Mile High (Windy City Series Book 1)

I’ve almost successfully made it through this fourteen-day road trip without giving in to Zanders. But let me tell you, the purple vibrator I keep in my travel bag has really had to put in the work these last two weeks.

Every flight we are on tempts me that much more. At this point, even the way he asks for his stupid sparkling water makes me want to jump his bones.

I need to get laid, and I don’t think just anyone will do.

I locked myself in my hotel room in Philly, Buffalo, and Jersey. And here I am in DC, lying in bed, refusing to leave my room. I just have to make it through tonight, and we’ll be back on a flight to Chicago tomorrow evening.

And I’ll be home free.

At least for the time being.

I’ve succumbed to ordering my food via delivery apps to avoid leaving the safe space of my hotel. With our track record, I already know that if I so much as step outside, I’ll run into Zanders. The universe is testing me, willing me to give in.

And fuck, do I want to.

But I can’t. And not just because of my job, but because of the promise I made to myself. After Brett essentially used me for three years in college, I said I would never date an athlete again. And that means not sleeping with one either.

Right? Or is that some kind of loophole? That sounds like a loophole. That sounds like a really tempting loophole.

Since that night in Nashville two weeks ago, I couldn’t even tell you how many times I’ve gotten off to the image of Evan Zanders. Thinking about his beautifully sculpted body and the massive heat he’s packing down below has me clenching my legs together, trying to resist. I don’t think I’ve masturbated this much in my life, yet the ache and need are still there.

Reaching for my purple vibrator on my nightstand, I place it under the sheets and between my legs. The heavenly buzz fills my room as my favorite toy gets me even more wound up. It’s not going to take much. I’m almost there already.

Zanders devilish grin is playing in my mind, including the way I’d imagine his flawless body rolling on top of mine.

The image of his chiseled arms holding himself up above me while he thrusts in and out at a torturous pace. His chain that I wouldn’t mind hitting my chin as it dangled over me. And his voice—velvety, smooth, and confident. I bet that boy talks dirty in bed too.

I want him to talk dirty to me.

Buzzzzzz. Yes. So close. I’m right there. My chest is arched off the mattress.

Buzz. Buzz. Silence.

What the hell?

Looking down at the toy in my hand, I press the power button again and again, but it’s no use. It’s dead. And I didn’t pack my charger. I’ve never needed it on a road trip before, but then again, I’ve never gotten off this many times in a two-week span.

Are you kidding me? As if I wasn’t already pent up enough as it is.

My fingers. Those work.

Gliding my middle finger down my lower stomach until it grazes my clit, I push myself into my hand. Rubbing, teasing, circling.

Okay, this will do, but I wish it were someone else’s fingers doing the work. Someone else’s long, tatted fingers that just so happened to be decorated with gold rings.

Stop, Stevie. You can’t go there.

My phone dings on my nightstand, distracting me from the brink of my orgasm.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Tonight is not my night.

Unintentionally, I roll my eyes as I reach over to get my phone, and when I see whose name interrupted my moment, an audible grunt leaves my throat.

My ex of all of people is hitting me up, completely out of the blue, while I’m trying to get off to the image of the one person I shouldn’t be fantasizing about.

Brett: Hey Stevie, long time no talk.

Yeah, it has been a long time, as in not since I overheard you telling your teammates that as soon as you thought you were going pro, you were planning to drop me for the better options you assumed you had.

Brett: I talked to Ryan the other day about coming to visit. I didn’t know you were living out in Chicago now, but that’s awesome! And you’re flying with the Raptors? What is Evan Zanders like in real life? He’s my favorite player in the NHL. I’m planning on taking you to dinner when I get to the windy city. Talk soon.

Kill me right now. Kill me right fucking now. No way in hell am I going anywhere with Brett, and there’s absolutely no chance I’m going to introduce him to Zanders of all people.

Tossing my phone to the other side of the bed, I resume my position with my fingers between my legs, but it’s no use. The moment is gone.

