Mile High: Chapter 19

“Rosie 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.

“Seriously, Stevie, go have fun!” Cheryl takes a seat at the front desk, slides her glasses up her nose, and begins to organize the pile of bills I’m afraid she doesn’t have enough money to cover.

Do I tell Cheryl that my version of fun is putting on my softest pair of sweatpants and curling onto the couch to watch movies, seeing as Ryan is playing in a road series and Indy is on a date with her boyfriend? No, I keep that little fact to myself. I let her think she’s living vicariously through me, but to be honest, Cheryl probably has a more exciting life than I do.

Or does she? Because it was just a week ago that I was having the best sex of my life with the most notorious jerk in the NHL.

“See you tomorrow.” I give Cheryl a quick wave before ducking out of the shelter for the night.

Pulling out my phone for the quick walk back to the apartment, I check the score from the Raptors game. They had a rare afternoon start time, and I’ve become oddly invested in hockey since I started flying the team around less than two months ago.

The headline that pops up first is a winning score of 4-2 against Anaheim.

The second headline has Zanders’ face plastered below it with a stunning woman beside him, walking out of the arena together.

This is Chicago’s fourth game since we’ve been back in town, and this is the fourth woman he’s been pictured with.

No surprise there.

I knew what I signed up for when I reached out that night in DC, and I wouldn’t say I’m necessarily jealous over it.

Okay, that’s a lie. I am jealous, but only because I cannot stop thinking about that night. It was so good and so needed, and I was right—my vibrator hasn’t done shit for me since.

Zanders’ words have been ringing in my mind all week. “Because one time sure as hell wasn’t enough for me.” I don’t think it’s enough for me either, but that doesn’t change that it can’t happen again. And there’s no way in hell I can be his road hookup. I don’t know why he’d even suggest it. The guy has women clambering for him in every city we visit, and that clearly includes the one we live in too.

More headlines go on about Zanders and the fight he got in this afternoon during the game, the fine he has to pay for hitting his opponent a little too hard and a little too dirty, and even more about the reputation he wears as a badge of honor—the reputation I can’t stand.

Shoving my phone in my bag, I ride the elevator up to my apartment in silence. Well, silence minus the piano keys serenading the metal box. I’m sure Ryan’s neighbors have questioned if I actually live here on more than one occasion when I come in wearing my baggy flannels and not-so-white sneakers, covered in dog hair with my hair in a big curly bun.

When I make it home, I find an envelope hanging on Ryan’s front door with our house number printed on the outside. I remove the tape, unlock the door, and throw my keys on the console table inside.

Slipping off my shoes, I take a seat at the kitchen island and open the envelope. There’s a few fun-sized pieces of candy, all individually wrapped, as well as a letter inside.

Well, that might be the most precious thing I’ve ever heard of. We flew from Philly to Buffalo the night of Halloween, so I know exactly the work trip this note refers to.

Part of me wants to turn off the outside light because, as far as I know, Maddison doesn’t know I live in his building, and maybe I could keep him from finding out who my brother is for a bit longer. But most of me wants to make sure his daughter has a good Halloween, with plenty of stops to trick or treat.

I spend the next hour or so on the couch, mindlessly scrolling for something to watch when I hear a small knock. Quickly hopping off the sofa, I grab the candy from the envelope and open the front door.

The cutest little girl with bright emerald eyes and wild brunette hair stands on the other side, a pumpkin-shaped basket in her hand. Her puffy yellow dress tells me exactly who she is, and the rose embroidered on her satin gloves confirms it.

“Trick or treat!”

“You must be Belle.” I bend down to make myself eye level with her, watching as the deep-set dimples in her cheeks sink even further into her porcelain skin with a smile.

“Stevie?”

My head snaps up at Maddison’s voice, finding a hallway of full-grown adults, primarily men, dressed as Disney princesses.

“You live here?” Maddison asks with genuine curiosity, though he’s wearing a light blue dress with puffy sleeves, styled with a black choker necklace, so I have a hard time not just laughing in response.

