Page 45 of Not the Puck Bunny

I spotted a woman sitting near the window, looking slightly pale and rattled. With barely a glance, I pushed past the guard and a handful of other people in the box.

“You're Andi's mother,” I stated.

“Yes.” She looked at me like she had no idea who I was and didn't want to know. “Yes, I am.”

“Do you know where she went?” Why had she not gone with Andi? If it was my daughter, I wouldn't have left her side.

“I'm not familiar with the facility,” she said. “I'm sure Andrea will be back soon. When she's pulled herself together.”

“When she's—" I stared at this woman. She seemed more concerned with Andi's composure than her health or well-being. “Everyone in the arena saw what happened.”

Andi looked horrified. Embarrassed. My heart fucking ached for her.

“I'm aware of that,” Andi's mother said. “It was unfortunate timing.”

“It's much better to choke and almost die when there's not a camera on you,” I said sarcastically. Was that all she gave a shit about? That the whole world might see what happened? That millions of people would watch the footage and be talking about it?

Worse, they might only show the handful of moments when Andi had her mouth around the Frank. Knowing the Internet, they'd turn that into a meme in about thirty seconds flat.

This whole thing was bullshit.

“If you think I don't care about my daughter—" Mrs. Welling started.

“If you cared, you'd be looking for her right now,” I said.

I gave her a scathing look before turning on my socked feet and marching back out the door. If Andi was still in the building, there was one place I might find her.

I didn't bother with the elevator, I headed straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time before I reached the level that held the executive offices. I thanked past me for keeping my key card in my pocket, because I needed it to swipe into the corridor at the very back of the building.

“Andi?” I called out. “Are you in here?” I trotted down toward her office and swiped my card to open the door.

At first, I thought the office was empty, then I saw her sitting on the leather couch under the window, her face pale in the light that came from the parking lot. Her cheeks were damp, eyes shining. On her lap was a plate with a half eaten hotdog on it.

“Hey,” I said softly. “You okay?”

She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Yes. No. I don't know. You saw what happened.”

I eased myself down beside her. “Yeah, I did.”

“So did everyone else,” she added.

“They all got an impromptu crash course in what to do if someone's choking,” I said lightly.

She snorted softly, then blew her nose. “I guess it wasn't all bad then.”

I placed a hand on her thigh. “People eat hotdogs every day. There's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“People don't end up on a big screen every day,” she said with a sniff. “As though I was trying to blow the Frank. I'm never eating a sausage again.”

My sausage might have let out a whimper of disappointment at hearing that.

“You shouldn't let one dumbass with a camera put you off eating sausages,” I said. “If you like eating sausages, then I think you should eat all the sausages you want.”

“Lowball Bayisknown for its world-class sausages,” she said with a hint of wistfulness.

“So I've heard,” I said, barely managing to hold back a smile. “You wouldn't want to deprive yourself of that sausagey goodness, would you?”

“I suppose not,” she agreed.

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