Mile High (Windy City Series Book 1)

“Really, Vee? This is where you decide to take me?”

“Yeah. What did you expect? For me to charter a private jet, fly you to New York, and take you to Saks?”

I jolt back. “Jesus, woman. Talk about a wet dream.”

Stevie playfully rolls her eyes, pulling my hand to follow her in. “Come on, fancy pants. You said I could pick anywhere to take you shopping as long as you get to do the same.”

I stop in my tracks, right outside the thrift store, eyeing the building. “But here? Sweetheart, we can upgrade a bit, don’t you think? I’d even go to Target over this.”

Her brows furrow in disgust. “Don’t talk about Target that way, like it’d be a chore to go. You should be thanking Target for just existing.”

Rosie sits perfectly at my side, both of us equally as hesitant to step through the doors.

“Please, Zee.” Stevie’s blue-green eyes are wide and pleading. “This is where I want to shop.”

Let’s be honest, I’d go fucking dumpster diving for this girl, but giving her shit is one of my favorite pastimes.

“Rosie, please tell Stevie that she’s going to owe me a very long, very naked shower after this.”

Stevie rolls her eyes once again. “Rosie, please tell your dad that he sounds like a pretentious a-hole right now.”

“Vee…” I narrow my eyes. “Rosie can’t speak.”

Her eyes close in frustration. “You’re the most annoying man I’ve ever met.”

Chuckling lightly, I bend down, pressing my lips to her scowling ones.

Thankfully, this side of town is relatively quiet, and the people here could give two shits about who I am. Maybe they don’t even know. I’m not sure. But the idea of that, of going through life without the attention, sounds nice. Especially now that I’m dating someone who I would like to spend every waking moment with, including mundane trips to the grocery store, weekends at the dog park, or simply stopping for gas without worry that there might be too many eyes watching.

One day, though. I’m holding out hope.

As soon as Stevie opens the door, my eyes burn from the quick adjustment of the dreary Chicago winter outside to the brightly colored walls inside.

“I stumbled across this place a couple of months ago, and I love it.”

Following Stevie inside, a pungent unidentified scent attacks my nostrils. “What the hell is that smell?”

Stevie stands straighter, inhaling a deep breath through her nose, a giant smile resting on her lips. “That is the smell of thrifting.”

“Interesting.” I follow her down the aisle of completely uncoordinated options, keeping my arms in tight, being sure not to touch anything.

Every wall is a different shade of orange and yellow, but you almost can’t see them due to the mass of clothing stuffed on racks, overtaking the shop.

I watch as my girl excitedly sifts through the racks with detail, no article of clothing left untouched. Don’t get me wrong, I have zero plans of shopping here, but watching her be this happy and excited does something to me.

I’m a fan of all sides of her, but “passionate Stevie” has to be my favorite. That side of her always comes out at the dog shelter, and it’s here again today.

She pulls a pair of jeans off the hook that seem to be about two sizes too big, which is exactly how she likes them. Holding them up, she examines them for a moment before turning to Rosie and showing her. Rosie cocks her head as if she has any idea of what’s going on before Stevie decides against them and puts them back on the rack to resume her search.

“Why do you like thrifting so much?” I ask from behind her.

“I like it for a lot of reasons.” She shuffles through the rack. “It’s fun to try new styles without breaking the bank. It keeps money out of fast fashion, and sometimes you find cool, unique pieces you’d never be able to find somewhere else.” She picks up a sweatshirt that looks decades old, worn in all the right places. The logo on the front of an old high school is barely legible from being so distressed.

She hooks it on her arm to keep as she continues her search. “But mostly, I think it’s cool to give a piece of clothing a second life. You have no idea where some of this has been. Maybe someone wore this dress the night they had their first kiss.” She pulls a floral dress off the rack. “Or maybe”—she excitedly grabs a collared shirt—“maybe someone was wearing this when they got their dream job. All of this”—she sweeps her hand, motioning across the racks—“has a story, and maybe it’ll be what I’m wearing when something important happens in my life too.”

