Page 69 of The Puck Bunny

Delaney leaves us with the chocolate-filled bags and I’m itching to pilfer a puck and swallow it whole.

“Don’t even think of taking one of those,” Billie Mae says. “All we need is someone complaining that they’re missing a puck.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I insist. I wasn’t; I’d only thought about it. But since Billie Mae knows my penchant for nervous chocolate eating, or sad chocolate eating, or hell, let’s face it, chocolate eating in general, it’s a reasonable assumption. “I don’t want to stain your dress because you’re going to return it right after this event.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I know you bought it for me.”

“Shush. There’s a group of guests getting off the elevator. We’re on. Let’s greet the hell out of them and be the best goddam hostesses that ever lived.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes, but I take up the challenge. We’re a team of two and we’re out to reach our goal by winning the game and defeating the opposition: Delaney-the-ball-buster.

It’s easy to smile and be pleasant because everyone is happy to be here, even me.

“I like this job,” Billie Mae says. “I just wish Bobby was here.”

“Why? We’re not guests, remember?” I do a Delaney impression and she laughs.

The next group of guests approach from the coat room and I gather up three bags, one for each of them. It’s been over an hour and the stream of guests has trickled down to barely any. My belly flutters with anticipation as we start mingling, hoping I’ll run into Quinn.

When I turn to greet the guests and take their invitations, I freeze mid-motion because I’m looking into the face of the last person I ever wanted to see here—or anywhere.

“Princess Romanov,” I murmur.

Billie Mae takes the invitations from her extended hand.

“It’s you again,” she says. “I’m sorry, what was your name?” She stands straighter and taller than ever in her silvery, full-length gown that glitters all over, matching her crown.

She’s wearing a frigging crown.

“Her name is on her name tag,” Billie Mae says, bordering just this side of the polite-rude line.

“It’s Sara Bellagamba,” I say, restoring my voice to its full volume. I wish it didn’t have that pesky nervous vibration.

“Of course. You’re Quinn’s little friend.”

I hand her the gift bag. “Have a lovely evening, Princess.” I smile the sincerest smile I can muster. I can’t blame her for being miserable about being rejected by Quinn, can I? Maybe we have more in common than she realizes. Maybe she’s not my enemy.

As long as she leaves Quinn alone and doesn’t cause him any more grief.

My mission as hostess just got super-sized. I’m a hostess who needs to protect the welfare of one Quinn James, super star hockey player. I bite into the role like Popeye with his spinach and I seriously eye the chocolate puck peeking from one of those bags.

When the princess and her entourage of two body guards—because she didn’t treat either of them like a date—head into the room, Billie Mae huddles with me. “She’s some sparkly super-bitch, isn’t she?”

I laugh. “That just means we’ll need to be extra stealthy super hostesses.”

She snorts. “Whatever that means.”

“It means I need to watch out for Quinn’s back. She has a grudge.”

Billie Mae nods. “Of course. The spurned woman syndrome. I’ve seen it before. She has it bad.”

Which is just confirmation that I need to be the avenger-protector super hostess.

So, when Delaney swings by and tells us to go forth, take pics and make sure everyone is having a great time, I’m more than ready. She hands us each official Brawlers-issue digital cameras and we head into the depths of the party jungle to protect the guests from boredom—and worse.

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