“What?”
“Please, please, please fuck him and then tell me every little detail.”
“I am not sleeping with him.”
“Why the hell not?”
My brows furrow. “Because we work for him. Because he’s in love with himself, and because I’m pretty sure he has sex with just about anything that has a vagina, and I doubt he knows their name when he screws them.”
And I don’t fit the typical model-esque mold these guys go for. I don’t get chosen by men like that, but I keep that insecurity to myself.
“Well, he knows your name.”
“Huh?”
“He knows your name.” She bends down close to me, making herself eye level, the same way Zanders did. “Stevie,” Indy whispers in a seductive tone before breaking into a giggle.
“Get out of here.” I playfully push her away.
As soon as all the passengers are boarded and the cabin doors are closed and armed, Indy and I lock up the galley, ensuring everything is secure for takeoff. And as we do, the most magical, beautiful thing that has ever happened in my four years of flying occurs.
Simultaneously, every one of the suited-up hockey players stands from their seats and begins to strip down until the only thing that’s covered is their junk.
“Sweet mother of—” I drift off, unable to speak, my eyes bugged out of my head.
“What. Is. Happening?” Indy asks in the same daze, her mouth gaped.
The entire back half of the airplane is filled with naked men, toned asses, and tattoos everywhere I look. Indy and I don’t even pretend to act like we aren’t staring. We are staring, and you couldn’t pay us to look away.
The players all carefully lay their suits flat in the overhead bins, being sure not to wrinkle them on the flight to Denver before they re-dress in more comfortable and casual clothing.
“Like the show, ladies?” one of the players playfully asks, breaking me out of my daze. His dark waves dance in front of his deep emerald eyes.
“Yes,” Indy answers without hesitation.
“Well, enjoy. Happens every time we take off and land. We have to wear suits on and off the plane for the media, but whenever we’re on board, we get to do whatever the fuck we want.”
That wasn’t the case when I flew a basketball team. They walked on and off the plane as casually as they could be, so this is new.
“I can come back there and give you guys a better view next flight.”
“Rio, stop being so damn thirsty all the time!” another player calls out.
“This is the best job,” Indy adds, her stare still locked on the half-naked men.
“I love hockey,” I decide without a second thought.
3
STEVIE
Throwing my suitcase on the opposite bed in my hotel room, I plug my charger into the wall, powering my phone. I forgot to charge it last night, so it died halfway through the flight to Denver.
As I’m waiting for it to light up, I strip off my god-awful uniform, hang it in the closet, and dig out my comfiest sweats. I’m all about comfort. Give me sweatpants, leggings, and oversized flannels every day for the rest of my life, and I’ll die a happy woman.
The polyester/wool mixture of my flight uniform is stiff and unflattering, and my first mission after every flight is to get it off as quickly as possible.
My phone dings on my nightstand, and without looking, I already know who it is. It’s the only person I can’t go a day without speaking to—my best friend. Ryan is the only person who chooses me first, above everyone else, day in and day out.
His name with the twin dancing emoji next to it confirms who I already knew it was.
Ryan: How was your first flight?
Me: It was good! Hockey boys are nice—for the most part.
I leave out the fact that I’m working for the NHL’s biggest diva this season.
Ryan: Those Canadians, am I right? But you know you miss flying basketball.
Me: Idk Ry, have you seen a hockey man’s ass?
Ryan: Proud to say I have not and never will.
Me: Speaking of basketball, are you ready for your game tonight?
Ryan: Absolutely. Gonna miss having you in the stands, though. I need my good luck charm.
Ryan’s basketball season and my flying season have always overlapped, and now that I’m working with hockey, their schedules are the same. I haven’t made too many of his games since he went pro, but I always make sure to watch him however I can. I’m his self-proclaimed good-luck charm, but seeing as the Chicago Devils haven’t had a winning season in three years, I don’t think my charm is working too well.