Casually, as if she didn’t just completely give me a new point of view, she turns back to continue shopping.

I look down at my own outfit—my black wool coat, black tailored slacks, and black Louboutins, registering it as the moment I fell a little harder.

From behind, I wrap her up, pulling her back to my chest before I cover her freckled cheeks with kisses. Holding on to her, I sway with her in my arms.

“You’re something else, Stevie girl.”

“I know.” She melts into me. “I’m the fucking best.”

My body rumbles with a silent laugh as I leave my chin resting on her shoulder, one hand holding her to me and the other absentmindedly scratching Rosie’s head at my side.

“You need to go find something,” she reminds me as she continues her search.

“Fuck no. Vee, it’s one thing for me to stand in here, but it’s an entirely different thing to actually buy something.”

“Those are the rules. You let me buy you something at my place, and I let you buy me something at yours.” She turns around to test me.

I hold her stare, not backing down.

“Fine.” She shrugs casually. “You don’t have to buy something here, but then you’re not getting me anything later.”

Well, that’s not going to work. I’ve been planning my shopping day with her for weeks now.

“Fine,” I resign. “I’ll let you buy me one thing, and shoes are off the table.”

A cute giggle echoes through her as we go in search of something for me to get.

I’m trying my very best not to let Stevie know how stoked I am on our thrift store find. Hidden deep in the racks was an old-school Chicago Devils windbreaker from the nineties. It’s completely legit, still in pretty good shape, and I can’t wait to wear it to one of her brother’s games when the time comes that we can be in public together.

But it’s my turn to take her shopping, and I’m pumped. I’ve had this planned for a bit and made sure my jeweler closed the place down so no one would spot Stevie and me together. I’ve spent enough money with him over the years that he was happy to do it.

This side of town is closer to our places, so I dropped Rosie at home. The streets are filled with fine-dining restaurants, high-end designer shops, and art galleries. Lewis is a highly sought-after jewelry designer with high-profile clients, so thankfully, he has a private back entrance for us to use.

“Zee, this is already way too extravagant.”

A condescending laugh escapes me. “Have you met me, sweetheart?”

As soon as we’re inside, Stevie stands behind me, tucking her hand into mine, a bit of intimidation covering her face.

“Hey, Lewis,” I call out with a wave as we head towards the glass cases showcasing his work.

“EZ, my man.” He connects his fist with mine. “Good to see you. Have we decided what we’re shopping for today?”

Looking back at Stevie, her blue-green eyes wander the glass cases with fear.

“Have you decided what you’re shopping for today, Vee?”

She quickly shakes her head. “Nothing.”

“Those aren’t the rules,” I remind her. “You bought me something at your place. Now I get to buy you something at mine.”

“Zee, I spent fifteen dollars on you.”

“And I’m going to spend a little more.”

“I’ll go grab your other piece while you two decide what you’re shopping for,” Lewis cuts in.

“Other piece?”

A sly smile slides across my lips. “I got Ella her first chain.”

“Like yours?”

“Similar. Smaller, obviously, and more feminine.”

I watch as Stevie melts in front of me.

“But what are we getting you?”

“Really, Zee, this is too much.”

“We made a deal.” I swing my arm over her shoulders, pulling her into my body, my lips quickly ghosting her forehead. “You bought me something, so I get to buy you something. Pick which of your jewelry is your favorite to wear, please. We’re going to upgrade it.”

“My favorite jewelry to wear?”

“Mm-hmm.”

A sneaky smile overtakes her lips, but before she can answer, I respond for her. “Besides my hand.” She drops her shoulders to whine that I got to that one before she could. “For real, though. What are we upgrading today?”

Stevie contemplates, and I can almost see her wheels turning as she goes over her jewelry in her mind. Her nose ring, her plethora of earrings, her stacked necklaces, and lastly, her—

“Rings,” she finally states. “My rings are my favorite.”

