The Mile High Madness

by Anders, Annabelle

  How would I return it to the Boutique if it was at the cleaners? “Um… I’ll take care of it mom.”

  My phone started buzzing in my hand. Star. She was calling this time. Unfortunately, my mom glanced over in time to see who was calling.

  “You better pick up for your boss sweetie.” I could tell she wanted to listen in, but at my exasperated look she backed out and closed the door softly.

  I let the call go to voicemail.

  My stomach was in knots already at barely seven in the morning. And this day had started out so promising!

  I fell back against my pillow and closed my eyes. I was watching somebody else live my life. This other girl. She tripped through the days for me until I decided to check back in again.

  How though?

  How did I take my life back when I could barely get dressed each morning?

  My phone chimed this time. She left a voicemail.

  I needed to move.

  Sit up.

  Do anything.

  I turned my head and got a whiff of Hunter’s jacket which sent me spiraling into memories of random moments from last night. That grin when he saw me bidding on him. Riding on his back. Him telling me my legs were perfect.

  That kiss.

  That.

  Kiss.

  I’d never felt so turned on, so quickly, in my entire life. If the Uber driver hadn’t arrived so quickly… I might just have lost my ‘good girl’ status. It was like something had reconnected nerves I’d thought were dead. Feelings I’d not thought about in forever had sprouted and bloomed in a matter of seconds.

  My blood seemed to be flowing again. And yes. Yes. I think the beat of my heart was a little stronger.

  I grabbed my journal and made a list.

  Things to do today:

  1) Shower.

  2) Get dressed.

  3) Listen to Star’s Message.

  4) Breathe.

  After accomplishing these tasks, I would allow myself a cup of coffee. Or five.

  Once I started the shower, it wasn’t so bad. Getting dressed was a little more difficult. It meant making decisions.

  Okay. Jeans and a t-shirt. I added some mousse to my hair and scrunched it so it dried curly and not frizzy. After putting on some eyeliner and mascara I realized I was out and out procrastinating now.

  I checked numbers one and two off my list and then picked up my phone. Not looking at her texts, I opened the phone icon and hit voicemail. Before I had the chance to change my mind Star Martin’s voice slithered into the privacy of my bedroom.

  “You little cunt. Did you think you could hide this from me? A fucking baseball player? You spent ten thousand dollars of my money on a fucking baseball player? I knew you weren’t the brightest tool in the drawer, but even I didn’t think you were this stupid!”

  She ranted in similar fashion for four minutes and twenty-eight seconds. The longer she droned on, the less horrible I felt.

  After listening to the entire tirade, I opened her texts.

  First one was a picture of me proudly waving my bidding placard. I clicked on the photo and zoomed in. Caption read: Representative for Miss Star Martin pays $10,000, the highest price of the night for Colorado Ranger’s Pitcher, Hunter DeLuca in last night’s Bachelor Auction Fund Raiser, Men for Mutts. Miss Star Martin’s talk show is the highest rated morning talk show in Colorado and syndicated nationally. Mr. DeLuca, who returned to Denver after playing most of his career for the Braves nearly took the Rangers to the World Series last month but for one wild pitch. The gleam in Deluca’s eyes has us all begging the question: Who is the woman in green?

  I took a deep breath and scrolled down to the next text.

  Star: She’s a nobody. That’s who.

  Star: And she’s unemployed.

  Star: You’ll pay for this.

  Star: Come pick up your belongings Monday morning.

  Star: And bring the dress and shoes or I’ll send you the bill.

  I was broke. In even worse debt than I could ever imagine… but I was free.

  My hands were shaking but I’d lived through it.

  And then my mom appeared in my doorway again. This time she held a newspaper in her hands and wore a deep frown. “I thought you were supposed to bid on Senator Flint.

  And so it begins.

  As terrible as it feels to get fired, I felt lighter than I had in months. Mom was upset. Simon had texted his disappointment in me… along with a large portion of guilt. And Dad just shook his head. He didn’t do much talking to me these days anyway.

  I needed to find my own place.

  Find a new job… something I could start right away.

  I also needed to make some decisions about my career.

  I stepped outside onto the porch, the screen slamming behind me, and discovered a gorgeous Indian Summer day. A breeze caught my hair, tickling my neck and shoulders. When I inhaled, I felt like the air actually filled my lungs. My chest felt looser.

  As much as I had loved living in living in the New York City, Colorado was home.

  Feeling unusually peaceful, I allowed my gaze to study the large trees lining the street, the green grass framing the sidewalks and the bright mums my mom had planted years ago.

  I’d been home for six months and was just now noticing how much bluer the sky was here. And the leaves were turning! Orange, red, golden yellows! How had I not noticed them?

  My mom was on the phone to her sister and her words floated out the door… lost her job… really messed up…

  Hell, I could live with all that.

  Star Martin was out of my life!

  I picked my way down the front steps and strode along the sidewalk. I didn’t know where I was going but I was moving again.

  And I had a date with a very cute boy tonight.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hunter

  I managed to get my run in later that morning. In fact, I went an extra three miles. Instead of turning around at City Park, I made a few circuits and then headed south for a while.

