Mile High (Windy City, #1)

by Liz Tomforde

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.”

Eww I hate him

The bar suddenly seems overcrowded and hot. I’m not claustrophobic, but it currently feels like I might be. I close my empty fist. My palms are clammy as a rush of warm air hits my cheeks, my vision slightly blurring. I attempt to take a breath, but there’s no air in the room. Fuck. I haven’t had one of these in years. Without a word or a second thought, I bolt out the front door of the bar. Once outside, I glance in both directions, looking for some space. The streets are crowded with people, most of which have turned their attention to me. Usually, I live for the stares, the cheers, the recognition. But tonight, I need to get as far away from anyone with eyes as I can. Jogging across the street, I instinctively turn down a few blocks, having no idea where I’m going, but relying on my panic-stricken body to find a quiet space. A park comes into view, but people are taking up all the benches in sight. I find a large tree with a big enough trunk to hide behind. Without thinking twice, I sink my ass to the grass, my expensive-as-shit Armani pants instantly cooling from the wet ground. Inhale. Exhale. Anchor yourself. Where am I? Denver. A park.

Interesting

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” I whisper. Stevie shakes her head, her lips pressed together.

Sisters I folded..I blushed. I know I know. I’ll do better next time 😔

He slowly steps towards me, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, allowing his tattoos, gold chain, and ridges of muscle to come into view. “This is a one-time thing,” I remind both him and myself as I stay frozen in place in the center of the room. His chest heaves in a silent laugh as he continues his slow stride. Another button comes undone. “Sounds fan-fucking-tastic.” “And we are never speaking of this after tonight.” “I wouldn’t dare.” Another step. Another button. “But what are you going to tell your coworkers when you can’t walk tomorrow?”

GYATTTT 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