“Stevie?” The woman dressed like Ariel turns to ask him. Judging by the red hair and the pictures I’ve seen online, it’s his wife, Logan. “Like…” She puts her hands out as if they were the wings of an airplane, and Maddison wiggles his brows suggestively, nodding in confirmation.

“Oh, I see,” Logan adds with a knowing smile and an even more understanding tone.

Clearly, Maddison told her about Zanders and me.

Speaking of the 6’5′ defenseman, all eyes shoot to the back of the group, where a huge man with black inked tats and gold jewelry stands, wearing an icy blue sparkly dress and a long blonde braided wig.

“Hey.” Zanders grins, his eyes locked on mine.

I try to hold back my laughter, I really do, but this man who is known to be the city’s biggest playboy and probably has more enemies than fans is wearing what’s supposed to be a floor-length dress, though it hits just below his knees.

But he’s doing it on a Saturday night in the middle of November to make sure his best friend’s daughter has a good Halloween.

And that sweet act is the last thing I expected from the notoriously hated hockey player.

“Have you lived here the whole time?” Maddison’s question pulls me back to reality, realizing that I was right. Zanders didn’t tell him that I was his neighbor.

“I moved in at the end of August.”

Logan turns back to Zanders. “That’s why you never use the penthouse elevator anymore.”

“Lo…” Zanders’ eyes are wide, his voice stern in warning, trying to stop his best friend’s wife before she completely throws him under the bus.

Maddison wraps both arms around his wife’s shoulders from behind, the two of them utterly amused, laughing with each other at their friend’s expense.

“So, you’re Belle?” I return my attention to the sweet girl who this night is really about.

“I’m really Ella.”

“Ella? That’s a beautiful name. You didn’t want to be Cinderella? You made your dad be her instead?”

Ella starts giggling at my question. “No.” She shakes her head, proudly pointing at her chest. “Belle is smartest. Like me.”

“Ahh.” I give an understanding laugh. “Well, I think you made the right choice.” I cup my hand around my mouth, whispering, “Belle is my favorite, anyway.”

“What about Elsa?” a deep voice asks from the back of the group.

When I look up at Zanders, he shrugs his shoulders as if he isn’t being a little desperate for attention right now.

Playfully rolling my eyes, I return my focus to Ella, taking the candy her parents provided and adding it into her already very full basket. “Well, Ella, I hope you have so much fun with your family tonight.”

Her little hand motions me closer. She puts a satin-gloved hand up to my ear, cupping her lips. “I like your hair,” she whispers.

I make the exact same motion back to her. “I like your hair, too.”

“What do you say, baby?” Maddison pipes up.

“Thank you!” Ella waves before taking off down the hall towards the next apartment door.

A shorter man dressed like the chick from Brave follows closely behind, but judging by the ginger brows he’s rocking, the curly red wig isn’t too far off from his natural hair color. Next is a tan guy dressed like Jasmine, mid-drift showing and all, who is carrying a newborn baby, Maddison’s son, I’m assuming, followed by a teeny-tiny girl in a Snow White costume, complete with a pair of black Doc Martens.

Maddison rests his chin on his wife’s head, looking like a needy little puppy, as the two of them linger by my door with Zanders.

“She’s cute.” I watch Ella’s brunette hair bounce along with her excited strides.

“She’s three going on thirteen, but we’re big fans of hers regardless. I’m Logan, by the way.” She reaches her hand out to shake mine, a kind smile on her lips. “I hope the boys aren’t making your job too hard.”

“Not this one.” I motion to the man hanging on her. “This one, on the other hand, is a bit of a diva.” Turning towards Zanders, my voice is laced with humor, even though the statement is extremely true.

“I’m not that bad,” Zanders whines.

“Yeah, he can be a real pain in the ass.”

“Lo!”

“But we love him anyway.” Logan shoots Zanders her sweetest smile before turning back to me. “It was so great to meet you.”

“You too.”

“See you, Stevie,” Maddison tosses out before walking away with his wife tucked under his arm.