  I felt antsy. I didn’t want to admit it but I was excited for my date with Holly.

  Made me feel like I was seventeen again.

  Not only did my body respond to her in an almost embarrassing fashion, but she was sweet and gorgeous and funny. So damned natural. I liked that.

  I liked that she wasn’t tan, shiny and blond. I liked that she hadn’t tried to impress me.

  I liked how her thighs felt when I carried her on my back.

  I liked the taste of her lips. I wanted to taste so much more of her.

  I tossed my key card on the counter and picked up my phone.

  I’d missed a text from her.

  Holly: Change of plans. I need to meet you there. What’s the address?

  And then another one.

  Holly: I’ll still let you give me a ride home, if that’s okay.

  I took a deep breath. Was she married? Why didn’t she want me to see where she lived?

  Fuck. I was probably reading way too much into this.

  I texted her the address but couldn’t leave it at that.

  Me: If you still want to go home, that is. Either way, I’ll give you a ride.

  Holly: You’re so full of it. :p

  Right then an email came in from the Rangers PR lady, Mia Trent.

  Hunter,

  Congrats on drawing the highest bid last night! Great publicity for the team.

  That being said, I need to meet with you before your date with Star Martin. She’s probably going to use this for her show so we need to go over talking points. She’s a dragon and will twist anything you say if it makes for a good story.

  I’ve blocked out some time for you on Monday afternoon at two. Let me know if that doesn’t work with your schedule.

  She’d then forwarded images of Holly bidding for me and some information on Star Martin’s show.

  Fuck.

  Holly worked for a fucking reporter?

  Was she a reporter?


  I pulled my t-shirt over my head, threw it across the room, and headed for a shower.

  I’d been played.

  What had I told her? Crap about the game… about that last pitch… about my family. It pissed me off most that I’d told her stuff about my family. I saw red when I realized she’d used Gran.

  Son of a bitch! She’d used my fucking grandparents!

  In my anger, I worked up a lather under the steaming water without even thinking.

  And then I remembered the look on her face when she’d said she made a mistake. And how she’d tried to talk Karen Klapper into trading me for the Senator.

  What the fuck was that all about?

  Had I asked her outright who her boss was? Would she have told me if I had? Before I could ask about her degree in psychology and why she’d been bidding, she changed the subject quickly.

  Fuck! I stuck my head under the water and closed my eyes. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. I wanted to believe she was exactly who I’d thought. A nice girl. A nice sexy girl. A girl who knew nothing about baseball and even less about me.

  All a crock of shit.

  This was why I didn’t date.

  I’d learned to guard myself. So much of my life was public, I did what I could to keep some semblance of privacy. If somebody wanted to know something about me, all they had to do was google my name and in less than one minute they could find out all sorts of shit, some true and a whole lot of lies.

  I’d trusted Holly.

  I clenched my jaw and turned the water off.

  Fine. She wanted to date a ball player, that’s what she’d get.

  One date with a fucking ball player.

  South Pearl Street was a partially gentrified older neighborhood just south of Downtown. Huge oak trees hung over the narrow streets flanked by hundred year old houses on both sides. Local café’s, ice cream parlors and restaurants randomly popped up making the neighborhood charmingly unique.

  It took fifteen minutes just to find a parking spot. I was in no hurry though. In fact, I should probably just turn around and go home.

  I glanced at my phone.

  Ten minutes past. Part of me hoped she’d just leave and another, gullible part of me wanted her to wait. Maybe I’d still take her home. My little head was fine with that but the rest of me felt sick.

  I locked the car and tried not to feel anxious as I stalked down the street towards Alesandro’s.

  She’d waited.

  Dressed in a short black strapless dress, it was fitted through the bodice and then flared out at the waist. Her legs looked even more perfect than they had last night. The curves I’d held last night tempted me to take her in my arms, to welcome her with a kiss. Not too casual though, something that promised more later. Except she was a reporter.

  And she’d lied about it.

  She’d left her hair down tonight, rich chestnut curls twirling their way around her neck and down her back. Her eyes smiled before the corners of her mouth lifted.

  She had my warm up jacket draped over one arm.

  Fuck. I forgot her shoes.

  When I got closer, her smile faltered. “I thought you were gonna stand me up.” She bit her lip.

  I stopped myself from sliding my arm around her and then down her waist. I wasn’t going to reassure her.

  “Parking.” I stared at the ground, afraid that if I stared into her eyes too long my resolutions would go out the window. I jerked my head toward the door. “Should we go in?”

  She paused for a second and then nodded.

  The scent of Mediterranean spices permeated the entire street. I loved Greek food and my mouth watered as I opened the door. Didn’t think I’d be hungry tonight but at least I’d enjoy the food, if not the company.

  A breeze lifted her skirt and I couldn’t keep my eyes from appreciating her legs. Damn if my cock didn’t twitch and come to life. It was much less discriminating than my brain.

  “I have reservations for six,” I informed the host. “DeLuca,” I added.

  “Mr. DeLuca?” He pursed his lips and frowned. “You’re late. I gave your table away already. If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll have something for you in…” He glanced at his watch. “About half an hour.” He held his pen poised over his list. “Would you care to wait in the bar?”

