Page 25 of Dirty Pucker

Xander pours her a glass of beer before pulling everyone into a conversation. Dakota takes a sip of her drink and then looks at me. “Never in a million years did I think you’d be sharing post-game drinks with Xander and Theo,” she says in a low voice so only I can hear her.

I shrug. “Me either. But here I am.”

I gear up to ask her something I know is going to piss her off. But I have to know—I have to make sure she’s okay.

I clear my throat. “So, um, you haven’t heard from Dad, have you?” I make sure to keep my voice low so no one else hears.

Her eyebrows crash together as she looks at me. She looks confused. Good. That means he hasn’t bothered to try and reach out to her.

But then I see that familiar look in her big, brown eyes. That flash of fear I saw so many times when we were kids, when I was too weak and too young to protect her or my mom…

I swallow back the sick feeling that creeps up my chest.

“No. He hasn’t tried to talk to me in years. Why? Is he trying to contact you or Mom?” she asks.

I shake my head, guilt gnawing at me because I’m lying to my sister. But I made a promise to our mom. I promised her I wouldn’t tell Dakota what happened, even though it kills me to lie to my sister…

But it’s for Dakota’s own good. The less she knows, the better. I don’t want her stressed out or scared. She endured enough of that when we were kids.

“I just wanted to make sure things were still good,” I tell her. “But even if you feel like something’s a little bit off, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

“I know, Del. You’ve told me that a million times.” She pauses to sip her drink. “I know that protective big brother act is ingrained in you, but I’m twenty-four. I can take care of myself.”

I nod and tell her that I know…even though deep down, I hate the thought of leaving my little sister to fight her own battles. I know she’s independent. I know she can take care of herself. I just don’t want her to have to go at it alone.

I change the subject. “How are things going at work?”

She smiles. “It’s been a blast. Exhausting though. Yesterday the other kindergarten teacher and I took both of our classes on a field trip. Corralling forty little kids at the children’s museum would break the toughest person in the world.”

“Tougher than an NHL hockey practice?” I deadpan, even though I’m teasing her.

She tilts her head at me and gives me her signature don’t-even-go-there stare. “Yes. Way tougher than hockey practice.”

I bump her shoulder with mine and she rolls her eyes and laughs.

She looks over at Ingrid, who’s nearly done with her mountain of fries. “Wow. Nice work. You’ve got the appetite of a Viking,” Dakota says.

Ingrid laughs as she dabs at her mouth with a napkin. She looks at me. “Are you prepared to lose another bet?”

I half-smile. “Bring it on.”

I don’t miss that flash of amusement in her blue eyes. She pulls out her phone from her coat pocket and holds it up. “Picture time!”

All the guys at the table groan, while Sophie and Dakota smile.

“It’s for social media,” Ingrid says. “Posting consistently is important if you want to keep your fans happy.”

They all grumble, “Fine,” as Ingrid, who’s sitting at the end of the table, tells everyone to crowd around each other. She takes a quick photo of us, and everyone goes back to chatting and laughing and drinking.

I watch as she quickly taps away on her phone, uploading the photo to the Bashers Instagram account.

Then she turns to me. “I just sent you the photo. Post it on your Instagram.”

I pull out my phone. “Why?”

“So you can show your followers that you’re a fun guy who enjoys hanging out with his teammates instead of a grump who just gets into hockey fights all the time.”

I pull up my Instagram account. “What should I write in the caption?”

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