

“Yes, we’re ready,” Maddison answers for me. “Go for it.”

She gives her spiel, and I zone out. I’ve heard this more times than I can count, but it’s some legal thing they have to tell us before every flight, I guess.

I scroll on my phone as she speaks, my i********: feed littered with models and actresses, half of which I’ve dated. Well, dated is probably the wrong word.

Maddison nudges me. “Zee.”

“What?” I absentmindedly reply.

“She asked you a f*****g question, man.”

Looking up, the flight attendant stares down at me. Her expression full of annoyance as her eyes wander down to my phone screen, a half-naked woman on full display right there on my feed.

“Are you willing and able to help in an emergency?” she repeats.

“Sure. I’ll take a sparkling water, by the way. Extra lime.” My focus shifts back to my phone.

“There’s a cooler in the back row for you to grab it yourself.”

My eyes dart up once again. What’s with this chick? I find her name tag—a pair of wings with “Stevie” in the center.

“Well, Stevie, I would really like if you brought it to me.”

“Well, Evan, I would’ve really liked if you paid attention during my safety demo instead of assuming I wanted your autograph like some little puck bunny.” She condescendingly pats me on the shoulder. “Which I don’t, and I’m not.”

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” My smug smile overtakes my face as I lean forward in my seat, closer to her. “Could be worth a pretty penny for you.”

“Gross.” Her face contorts with disgust. “Thanks for listening,” she says to Maddison before taking off towards the back of the plane.

I can’t help but turn around and watch her in shock. Her round hips sway, taking up more space than the other flight attendants I’ve seen on board, but her little pencil skirt dips in at the waist.

“So, Stevie is a total brat.”

“No, you’re just a total asshole, and she called you on it,” Maddison laughs. “And Stevie?”

“Yeah, that’s her name. It was on her name tag.”

“You’ve never known a flight attendant’s name before.” His tone is laced with accusation. “But clearly, she could give two shits about you, my friend.”

“At least she’s off the plane next flight.”

“No, she’s not,” Maddison reminds me. “Same flight crew for the whole season. Remember what Scott said?”

Fuck, that’s right. We’ve never had the same girls on board for an entire season.

“I like her already, only because she doesn’t like you. This is going to be fun to watch.”

I turn around to peek into the back of the plane just as Stevie’s gaze finds mine, neither of us backing down or breaking eye contact. Her eyes are probably the most interesting pair I’ve ever seen, and her body is perfectly full, with plenty to grab onto. But unfortunately, her pretty outside that I like is tainted by the attitude I don’t like.

She might need a reminder that she’s working for me, but I’ll make sure she understands. I’m petty that way. I’ll remember that little interaction for as long as she’s on my airplane.

STEVIE

“T

hat 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 golden brown, and Eli Maddison’s is on the paler side, 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.