  I glanced at Holly and she shrugged. At my expression she glanced toward the door. Suddenly I didn’t want her to leave.

  “We’ll wait.” I told the swarthy host.

  I dropped my hand to the small of her back and steered us into a darker room. It was the same as when I’d been here years ago. The bar was tiny. Only two barstools sat empty in the corner.

  Before I could stop myself, I had both hands on her waist and practically lifted her onto the stool. They had a mind of their own – my hands. Just like my cock.

  I should have just cancelled.

  “What do you want to drink?” I grumbled.

  She grimaced a little. “Diet Coke? After last night I just can’t…” She laughed a little nervously. “Did you have a good day? What did you do today?”

  Ah, the interview begins. I’d have thought a reporter would come up with better questions than those. Maybe she was just getting warmed up… lulling me into a sense of complacency. “Is that the best that you can do?”

  “Excuse me?” Thick lashes blinked at me in confusion. She seemed so sincere. I clenched my jaw. I should just leave. Call an Uber for her and walk away.

  The bartender caught my eye. “Diet Coke and a local IPA, if you have one.”

  He nodded. I turned back to her. “Nothing.”

  I wanted to see how far she’d go with this.

  I twisted my mouth into something I hoped looked like a smile and answered her question. “Hell, what did I do? Jacked off in the shower… called my bookie to place a few bets, and then lit up a joint. So, I’m doing fine, just fine. What about you?”

  Her expression immediately warned me that I’d gone too far. Daggers shot at me from sparkling eyes. Tears? Damn, she was good. Unless…

  I hated when I doubted myself.

  “I don’t know what kind of joke this is.” She shook her head and slid forward on the barstool. She wanted to get off but my legs, which were turned in her direction, blocked her affectively. “I thought you were a nice guy.” She turned her stool and slipped her legs passed mine. She covered her mouth with one hand to stifle what I could only guess was a sob.

  I noticed that she’d painted her nails a soft pink. They’d been plain last night.

  She slid off the stool but instead of landing softly and stomping away, she jerked, tried to grab a hold of something, and went sprawling onto the floor.

  Fuck.

  As pissed as I was, I never, never wanted to see her hurt.

  I dropped to the floor beside her. God damn but I wanted nothing more than to comfort her. I didn’t’ care if she was a fucking reporter. I slipped one arm around her shoulders but she shrugged it off.

  My sweet little Andretti was sprawled on the concrete floor looking all in. I’m an ass. A total ass. Even if she wasn’t who she said she was, she didn’t deserve this.

  One of her shoes had somehow caught on the stool.

  “I’m fine. Just leave me alone.” I wouldn’t blame her if she elbowed me in the gut. She squirmed onto her bottom and began trying to untangle her sandal from the stool. “Let go!” She muttered. The skirt of her dress rode up to the top of her thighs as she twisted and reached. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She seemed to be talking more to herself than to me.

  Feeling torn, I pushed her hands away and released the strap. I didn’t want her to leave but I did need to talk to her.

  Which I should have done right off. As soon as I found out who she worked for.

  “Fuck, Holly, I’m sorry.” I’d be lucky if she didn’t walk out on me though.

  The bartender had come around from the other side of the bar and the other patrons were watching us curiously. “Is
she okay?” Glancing at me like I was a total bastard, He squatted on her other side. “Are you all right sweetheart?”

  “I’m fine.” She gave him a fake smile. “My shoe got caught.” Rather than make more of a scene, she allowed me to pull her to her feet this time.

  “Don’t go,” I grumbled my plea by her ear. “Let’s talk.”

  Her face had turned red. Shit. And her dress had a tear by the hem.

  Blood oozed out where she’d scraped the skin off her knee.

  I helped her back onto the stool and hid her from prying eyes with my body.

  She wanted to run again. I felt the energy building in her. I needed to say something that would explain my behavior. I needed to say something fast before she bolted. She spoke first though.

  “I’m trying to be positive, ya know? Trying to believe things can get better?” She finally met my eyes. “If you changed your mind about meeting me, you should have texted me. Nobody forced you to ask me out. You’re not getting paid to come on this date.”

  I needed to cut to the chase. “Are you a reporter?” This was too fucked up already. What things did she need to get better? What was she trying to be positive about? I’d never wanted to know this sort of crap about a girl before.

  She grabbed a napkin off the bar and dabbed it at her knee. “A reporter? Are you serious? A slave maybe, a glorified gopher…” Some of the confusion seemed to seep away. “For Star Martin.”

  I held her gaze. I wished she could read my mind in that moment. I didn’t know how to begin explaining all of this to her.

  “You thought I was a reporter?” She winced. “Why the hell wouldn’t you just ask me?” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “As of this morning, I’m not even employed.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Holly

  He wasn’t scowling at me anymore. I should have realized something was off the moment he showed up. He’d been late. And then he didn’t smile. He acted like he didn’t even want to touch me. His eyes had looked more like the cold Atlantic than the warm waters of Key West. He’d glared ice chips at me.