Mile High
About this book
Evan Zanders performs arrogance as confidently as he plays defence for Chicago. Stevie Shay works the team’s flights and refuses to reward the persona that keeps fans, reporters, and most colleagues at a controlled distance.
Months of travel turn their arguments into familiarity, and familiarity exposes pressures each has kept outside the other’s view. Stevie is negotiating body image and a career transition; Zanders has built a brand that leaves little space for vulnerability.
Liz Tomforde gives the sports setting a working rhythm of flights, games, publicity, and recovery. The relationship develops across a season, allowing care to become visible in repeated choices rather than one dramatic declaration.
Mile High opens the Windy City series. It is a long-form hockey romance about public identity, self-worth, and two people learning that attention is not the same thing as being seen.
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From the opening
ZANDERS
“I love road games.”
“I hate road games.” Maddison pulls his suitcase out of the back of my Mercedes Benz G-Wagon, my newest purchase, before shrugging on his suit jacket.
“You hate them for the exact reason why I love them so much.” I lock my car, throw my keys in my bag, and take a deep breath as Chicago’s crisp fall air fills my lungs. I love hockey season, and this week is the start of hockey season on the road.
“Why, because you have girls lined up waiting to see you in every city we visit? Whereas the only woman I want to see is my wife who is here in Chicago with my daughter and newborn son.”
“Exactly.” I pat Maddison on the shoulder as we enter the private airport entrance here at O’Hare International.
We show our IDs to the security before being let out onto the tarmac. “Did we get a new plane?” I stop in my tracks, cocking my head at the new bird with our team logo on the tail.
“Seems like it,” Maddison absentmindedly adds, looking down at his phone.
“How’s Logan doing?” I ask in reference to his wife, whom I know he’s texting right now. He’s obsessed with her. He’s never not texting her.
“She’s a badass, man.” Maddison’s voice drips with pride. “MJ is only a week old, and she’s got his schedule down.”
No surprise there. Maddison’s wife, Logan, is one of my closest friends and probably the most capable person I know. They’re my only friends who have kids, but their family of four has become my extended family. Their daughter calls me Uncle Zee, and I refer to their kids as my niece and nephew, regardless of the lack of blood ties between us. Their dad is my best friend and practically my brother at this point.
Which wasn’t always the case.
Eli Maddison was once my most hated rival while we were growing up. We were both raised in Indiana, playing travel hockey for two different teams. He was the golden boy who got everything he ever wanted, and it annoyed the shit out of me. His life was perfect. His family was perfect, and mine was anything but.
Then he went on to play for the University of Minnesota while I played for Ohio State, and our childhood rivalry turned into a heated five years of college hockey. I had some family stuff going on at the time, and I took all my anger out on the ice. Maddison ended up being the recipient of my shit when I threw him into the boards with a dirty hit early in our college years. I fucked his ankle up enough to pull him out of his sophomore season and, subsequently, the NHL draft.
Ironically enough, I also had to sit out my sophomore year, thanks to a few classes I was failing.
He hated me for it, and I hated myself for a whole lot of other reasons.
Then I started going to therapy. Religiously. I worked on my shit, and by our senior year, Maddison and I were the best of friends. We still played for different teams, but we respected each other and found common ground through our mental health struggles. He dealt with anxiety and panic attacks, and I dealt with so much bitter anger it would result in panic attacks simply because it would consume me, blinding me from reality.
And as fate would have it, Eli Maddison and I landed on the same team here in Chicago, playing professional hockey for the Raptors. This season is the start of my seventh pro year, and I couldn’t imagine playing anywhere else.
Which is why I need to make sure I get re-signed when my contract is up at the end of the season.
“Scott, did we get a new plane?” I ask one of our team managers, walking ahead of us.
“Yeah,” he calls over his shoulder. “All the Chicago pro teams did. New charter company. New plane. Some big deal they signed with the city.”
“New plane. New seats... New flight attendants,” I suggestively add.
“We always had new flight attendants,” Maddison chimes in. “And they all tried to sleep with you.”
I smugly shrug my shoulders. He’s not wrong, and I’m not ashamed. But I don’t sleep with women who work for me. It gets messy, and I don’t do messy.
“That’s the other thing that’s new,” our team manager shouts back. “Same flight crew for the whole season. Same pilots and same flight attendants. No more random crew members coming on and off our airplane, asking for your autographs.”
“Or asking to get into your pants.” Maddison shoots me a pointed look.
“I didn’t mind.”
My phone dings in my suit pant pocket. Pulling it out, I find two new messages waiting for me in my Instagram DMs.
Carrie: Saw your game schedule. You’re in town tonight, I see. I’m free, and you better be too!
Ashley: You’re in my city tonight. I want to see you! I’ll make it worth your while.
I go into my Notes app, finding the note titled “DENVER,” trying to remember who these women are.
Apparently, Carrie was a great lay with a fantastic rack, and Ashley gave one hell of a blowjob.
It’s going to be hard to choose where I want my night to take me. Then there’s the option of going out and seeing if I can widen my Denver roster with some new recruits.
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“We going out tonight?” I ask my best friend as we ascend the stairs onto our new plane.
“I’m grabbing dinner with a buddy from college. My old teammate lives in Denver.”
“Ah shit, that’s right. Well, after, let’s grab some drinks.”
“I’m having an early night.”
“You always have an early night,” I remind him. “All you want to do is hang in your hotel room and call your wife. The only time you go out with me is when Logan makes you.”
“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-fucking-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?”
“Fuck 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 fucking 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.
“Fuck 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 bitch 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 blowjob, 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 shit up. We play it up for the media, but the truth is I’m not the piece of shit 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 sex with beautiful women, so I’m not going to apologize for it. If that makes me a bad person, fuck it. I make a hell of a lot of money from being the “bad guy.”
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 fuck.
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 idiot, 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 Instagram 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 fucking 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 bitch.”
“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
“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 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.
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.