Page 43 of Not the Puck Bunny

“All the more reason to return to working with your father,” Cynthia said. “If the situation isn't tenable for you, why are you still here?”

“It's perfectly tenable,” I said without flinching. “Remember the time you wore the same outfit to two different tea parties, on the same day? The scandal was absolutely shocking. And yet, you still attended a charity ball that night.”

“It's hardly the same thing as kissing some hockey player on an amusement ride,” she said.

“It's definitely worse,” I saidsarcastically.

Honestly, who in the world had time to give a shit what someone else wore, much less care if they wore it twice? On the same day, no less. As if she was supposed to do— What? Go all the way home and get changed into some other ridiculously expensive outfit, just so people wouldn't take photos and gossip?

That was a humongous waste of time and money. I had to commend her for donating her outfits after she wore them, so they weren't completely wasted, but I didn't care if anyone saw me wear the same jeans I was wearing right now, tomorrow, or next week. If that was the worst they had to say about me, let them.

“I know you don't take those things seriously—" she started.

“No, I don't, and neither should you.” I held up a hand to her. “But you know what, you do you. I know you do good work raising money, and if different outfits help, then I say go for it.”

“Thank you for your permission,” she said dryly.

I gave her a watery smile. “You're welcome. I'm getting something to eat. Would you like anything? I made sure there was salad for you.”

“Perhaps later,” she said absently.

I nodded and walked the handful of steps over tothe food table that ran along the wall to the side of the room. It was covered with dozens of plates of food. More than enough for the families and management who occupied the box with us. Wives, girlfriends, parents and children of the players and coaches. All chatting, laughing and waiting for the game to start.

I eyed the salads, but decided to go for a hotdog instead. With ketchup and mustard, just how I liked them. I placed my hotdog on a small plate and carried it over to my seat.

Predictably, Cynthia cast her gaze at my choice of food. “You're not going to eat that are you?”

“Of course I am,” I replied. “What else would I do with it?”

“Do you know what those things are made out of?” She looked disgusted. “And white bread? Honestly, Andrea.” Her lips were twisted to the side like she couldn't comprehend that anyone would perceive this as food, worthy of being put into their body. As if the fact they were delicious didn't matter.

For love of puck, it wasn't like I ate this stuff for every meal, and twice on Sundays.

“They're made of tastiness.” I smiled and picked up my hotdog before tilting my head to wrap my lips around the Frank that stuck out of the end of the roll.

At the same moment, I caught sight of myself on the big screen at the back of the arena and froze. Eyes wide, mouth around the Frank like I was doing something inappropriate to it.

The arena erupted into laughter. As if somehow I was caught giving a blowjob to a hotdog.

Hell, I was just eating. If I was a man, they wouldn't have had the camera on me like this. Of course not, sexualizing women eating was much more entertaining to narrow-minded people.

My face pink, I bit down on the Frank and lowered the rest of the hotdog away from my face. I chewed a few times and tried to swallow, but the chunk of Frank stuck in my throat, cutting off my airway.

My face turned red as I struggled to breathe. I shook my head, trying to suppress the fast building wave of panic. I was going to die here, choking on a hotdog. Shit, I didn't want to go like this.

My vision began to haze.

Beside me, my mother finally realized what was going on. She shot up in her seat and shouted, “She's choking! She's choking on a piece of hotdog!”

I didn't know who came up behind me, but a firm hand pushed me forward and slapped me hard between the shoulder blades. Once, twice.

The offending piece of Frank popped out of my mouth, flew right into the plexiglass and bounced before falling onto the floor at my feet.

I sucked in a huge gasp of precious oxygen. And another for good measure. I coughed a couple of times and took a sip of water when someone offered me a cup.

“I'm okay, I'm okay,” I said between coughs. “I'm fine.”

Except I was still on the screen. The entire arena had seen a Frank fuck my mouth before almost choking me to death.

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