I had a feeling, which is why I brought her here instead of just buying her something. I knew she’d need to get sized for new rings.

She grabs my hand in hers, holding it up to examine it. “And we’ll upgrade this one too, right?” she asks, referring to the gold ring of hers I’ve been wearing on my pinky since she decided to give me a chance.

I’ve thought about it, mainly because it’s become worn and faded, leaving a small ring of green on my skin, seeing as the only time I take it off is when I’m playing hockey. But there’s no chance in hell I’m upgrading this. Stevie’s hands might drip in 24-karat gold after today, but this five-dollar beat-up ring is hers, and therefore it’s mine.

“Nah.” I bring our intertwined hands to my mouth, peppering kisses on hers. “This one stays.”

Stevie’s eyes are wide with excitement as Lewis sizes her, customizing a new set of rings for her. Some fingers will be stacked with two and others just one. And the more the realization sinks in that she won’t have to replace these every few months like her old ones, the more detail-oriented and particular she becomes, knowing she’ll have these for as long as she wants.

“And the thumb?” Lewis asks.

Stealing Stevie’s thumb ring was because I wanted a piece of her, but partly because twirling it was a nervous habit, and maybe somewhere subconsciously in my mind, I assumed that if she didn’t have it as a crutch, she’d be less anxious. Maybe her confidence would take over.

“No thumb ring,” she states with certainty.

A proud smile overtakes my face as I stand behind her, watching from above, my hand casually holding her hip.

“Thank you,” she whispers when Lewis heads off to make a few adjustments. “But I think you may have created a monster.” Stevie holds up her hand to examine her brand-new designer jewelry. “A bougie monster.”

“My favorite kind.” I pepper her neck and shoulder with kisses from behind. I like bringing her to the expensive dark side, but let’s be real. Stevie, at her core, will always be the thrift-store-loving, shelter-volunteering, baggy-jeans-and-dirty-Air-Force-wearing girl that I’m obsessed with.

“You go first,” I tell Stevie when we’re a block away from my place. There’s a ton of people out today for some reason, and the area in front of my building is packed.

“I wish your building had a back entrance.”

I give her ass a little squeeze before sending her on her way. “You’ll be all right. My doorman knows who you are.”

Watching as Stevie keeps her head down, I stay a fair distance away. With no issue, she slips through the crowd, my doorman opening the large glass lobby door and ushering her inside.

Waiting another minute to separate us, I eventually make my way through the mass of bodies with my hands in my pockets, my head down towards the ground, and my winter layers covering me up.

But it’s no use.

“EZ!”

“Evan Zanders!”

“I knew he lived here!” someone calls out as I’m rushed and bombarded right there on my front steps.

“Can I get an autograph?” someone else begs, and I do my best to sign as many as I can as I continue my quick strides towards my door.

Over the last couple of months, I’ve been attempting to separate my bad guy hockey image from my real-life one. If Chicago wants me to be a dick on the ice and protect my guys when needed, I’ll gladly fill that role. But the more I’ve settled into a relationship and recognize the way it feels to have Stevie like and want the real version of me, the more I want to be that guy to the rest of the world. And I hope that’s enough to get re-signed by the only team I want to play for.

I offer a quick wave over my shoulder to the mob outside as my doorman ushers me into the lobby.

“More people come by here every day,” he says. “The further you guys get in the season, and the higher you guys rank, the more everyone wants a piece of you, huh, Mr. Zanders?”

“I typically love this shit, but this season, not so much.” My eyes wander past the glass doors where fans are pointing and waving like I’m some kind of animal in the zoo, here to do tricks for them.

And for the first time in my career, I wish no one was looking at me.

“Miss Shay is upstairs.”

I give him a thankful pat on the shoulder before riding my private elevator to my floor.

