As he makes his way to the exit row, the cheers continue. The boys overflow in the aisles, not yet ready to settle down into their seats. Zanders’ smile is widely excited as he throws his bag into the overhead bin above his seat, until finally, his head snaps back to the galley, finding me.
“Yeah, I’m going to get out of here before I see something I wouldn’t mind seeing but probably shouldn’t.” Indy ducks into the aisle, getting lost in the crowd of hockey players.
But in exchange, Zanders emerges in the back galley, need burning in his hazel eyes. His large hands splay against my rib cage as his commanding steps push me against the side of the plane. He bends down, feverishly bringing his mouth to mine.
His lips are soft but urgent as he kisses me with hunger, stealing my breath when his tongue sweeps in. His powerful body pins me to the back of the airplane, one hand cupping my face, the other squeezing my ass, and just for a moment, I allow myself to get lost, forgetting where I am.
Finally, he pulls away, his chest rapidly rising and falling as we both attempt to fill our lungs with the oxygen we’ve been missing.
“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I remind him, but I’m starting to care less and less about that being true.
“Just wanted to celebrate with you.” He wears a genuine smile before taking off towards his seat.
“Okay, even I felt that one,” Indy admits, fanning herself off when she steps back into the galley.
“Tara—”
“Too busy kissing ass up front to notice.”
My phone dings on the galley counter.
Zee （Daddy） Zanders: I can still taste you.
“It feels good to be playing my best right now.” Zanders closes the passenger side door of his car behind me. “With the contract up in the air, I’m glad they’re seeing everything I have to offer. It wouldn’t make sense for them not to re-sign me.”
Pulling both our bags out of the back of his G-Wagon, Zanders slings them over his shoulder before draping his other arm over me. The chill in the evening air cuts right through my coat, regardless that it’s spring in Chicago, so I pull it a little tighter as we walk out the detached garage of Zanders’ building.
“Do you want to go first, or should I go?” I ask my boyfriend as we turn the corner to his building, stopping a fair distance away, the way we typically do.
We survey the front, where more and more fans have been camping out as the playoff run continues, but surprisingly enough, the front steps and surrounding street are empty.
“Looks like we’re in the clear tonight.” Zanders’ arm slides off my shoulders, his fingers intertwining with mine as he wears a proud smile, the two of us walking to his apartment together.
“I think we should get breakfast delivered tomorrow. That way, we don’t have to leave the bed,” Zanders suggests as we take his front steps. “What do you—”
“Evan Zanders!”
“EZ, over here!”
Flashes of light bounce off countless cameras as a hoard of paparazzi jump out from their hidden places.
“Zanders, who is she?” another reporter yells.
“Head down!” Zanders urges, trying to cover me with his body as we run up the steps to his front door.
“Evan Zanders, who’s the girl?”
Voices are yelling, shouting, asking for attention from the hockey star, and the lights and flashes from their cameras are distracting and hard to see past. All I want to do is get to that door and away from the crowd.
My feet are desperately trying to run away, frantic for some reprieve from the attention, and I could not be more thankful when Zanders’ doorman ushers us inside.
But the flashes don’t stop, and I can hear their shouting through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls.
Zanders holds his suit jacket over me, trying to block me from the media as we run to his elevator. “For fuck’s sake! Get them out of here!” he yells over his shoulder to the lobby staff.
As soon as we’re safe inside the four metal walls of the elevator, I fall back to the wall behind me, my body buzzing with adrenaline. My heart is racing from the scare, but more than anything, the possible repercussions are what terrify me the most.
“Are you okay?” he anxiously asks, running a gentle thumb across my cheekbone as his eyes search my face.
I nod, unable to speak.
Zanders paces the elevator as he pulls out his phone, looking for a signal, but it’s not until we reach his floor that he gets one.
As soon as he opens the door to his apartment for me, he tosses our bags to the side before dialing his agent.