Fucking Brett.

With a huff, I sit up, my back to the headboard, thoroughly pissed off that my ex had the audacity to text me so casually like that. He thinks I’m going to crawl right back to him the way I did countless times in college? He thinks he can keep treating me like his backup option, and I’ll be waiting for him? I don’t want to be anyone’s option anymore.

I want someone to choose me.

Do you know who’s been trying to choose me for two weeks now? Brett’s favorite player in the NHL, that’s who.

In a moment of absolute frustration, pent-up aggression, and a sprinkle of pettiness, I reach for my phone and open Instagram. Without overthinking it, I go to Zanders’ profile, where 3.6 million people follow the defenseman. He, on the other hand, only follows 128.

And I am one of those 128.

My thumbs hover over my phone screen as I internally battle with myself about whether or not this is a good idea. I mean, I know it’s a terrible idea, but right now, it feels worth it.

It’s just one night. One night of hot, very much needed, hopefully filthy, sex. Just one night.

The usual wit I carry in my back pocket for my opening lines on the dating apps is completely thrown out. Zanders is a different breed of man, something I’m not used to. I want to send something clever, spicy, and maybe a bit elusive, but instead, the flirty message I send is… “Hey.”

Fucking brilliant, Stevie. 

Not even thirty seconds later, those three gray dots dance along my phone screen as Zanders types his reply.

His message in response is not “hey.” It’s not “how are you?” It’s nothing fluffy or soft, testing out the situation. No, because it’s Zanders. The guy drips arrogance. He knows what he wants, and he always seems to get it.

Case in point, me only lasting two weeks before giving in to him.

The message he sends in reply? An address. Simply an address. Nothing less, nothing more. And for some reason, I find that really fucking hot. He’s not playing games. He knows why I’m reaching out.

My Uber driver pulls up to a club on 18th street in downtown DC. Following Zanders’ instructions, I head to the third floor, but when I get there, a bouncer stops me, barricading the entrance.

“Name?”

“Oh.” I look over my shoulder at the line beginning to form behind me, wanting to enter the dark club in front of me. “I must be in the wrong spot.” Reading the message from Zanders, I ask the bouncer, “Is this 18th Street Lounge?”

“Name?” he repeats.

“Uh, Stevie?”

He scans the clipboard in front of him, his eyes dragging down the names before moving out of the way and directing me inside. “EZ’s in the back corner.”

My head is on a swivel as I enter the dark club, looking around. This place is packed, even for a Saturday night, and it’s hard to see through the crowded space. The music is so loud and overbearing that I’m about two seconds away from turning around and going right back to my hotel.

“You following me?” someone yells over the music.

Chasing the sound, my eyes wander to the corner of the club to what looks like a VIP area. It’s sectioned off from the rest of the room with red velvet ropes, and the reserved space is littered with beautiful women.

Really, they’re stunning. Tall, thin, all different beautiful skin tones and hair colors.

What the hell am I doing here?

“Stevie.” Zanders stands from the couch, finally coming into view. “Hey.”

I walk towards him as he removes multiple grabby hands from his body before meeting me partway. He nods towards the security guard in charge of the velvet rope, ushering him to move it and let me inside.

“Come here,” Zanders says, loud enough for me to hear over the crowd as he grabs my hand and guides me to follow behind. His fingers lace between mine as a pulse of electricity flows up my arm.

He leads us to the very back of the dark VIP section, earning some privacy and fewer vibrations from the pounding music coming through the speakers.

“Is anyone else from the team here?” I nervously ask.

“No, just me.”

Looking around the room to be sure, I nod, thankful he had the foresight not to invite me to a place that would be packed with my clients. This thing I’m about to do is bad enough. I don’t need everyone on the airplane to know about it. Especially his teammates. I hear the way they talk about their hookups, and even though I’m about to be one, I’d rather no one else know.