“Zee, you’ve got to stop feeding me.” Stevie stretches out on the couch, trying to get comfortable. “My pants aren’t going to fit soon. Shit, even your pants aren’t going to fit soon.”

She’s not wrong. Regardless that I work out every single day and burn more fuel than the average person, Stevie and I get takeout almost every night, and I fucking love seeing her all happy while we scarf down on our favorite junk food. There’s not many other choices when I’m a shit cook, and we’re staying in hotels every night on the road.

“I like feeding you, though.” I take a seat on the couch, urging her head up before Stevie drapes her chestnut curls over my lap, resting on my thigh. Rosie joins in, jumping on the sofa opposite my girl, curling up with her big head on my lap.

“I can’t even think about food right now,” Stevie groans. “But if I were able to think about food, I’d tell you we need to try that pizza place on twenty-eighth, then I want to try that new taco truck that parks down on the pier on Tuesdays. Then after that, we should check out that new Indian restaurant that’s opening up next to the arena.”

My laugh shakes both Stevie and Rosie in my lap.

“Make a list.” I hand her my phone, unlocking it. “In the Notes app, let’s start a list of all the takeout we want to try.”

Stevie perks up with that. Taking my phone, she opens the app to create a new folder, but before she does, she pauses, her thumbs ghosting over the screen.

“What is this?”

She scrolls down, every city we visit in the NHL listed in my notes.

I’m not one to lie, especially to her, so I don’t. “I used to keep a list of the girls I would see in those cities so that when I was back in town, and they hit me up, I would know who they were.”

Stevie stills before reacting exactly how I expected.

My girlfriend bursts into a fit of laughter, right there on my couch. “You’re shitting me!” she howls. “Oh my God, this is ridiculous. Zee, you really were a little man-whore.”

“Little,” I scoff. “Nothing little going on here, sweetheart.”

“Well, at least you were an organized and honest fuckboy.” She wipes the corners of her eyes. “Can I read them?”

“Sure.”

She scrolls through them, contemplating which to open first, an utterly amused smile on her lips.

“Oh, Nashville. This one is going to be a long list.” She stops on her hometown and clicks on it.

I watch as Stevie’s blue-green eyes narrow in confusion, her mouth slightly parting and her amusement shifting to sentiment.

“You can even read them out loud, Vee.”

She swallows. “Stevie. Curly hair and amazing ass. Won’t sleep with me, but I hope she changes her mind.”

Scrolling to the Denver tab, she clicks on it. “Stevie. Has an attitude. Likes basketball and is down to eat burgers.”

She exits out, finding Washington DC next. “Stevie,” she continues. “Best sex of my life.”

She keeps going to Calgary. “Stevie. Snuck her into my hotel room to watch movies with me all night.”

San Jose. “Stevie. Insane blowjob in the shower. Wore my T-shirt to bed.”

Next, she finds Vancouver. “Stevie. Came to my game. My favorite person to hang out with.”

Finally, she looks up at me. “What is this?”

“I told you. It’s the list of girls I see in those cities. It’s a little different now, but the concept is still the same.”

She focuses back on my phone, opening Los Angeles and then Seattle, finding them both blank. “There’s nothing in these.”

“That’s because we haven’t been there yet.”

She drops my phone on her stomach before crossing her arms over her face to hide. “Jesus. How are you real? Even when you’re caught being a fuckboy, you’re caught in the cutest way possible.”

She looks up at me, her eyes a little glossy.

“You’re my first choice, Vee. My only choice.” I brush her curls away from her freckled face. “Whether that’s in Chicago or any other city. It’s just you.”

She sits up, pulling my neck down at the same time her warm lips close around my mouth. I trail kisses across her jaw, cheek, and temple as she buries herself into my shoulder. My arm snakes around her, holding her tight as I continue to pet a sleeping Rosie on my other side.

“I’m obsessed with you, Zee.”

“That makes two of us.”

