Page 5 of Dirty Pucker

I never had to stress about studying hard so I could land a job to support myself, or working long hours to pay the bills, like so many other people. I started out doing PR for my family’s hotels and resorts when I graduated college, and then I eventually started my own social media accounts and made a name for myself as a lifestyle influencer.

That’s how I made a living for the past several years. Brands paid me to post photos of myself on my social media accountsusing their makeup or wearing their clothes or visiting their luxury properties.

It was a blast, I won’t lie.

But then I got an offer from the Bashers public relations team a few months ago, after I helped them with a fundraiser. They loved my work and thought my social media influence could help the team gain more popularity.

I immediately said yes—even though I don’t care about sports and know nothing about hockey, other than whatever my cousin Theo tells me when we hang out.

But I wanted to. Because I wanted to see if I could venture out of my comfort zone.

I think about how Theo broke the mold when he embarked on his pro hockey career. No one even remembers that he’s part of the Thompson family now. He’s Theo the badass hockey pro.

I want my own version of that. I want to carve out my own path too.

I want to see if I could do something unexpected. If I could be more than just a twenty-eight-year-old rich girl who travels and posts selfies on social media.

An ugly feeling digs at my gut. I think of my ex, Kyle, and how he and his friends used to make fun of me for never having a real job.

Babe, you call what you do work? Get real. You get paid to post photos of yourself on social media. That’s great and all, but it’s not a real job.

Even though it’s been months since our breakup, his words still sting. Part of me wants to do this to prove to him that I can be more than he ever thought I was.

I slip my phone back into my coat pocket and grab a menu from the bartop. As I skim the text, broad blazer-clad shoulders infiltrate my peripheral vision.

“Hey, beautiful. Come here often?”

I roll my eyes at the familiar line spoken in an unfamiliar accent. Australian, I think.

“Nope,” I answer without looking up, and set the menu back down on the bar top. It’s a lie, but I don’t care. I just want this guy to leave me alone.

“Let’s celebrate your arrival then.”

He sets a short glass on top of my menu. The amber liquid swirls, reflecting the light from the fixture above. When I look up, blue eyes and a smug smile greet me.

“Name’s Cameron. What’s yours?” He steps right next to me, lightly bumping my arm. I instinctively scoot to the left to create space between us.

One perk of hanging out with Theo and his teammates is that whenever they’re around, I don’t get hassled by creeps. But since I’m alone, this guy probably took that as an invitation to chat me up.

I look at him. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d just like to be left alone.”

He scoffs, but the smug smile doesn’t budge. “Then why are you here dressed like that?”

“Excuse me?” I almost laugh at what this guy is implying. I’m wearing a camel-colored wool coat that hits my knees, boots, jeans, and a blouse. I’m dressed pretty conservatively all things considered.

But what I’m wearing shouldn’t matter. I could be wearing lingerie and that still wouldn’t give this guy the right to bother me.

“Don’t tell me a hot little thing like you came here to be left alone.” He turns so he’s facing me. He leans closer and stares at my chest.

All the muscles in my body tense. What a prick. The sour stench of alcohol burns my nostrils.

“You have no right to speak to me like that.” My voice is a low, icy calm.

He glares at me then moves his hand like he’s going to grab my arm.

But before I can even step back, a massive hand lands on his shoulder, jerking him back.

Someone steps out from behind the creep. My eyes go wide.

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