“Ready to do this?” I look at him with pleading eyes, needing to get this started before I chicken out or come to my senses.

“Whoa there. Eager, are we?” Zanders laughs. “At least buy me dinner first, sweetheart. I’ve never felt so used.”

His humor breaks my nervous tension as a small laugh escapes me. That is until I look behind him at the countless model-esque women who are currently giving me the death glare for taking away their jersey for the night.

“You have quite the room full of options.”

He doesn’t turn around. Instead, he keeps his focus on me. “I always have options.”

That puts a bitter taste in my mouth as I look anywhere other than at him. Especially since less than an hour ago, I heard from the guy who always reminded me that’s all I ever was—an option.

“But I’m glad my first choice showed up.”

Zanders’ hazel eyes are soft yet full of fire as he looks down at me, causing some of the nerves to disappear. His words fill me with the bit of that confidence I need to do this tonight.

“What made you change your mind?” he asks, softly brushing my curls away from my face with the edge of his thumb.

“Honestly?”

“Always.”

“My vibrator died, and I didn’t pack my charger with me.”

Zanders studies me for a moment, questioning my authenticity before his deep laugh leaves his chest and fills my ears. “You really know how to keep a man’s ego in check, Stevie girl.”

I can’t help but smile right back at him. It’s all good. Tonight is going to be fun.

“Should we go then?”

“Eventually,” Zanders says. “But first, we’re going to hang here for a bit.”

Shifting behind me, his large hands splay over my hips, urging me to walk forward. But he stays close, his chest at my back.

“Where is here?” I ask over my shoulder as Zanders leads us to the private bar in the corner of the VIP section.

“Here is one of my favorite stops on the NHL schedule. A pair of brothers I went to college with own this lounge. One does the business side of things, and the other’s band headlines every weekend. He’s crazy talented. I think you’ll like his music.”

“This music?” I furrow my brows in question, referring to the atrociously loud bass vibrating the entire room.

“No. This music is shit.” Zanders releases me from his hold when we reach the bar. He casually leans one arm on the counter, effortlessly looking hot as hell. “But when Nicky’s band comes on, you’ll get it.”

“What can I get you, Mr. Zanders?” the bartender asks.

“She’ll take a beer.” He motions towards me, and I have no idea how the hell he knew that. “IPA, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“And I’ll take the same.”

Instead of interrogating him on how he knew my drink order, I question, “What are your other favorite stops on the NHL schedule?”

“Fort Lauderdale is always a good stop because, after about twenty cities of bitter cold, South Florida is a perfect seventy degrees in the middle of winter. You’ve been there before with other teams you worked for, I’m sure.”

I shake my head to tell him no. “Miami, yes. But I’ve never worked for a hockey team before.”

“Well, we all stay right on the beach when we’re there, so it feels like a mini-vacation during those trips. And New York City is a good stop, too. But I’d have to say that Columbus is my favorite on the schedule.”

“Columbus?” I ask in surprise. “Like Ohio?”

“Ohio State is in Columbus. I went to school there, so my old college teammates usually come out for the game. It’s the closest thing to home besides Chicago.”

“So, you grew up in Ohio? You have family there?”

“Indiana, actually. My dad is still there, and my sister is in Atlanta, but Maddison’s family is more so my family at this point, so I guess Chicago is home because that’s where they are.”

The bartender interrupts, putting our beers on the counter in front of us. But I’m thankful for the pause because this conversation is starting to get a little too personal to have with someone who is supposed to be just a one-night stand.

“Where are you looking forward to stopping this season?” Zanders asks before pulling his beer up to his lips.

Before I can keep the conversation going, the obnoxious house music cuts out, and a group of guys takes the stage, setting up their instruments.

“Let’s go.” Zanders laces his fingers with mine. When I look down at our intertwined hands, I almost can’t even see my own because of the size difference. But I do notice his veiny forearms that are corded with muscles, though the grip he has on me is vastly contradictory to that. He’s gentle as he guides me out of the VIP section and in front of the stage.

