Mile High Madness: Six Colorado Contemporary Romances

by Annabelle Anders

  I’d tease Hunter with this information.

  Planting my ass on a long planter, I opened my bag and rifled around looking for my phone.

  Hm.

  Maybe the good Samaritans had dropped it in the shopping bag.

  It wasn’t there either.

  Feeling a little panicky, I carefully picked through everything again. My wallet was there, and my credit cards and the twenty I’d stuffed into it this morning. My deodorant, breath mints, spare tampon, perfume, bottle of Tylenol.

  Damn!

  Damn!

  I rode the shuttle back to where I fell earlier and thoroughly searched the area. By now, my head was pounding. Still no phone. I opened my bag and swallowed two Tylenol’s with nothing to wash them down.

  Somebody must have found it. Like a new blow altogether, I remembered the last text Hunter sent me. I’d had my phone locked but the password was… password. Shit. Dread settled into the pit of my stomach.

  I couldn’t even call Hunter since his number was in the phone.

  But I did know where he lived.

  With renewed determination, I headed back toward the high-rise apartment I’d left just a few hours ago. I’d leave him a note.

  I rode the elevator up for the second time that day, but this time it stopped and I exited at the 33rd floor.

  Paper. Paper. I knew I had paper in there. Hmm… and my favorite pen? Odd. I jotted out a quick note explaining what happened. I tell him I’ll see him tomorrow, sign my name and a smiley face and slide it under the door. It disappeared easily into the gap between the door and the wooden floor.

  Brushing my hands again I felt somewhat relieved.

  I also felt achy and the pounding in my head had kicked it up a notch.

  Home sounded good. My bed sounded good.

  Feeling as though I’d done all I could, I headed back to my parent’s house.

  I woke up the next morning still feeling sore, but happy. I was going to see Hunter again. He’d said he’d be by around ten thirty to pick me up. It wasn’t quite seven thirty, so I reached for my journal…

  Had I taken it with me yesterday?

  Except it hadn’t been in my bag. I was certain of that. I was feeling more than a little freaked out at the thought of losing it. To have somebody else read it would be… sickening. My stomach flipped upside down at the thought.

  God, and I’d written stuff about Hunter.

  A horrible foreboding started seeping into me. After practically turning my room upside down, I had to come to the conclusion that it was gone.

  Hopefully some bum had it. Along with my phone. And he’d thrown them both in the river.

  By the time I gave up my search it was after nine. I needed to get ready for my hike with Hunter.

  At the sound of thunder followed by leaves blowing against the side of the house and my window, a chill ran through me. Could he cancel if he didn’t get a hold of me?

  I pulled out my old Keens, my favorite pair of jeans, a long sleeved tee and a windbreaker. In Colorado, where the weather could turn on a dime, we dressed in layers.

  Feeling edgy and nervous as ten thirty drew near, I pulled my hair into a pony tail and applied some mascara and eye-liner. And a little lipstick.

  One minute my heart sang in anticipation at seeing him and the next it weighed heavily in the pit of my stomach.

  Ten fifteen. I pulled open the drapes in the front room and opened my laptop. Maybe Hunter’s e-mail was at the team website… something for fans? Even though I doubted it, I figured it didn’t hurt to look.

  I typed in Colorado Rangers. New news flashed on the home page.

  A Press Conference is scheduled for three in the afternoon today to address the falsified information, as reported by Star Martin of the Star Martin Morning Show, that Pitcher Hunter DeLuca was dissatisfied with his decision to play in Colorado. Hunter has the full backing of the Rangers and at this time both parties are satisfied with both his contract and performance.”

  Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!

  Hunter had told me that his agent wanted him to leave but that he intended to play out the remainder of his career in Denver, if left up to him. I’d written something to that affect in my journal. And how happy it made me. To think he wasn’t going anywhere.

  I typed in the address for Star’s website and my stomach lurched. In horrified revulsion, I watched as my worst nightmare opened up on the screen.

