Page 16 of Lucky Mother Pucker

I fetch their drinks from the bar and drop them off a few minutes later.

I start to turn around, but he catches my wrist and spins me around to face him.

“Not so fast, sweet thing.”

My skin is crawling at the feel of his clammy hand on my body.

“Don’t you want your tip?”

He hands me a fifty-dollar bill. I try to smile, even though I want to slap him for touching me. “Thank you,” I say quietly.

I take the cash with my free hand and wait for him to let go of my arm.

His hazy, drunken gaze runs the length of my body. He nods at the cash in my hand. “There’s more where that came from if you let me get a little more hands-on, sweet thing.”

I grit my teeth, enraged at the nerve of this jerk. He really thinks I’d let him feel me up for more cash?

I pull out of his hold and step back. “No, thank you.”

I spin on my heel and walk off. Behind me, I can hear him laughing with his buddies. My skin burns where he touched me. All I want to do is take a scalding hot shower and wash off all the gross feelings coursing through me right now.

I head to the women’s restroom and lock myself in one of the stalls. I reach into my top and pull out the tips I’ve been storing there so far tonight. I count the cash. Almost two hundred dollars.

A tiny burst of hope counteracts the urge to run far away from this place. I’m halfway through my first shift, and already I’ve made some serious cash.

I have to keep going. Just until I have enough money to get an apartment so I can get Wally out of the shelter.

I close my eyes and force myself to take a slow, deep breath.

I can do this. This isn’t forever. Just for a few months.

I open my eyes.

Just keep thinking of Wally. Think of cuddling with him on the couch of my new apartment. A place of our own.

I stand up and steel myself for whatever I’m about to face for the rest of the night. And then I walk back out there.

Chapter 7

Leo

Coach Sawyer blows the whistle. We all instantly change direction on the ice, skating to the opposite side.

“I wanna see some hustle out there,” he hollers.

Sweat falls into my eyes as I pump my legs harder and faster. Speed drills suck, but Coach Sawyer loves to put us through them when we’ve got an important game coming up.

We’re playing Utah University in a couple of days, and they beat us the last time we played them. He wants us in tip-top shape so we stand a chance against them this time.

“Move, move, move,” he booms.

I speed to the boards, then flip around and race to the other end. It’s hell skating this hard and this fast in all this gear, but I’m used to tough practices. I’m sure I’ll have even tougher ones once I start playing for Vegas. And I don’t want to be the rookie lagging behind. I wanna keep up. I wanna show Vegas that I was a worthy draft pick and can hold my own.

Coach blows the whistle twice, and we all stop skating. We’re all hunched over, our gloved hands braced on our legs, gasping for air.

“Damn, that sucked,” Blake says between breaths.

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad,” Nick says through a smile. He’s breathing slightly harder than normal. Dude’s a freak of nature. He drank a pitcher of beer last night, but you’d never guess it from how quickly he moves on the ice.