“Big EZ.” The lead singer bends down, connecting his fist to Zanders’.

The space around us quickly fills, bodies pushing into one another and crowding the stage.

Zanders pulls me in front of him, my back to his chest as he puts both hands on the edge of the platform just in front of us, creating a safe barrier where no one can touch me, regardless of how many people are thrashing around, trying to get a good spot for the show.

As the first tune fills the lounge, I completely understand why this is one of Zanders’ favorite places to stop. This band’s sound is a unique blend of R&B and soul, and the lead singer’s voice is deep but soft, blending perfectly with the instruments behind him.

Two songs in, and the crowd has relaxed, the melodic harmonies flowing through the room and chilling everyone out. So much so that Zanders no longer has to use his giant arms to block me in, protecting me from the mass of people.

He picks up his beer from the edge of the stage, leisurely bringing it to his lips as my body involuntarily sways to the beat of the music. Zanders’ other hand releases the platform in front of us before ever so slightly finding my hip bone and holding me to him. His large hand splays over the top of my jeans, his palm grazes the lowest part of my stomach, and his fingers rest dangerously close to the spot between my legs.

I inhale a shaky breath. This is the first time Zanders has ever really touched me, and after fantasizing about it for weeks now, the nerves are starting to take over.

It doesn’t startle me, though. We both know why I came here tonight, so instead of staying frozen in place, the way I am now, I lean back against him, continuing to sway to the music lightly.

I refuse to worry about the consequences that tonight is going to bring. Instead, I focus on the sexy as sin man behind me whose body is going to absolutely wreck mine tonight.

At least one can hope.

By songs eight and nine, our beers are gone, glasses discarded, and nerves wholly abandoned. Zanders rests both his hands on my hips. His thumbs have found their way under the hem of my shirt and against my flesh. The cold metal of his rings ignites my skin, and just for tonight, I try my hardest not to worry about a man touching my stomach. Though, I can feel myself holding my breath and slightly sucking in every once in a while.

Play it cool. Wear your mask of confidence. 

On song ten, I’ve completely forgotten I’m at a private concert in a club. All I can focus on is the giant man behind me, whose minor touches are driving me absolutely insane.

Zanders’ hands glide to my hipbones, pushing my ass into him. His fingers trace upward, slightly brushing my rib cage before sliding down my forearms and interlacing with mine. His nose nudges against me as his lips graze against the soft skin under my ear, but they don’t connect, and I’m not going to lie, this little teasing session is doing me in.

“Kiss me,” I quietly request, far too out of breath.

He doesn’t respond with words but slightly shakes his head against me.

“Touch me,” I plead.

“Not yet, sweetheart. You know the rules.” He releases me, refusing to touch me, but I continue to lean back against him.

Of course, I remember his little rule he made outside of the bar in Nashville, telling me that when I changed my mind, I would have to beg him to fuck me…on my knees. But I’m not going to lie, I kind of thought he was all talk.

Clearly, he’s not.

“Asshole.” I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me.

Zanders’ chest rumbles behind me. “Such dirty words come out of that pretty mouth of yours.”

He moves my hair out of the way as his lips ghost my ear, igniting my whole body. “Are you ready to show me what else that mouth can do?”

Our bodies couldn’t be closer. I arch my back, grinding my ass into him as the music continues to fill the lounge, but I can hear the low groan he releases perfectly clear. For the first time since I’ve known Zanders, the hoard of people that surround him, constantly wanting his attention, doesn’t bother me. Because just for tonight, his attention is solely on me.

“Stevie, sweetheart,” Zanders whispers again. “If we don’t go now, I’m going to end up fucking you in a dark corner of this bar, and I need you in my bed. So, once again, are you ready to beg for it?”

I confidently nod my head, my eyes still glued to the band in front of me.

“Then let’s go.” He urgently takes my hand in his and leads us out of the crowded room, back to his hotel.