After a few minutes of stroking Stevie’s side, I feel her body get heavy in my grasp as she starts to doze off. Resting my head on hers, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Never in my wildest imagination did I think I would have this. I never thought I would feel as protected to be myself as I do with this girl. She allows me to be blunt, honest, and unapologetic and does so with absolutely no judgment along the way.

I never thought I would have my own family, but between the Doberman on her back who has quickly become my sidekick, and the curly-haired flight attendant under my arm, I’d venture to say I’ve got a little family of my own.

And as that realization sinks in, I’m hit with the reminder that I’ve had a family.

One that I miss.

“Vee?” I whisper, testing to see if she’s still awake.

She shifts, wrapping both her arms around my neck and burying her head in my chest. “Mm-hmm?”

I hesitate before blurting out, “I miss my dad.”

She stills in my grasp before tightening her arms around my neck. “You should tell him that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Stevie grabs my phone from the couch, holding it out for me. “When you miss someone, you should tell them.”

She slides down, settling her curls onto my lap once more, her eyes closed, leaving me with my phone in my hands. “And if he says something you don’t like, I’ll let you buy me ice cream, and we can bitch about it together.”

A soft laugh leaves me as my thumb hovers over my dad’s contact. The last text we exchanged was him telling me his plane landed in Chicago on Christmas.

The anger is still bubbling in my chest, but it’s no longer directed at my dad. It’s solely towards my mom. Sure, I hold frustration towards him, but the anger has dissipated.

Instead, it’s longing.

Longing for the relationship we once had. The relationship I didn’t think we would have again. But lately, I’ve felt like maybe I can be honest with him and tell him I need him. Maybe he’ll need me too.

Without hesitating any longer, I type out my message.

Then I delete it. It’s too wordy and complicated. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to express everything I’ve felt over the last twelve years.

So, I don’t.

Instead, I tell him how I’m feeling at this moment.

Me: I miss you.

I thought the weight would lift off my chest, but instead, the anxiety swarms around my lungs, causing me to be short of air when I see those three gray dots dance along my screen.

Dad: I miss you too, Evan. I know you have a lot of things you need to say, and whenever you’re ready to say them, I’m ready to listen.

Exhaling a deep, shaky breath, I drop my head back on the couch behind me until my phone vibrates again.

Dad: I love you.

My eyes burn with tears from seeing those three words. Words he and I haven’t spoken to each other in twelve years. I try to hold it in, but eventually, my body shakes with a silent sob. I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear that from him until now.

I want to respond, but I’m not ready. Besides, the tears have blurred my vision so much that I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Setting my phone down on the coffee table in front of us, I drop my head back, trying to control my breathing and stay quiet, so I don’t wake Stevie.

Using my thumb and index finger, I hold the bridge of my nose, my eyes screwed shut, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Stevie grabs my other hand, lacing her fingers with mine and resting our intertwined hands on her cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, her eyes still closed while she lets me have a moment.

The burden of anger and hatred that I’ve carried around for the last twelve years feels exponentially lighter on my shoulders. There’s a confusing mix of fear leaving my body and assurance taking over as I allow myself a minute, taking deep breaths and regaining my composure.

My eyes wander to the beauty in my lap, my wild thing who has a fucking heart of gold and makes me want to show mine.

Stevie holds her hand in mine as she rests, so I spin one of the new rings on her finger, admiring the way real gold plays off her light brown skin.

“Thank you for my new jewelry,” she quietly mutters.

I stroke her curls away from her face, absentmindedly playing with her hair as I scratch Rosie’s belly with my other hand. “You’re welcome, Vee. Thanks for being my girlfriend.”

She softly laughs, turning to sleep on her side. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s the best decision I ever made.” I stroke her cheekbone with my thumb as she starts to fade back to sleep. “Thank you for choosing me,” she adds in her sedated state.

Her lashes flutter from my touch, hiding her blue-green eyes. Her full lips are slightly parted, and her freckled cheeks could not be more adorable.

“It’s the best decision I ever made.”