  Tell All Exclusive, the headline read. A weekend in bed with Colorado’s Playboy Pitcher, Hunter Deluca.

  My words… but twisted… My private thoughts. Descriptions. A picture of me. The picture Hunter had texted me. Stock video of Hunter. Old quotes from his ex-wife.

  This wasn’t happening.

  I needed to talk to him. To tell him! But what do I tell him? That I’d been a fool. Star had obviously taken my journal and phone from my bag while I’d packed up my stuff in the office.

  I glanced at the ancient grandfather clock by the door. Ten forty-five.

  A sob tore through me. He wouldn’t be coming.

  The rest of the day, although not the worst in my life, presented itself as a close second. Or third. The first was when I’d found Bernadette, the next probably her funeral. Yeah, today was the third.

  After about thirty minutes of staring out the window, hoping that somehow Hunter would come by, I finally drew myself back to reality.

  He’d thought I was a reporter before, on Saturday. And he’d hated me for it. I’d assured him in no uncertain terms that I had no allegiance to that show, no desire to pursue anything to do with it.

  Not having my phone, or his number even, I felt like my hands were tied. I’d told him I would never lie about something like that. I’d asked him to come to me if he wanted to know the truth.

  I’d been disgusted by the way he acted but upon hearing his explanation, I’d understood.

  I had to talk to him.

  I had to try to explain.

  I paced from the kitchen to the living room a dozen times at least. I had to do something. He may not be willing to forgive me. He may not even believe the truth when he heard it, but I had to try.

  I grabbed my purse and out the door. Just a small walk to the station, and then some waiting. Come on. Come on. I needed to get to him.

  Once I climbed onto the train, I couldn’t even sit down, as it glided towards the downtown skyline. Would he believe me? Would he ever look at me the same again? Hopefully he was at home.

  As soon as the door slid open, I took off at a run and only stopped when the hitch in my side turned into a full fledge cramp. Just a few more blocks to go. In less than three minutes I found myself riding up that damn elevator again.

  He should be home. He didn’t have to work. We’d planned on going hiking!

  The doors swung open and I stepped off onto his floor. Roaring filled my ears as I stood before his door, poised to knock.

  He must hate me for sure. Even though I’d leaked none of that stuff intentionally, I’d been stupid for allowing it to be vulnerable to somebody like Star. For writing down such personal stuff about him… For not protecting him.

  My eyes burned and welled up with tears before I even knocked. When I raised my hand, I realize it was shaking.

  Pull off the band aid. I rapped three times on the door.

  Silence.

  I knocked again, five times this time. “Hunter? It’s me! Hunter? Are you there?”

  Nothing.

  I closed my eyes and allowed my head to fall against the wood. I could leave and then come back after a while.

  Or I could just wait.

  He had to come back sometime.

  I decided to wait. Even if his neighbors thought I was a stalker. I dropped to the floor and tried to make myself feel comfortable – if that was even possible. I wondered if I’d ever feel comfortable in my own skin again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Hunter

  Mia Trent found me just a few minutes after that bitc
hes show aired. She took me into her office and then dragged everything out of me. She said she needed to know the truth so we could put this shit to rest as quickly as possible.

  Firstly, she wanted to know who Holly Mercer was?

  It took me a full minute to get myself under control enough to answer.

  “A girl,” I told her.

  “I get that much. How did you meet her? Who is she?” She pushed sarcastically.

  This part bothered me. “She ran into me in my apartment building.” Mia just stared at me. “Friday afternoon.” Three days ago. Had it only been three days? If felt more like a lifetime.

  “Do you think it was a setup?”

  I shook my head. It couldn’t have been. She’d run into me first… and then looked up at me with those bottomless brown eyes. And blushed. I’d asked her out. And she’d told me no. “Next time I saw her was at the auction. Star Martin sent her to bid on Senator Flint.” I took a deep breath as I remembered how flustered she’d been after realizing I wasn’t him.