Zanders somewhat sheepishly steps up to my front door once all his friends are out of earshot and down the hall.

“You following me?” I tease.

He knowingly shrugs his shoulders. “Hey.” A small smile plays at his full lips.

“Hey.” My eyes rake down his body, unable to hold back their amusement.

“Sexy as fuck, I know.”

“That’s one way to describe your…dress. I knew you were pretty, but I didn’t know you were this pretty. And that gash really sells the look.” I motion towards the cut on his right cheek, which I’m assuming he earned during his game today.

“I told him to keep it away from the money maker, but you should see the other guy.” Zanders stands straighter, smugly running a hand down the sparkly blue fabric covering his chest. “He messed with the wrong ice queen.”

A laugh heaves in my chest as I cock my head to the side. “How did you get stuck with Elsa? All your other friends at least looked like their characters.”

“You don’t think the blonde wig works with my skin tone?”

Zanders chuckles as I raise a single brow in answer.

“Ella picked our costumes. Said that people think Elsa is mean the way people think I’m mean, but that we’re actually both really nice.” He holds his hands up in defense. “Her words, not mine.”

The more I get to know the Chicago defenseman, the more I think Ella might be right.

She really is the smartest.

“I see you’re walking better these days.”

Rolling my eyes, I don’t honor his statement with a response. Instead, I try to cover my blushing cheeks by sticking the end of my hoodie string in my mouth and locking my eyes on the ground.

“And we still haven’t thrown out those disgusting sweatpants, I see.”

Mouth gaping in mock offense, my head snaps up to look at him. “If you’re so concerned with my loungewear, you can buy me new ones.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Don’t worry. They’ll be coming off soon. I’m about to get in the shower.”

Zanders’ hazel eyes hood over. “Are you really trying to turn me on while I’m wearing a fucking dress, sweetheart?”

“Everything turns you on.”

“You turn me on.”

Swallowing hard, I pull my gaze from his.

“How have you been?” Zanders’ question is soft and completely sincere, taking me by surprise.

“Good?” My brows furrow in confusion as to why he cares.

“Good. That’s good. That’s great even.” His words come out flustered, and I’ve never seen this confident man so flustered before.

Looking him up and down, it makes me wonder why the headlines never cover this part of his life. What would the buzz be if people knew Chicago’s playboy was spending his Saturday night in a dress that his best friend’s daughter picked for him?

And that little thought makes me wonder what else they’re not publishing in news articles about him. He did say he pays his PR team a pretty penny to push the narrative he wants, which clearly isn’t this version of him.

But why not?

“You can see my apartment from here.” Snapping out of my trance, I follow Zanders’ line of sight behind me to the large windows encasing my apartment. “Right there. The top floor.” His voice is soft, his mouth close to my ear. Bending down, he points out the back window to the tall building across the street.

“You live across the street?” I can see his entire apartment from here, and holy hell, it’s nice.

“Now you know where to find me when you’re ready for a repeat of last weekend.”

There’s that sultry voice I’m used to. His tone drips with sex. How is that even possible?

Turning back to face him, Zanders doesn’t move, his lips sinfully close to my own. His stare bounces between my mouth and my eyes, as does mine, before I step away, creating some space between us.

Somehow even wearing a sparkly dress and a platinum wig, he can still turn me on.

Stupid award-winning dick.

“Seems like you’ve been plenty occupied this week,” I retort, needing to put some walls back up. But I don’t know why the hell I would say that. Zanders loves his reputation. Me rubbing it in his face makes me sound like a jealous, petty jerk.

Instead of wearing the gloat I’d assume he’d have, his face falls surprisingly. “Don’t believe everything you see on the internet, Stevie girl.”

A moment of awkward silence lingers between us before my lips lift in an apologetic smile.

Disappointment covers his features as he turns away from my door, needing to meet up with his friends. “See you around.” He shoots me a half-grin, but there isn’t much joy behind it. More so sadness, reminding me that I’m a complete jerk.