  “Why’d she bid on you?” Mia made me feel like a witness on the stand.

  Why had she bid on me? I’d thought at the time she just got flustered. The attraction between the two of us had felt like something tangible. Something you could taste, touch… “I don’t know.”

  Mia and I went back and forth like this for a while. The pieces didn’t match up though. Holly told me she hated her job. And the stuff about her roommate. Why would she tell me that story? In the end Mia shrugged. She surmised Holly used the info on me to keep her job. To try and get ahead in broadcasting.

  Legal came in to discuss a possible lawsuit. And community enrichment was going to work with the sponsors of Men for Mutts to cancel the date. I imagined that would cost them about ten grand.

  I felt numb through it all.

  When I finally walked out of the building it was past six. I’d missed lunch. Even though I didn’t feel like eating, I needed to get some calories in. The best way to do that was to cook something up myself. Chicken, couscous. It’d steam some veggies. Later tonight I could supplement all that with a protein shake.

  I felt dead inside. I’d eat because it was a part of my job. I’d drink water. I’d sleep. And then it hit me.

  I didn’t want to climb into my bed.

  When I woke up this morning, I’d planned on bringing her back here again. I’d looked forward to cooking for her. Maybe getting out the ice cream again.

  Fuck.

  Part of me hated her. Wanted to see her hurt even. Any person who could lie so easily deserved to work in a shit industry with a shit boss.

  Another part of me wanted to believe there’d been a mistake. The whipped part of me. The part of me that was thinking with my cock. Dead to me. Holly Mercer was fucking dead to me.

  I stepped off the elevator and thought I was hallucinating.

  She wasn’t’ dead at all. She was simply sleeping in front of my door.

  Like a log.

  She didn’t even stir when the elevator doors closed. As soon as my heart started feeling all warm and protective, I shoved the feelings aside.

  She needed to get the fuck out of my way.

  I toed the side of her thigh with one of my boots. I didn’t look at her face. I knew what she looked like all sleepy and rumpled. I knew she’d feel warm. I knew she’d fit up against me perfectly.

  Too perfectly.

  Her head jerked up and she somehow forced me to meet her gaze. That darkness was back. Not all the way, but the light I’d put there the other day had definitely faded.

  “Hunter!” She scrambled to stand up. I didn’t want to think about her scrambling… she’d done too much of that around me. “Hunter! It isn’t. It wasn’t.” The door to the elevators opened again and a couple exited. Looking self-conscious, her eyes pleaded with me. “Can we just go inside? For a minute?”

  I ignored her and watched my neighbors as they entered their apartment. They smiled awkwardly in my direction and then closed the door behind them.

  I didn’t want Holly in my apartment. I hated that I’d let her into my life.

  “I’m over it.” I sounded cold and that was what I wanted. “Just go home.”

  All the blood seemed to drain from her face. Tears welled up and then spilled down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry Hunter. It was stupid. I should have been more careful. I just.” She closed her eyes and more tears squeezed from behind her lashes. “I just don’t want you to hate me.”

  I reached out and tipped her chin up so she had to look at me. Even hating her, I wanted to back her up against the door. I wanted to taste her. To ground my teeth against hers and bury myself in her tight little cunt until she begged for mercy.

  She opened her eyes at my touch. For a second I saw a glimmer of hope, a glimmer of light. “You know what, Andrettti? We don’t always get what we want.” I edged her away from the door with my body and slid the keycard into the slot. The lock released and the door opened easily.

  She stepped back. Stung.

  Good. Good. Now she knew what it felt like. At least some of it. She reached into her bag and held something out to me.

  My jacket and some sweats I’d given her to wear home Sunday morning. A sick part of me wanted her to keep them. Wanted her to remember me. Remember what we might have had.

  I snagged them without meeting her gaze. Her eyes were my fucking kryptonite.

  I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

  Go. My mind reeled. Get the fuck out of my life. I leaned against the door and waited until I heard footsteps and then the elevator bell. When I realized she must be gone I took a deep breath and glanced down at the jacket.

  I sniffed it. Freshly washed.

  I opened the closet door to hang it up and a little piece of paper blew out into the foyer. I unfolded it, only slightly curious and didn’t recognize the clean, easy to read handwriting.

  Hunter,

  Sorry I haven’t texted you today. Everything went great! I can’t wait to tell you in person. Guess what? I already have another job. I’m gonna wait tables at the Lodo grill and work on my thesis. I’m looking forward to hiking tomorrow.

  I can’t call you ’cause I face planted in the mall and lost my phone. Just wanted you to know. I’m a little worried since it has that picture you sent me. Hopefully a bum found it and threw it in the river?

  Anyway, see you tomorrow.

  Holly

  I glanced at the door and then down at the floor. Had she put this here yesterday? Why the closet? But then I closed the door and saw how it could have slid under the threshold of the apartment right into the closet.

  But what did it mean?

  I read it through again.

  It had to be a crock of shit. Lies she’d made up in order to try to cover her tracks. Because, obviously the phone hadn’t ended up in the river. And all that other shit? She’s the only person I’d ever talked to. Besides, the story had referenced the strawberry ice cream. That was the nail in her coffin.

  Dead.

  To.

  Me.

  The next few days passed in a blur. Surprisingly, the fallout from the story died down quickly. I did a few interviews set up by the team with some real sports reporters and they spread the word that I was happy with my contract. And when the goalie for the Avalanche announced his retirement, attention shifted to him.

  I walked through the days like a robot. This wasn’t like me. I hadn’t even felt this way after my divorce. At least that break up made sense. This one rankled. It mocked me. Taunted me.

  After a week, I was notified by the pitching coach that they wanted me to meet with a sports psychologist. Nothing to do with what was really bothering me. They wanted me to work through any residual issues I had from that last game. From my sloppy pitch.

  Hell, I’d practically forgotten that.

  The only good thing I had going these days was a norm for me. My workouts were intense, long and efficient, and my diet perfect. The physical
had never been a problem for me. Apparently, it was the other crap.

  I’d had my first appointment with the psychologist today and he wanted me to focus on the people, the aspects, of my life that lifted me up. My family, my friends. We were going to work on acceptance. Some of the shit made sense, but most of it irritated me.

  I slammed the door to my mustang and shuffled onto the elevator. I might have pushed too fucking hard this morning. Which pissed me off. I’d ice.

  Ice was always a good idea.

  I hit the 33 on the panel and rubbed my shoulder. A little after five, I wasn’t surprised when it stopped in the lobby. People were coming home about now. People who worked in offices. Cubicles. The doors swung open and a plastic looking woman confidently stepped on.

  Her perfume about knocked me out.

  When I realized she was staring, I glanced in her direction.

  Oh F-u-u-u-ck No! Star Martin.

  “Hey there, Lover boy.” A smarmy smile curled her lips. Her brows rose and she dug into the bag she was carrying. “You can give these back to your girlfriend. Tell her thank you for me.”

  She held out a worn and tattered cloth brown book. Looked like a journal of some sort. And a cell phone.

  Holly’s cell phone.

  I’d already been told not to say a single word to this woman. Not about the story. Not about the date. Not about anything.

  “Why don’t you give them to her yourself?” Surely this witch saw Holly every day. Why the fuck was she bringing this crap out for me.

  Just the sight of Holly’s phone caused my gut to clench.

  The woman laughed. She even sounded evil.

  “That little bitch is probably working at some fast food joint about now.” She gestured with the items again. “You take ’em or I’ll toss ’em.”

  As soon as I held the items in my hand, my heart started racing. Hair stood up on the back of my neck.