Page 2 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

Guess they haven’t noticed it’s been a long while since I’ve actually dated.

Anyway, I told them all nothing was wrong; that I don’t have to be ON all the time. That my smart mouth isn’talwaysrunning.

Which is true. It just wasn’t true last night. My real reason for being in a mood isn’t one I plan to tell them.

Amelia also looked happy last night. But jittery too—unless I was imagining it. It’s not like I really know her. I did keep my eyes on her, and I couldn’t help but notice the way she kept fidgeting with the stack of bracelets on her arm, never sitting still.

And whenever she wasn’t smiling, her face looked … hollow.

Unlike her douche of a fiancé, Amelia didn’t seem emotional during the toasts. Not until Coach got choked up talking about how Amelia’s mom would be so proud. Which had just about everyone in the room crying. Tucker blew his nose so loudly a woman at the next table dropped her champagne flute.

Thinking about Coach, about Amelia, about this guy pretending to care last night has me clenching my fists in my pockets.

“Amelia deserves better than this,” I grit out.

“How doyouknow Ames?” the dude demands.

Amesmust be his nickname for Amelia, and it burns that he thinks he gets to still use a pet name for her. I’m pretty sure he forfeited the right to say her name at all the moment he first hooked up with this woman. Or whatever woman came before her. Because I doubt this is the first. There’s usually a long line behind every cheater.

As for how I know Amelia … it’s a simple story.

We met randomly. Talked. Thought she might be my soulmate.

Then I realized she was my coach’s daughter.

The quintessential Romeo and Juliet story. But with more hockey and hopefully with less death and mayhem.

“How I know Amelia is irrelevant. Consider me the good angel on your shoulder, here to make sure you do what you need to do.”

The idea of me as an angel is laughable, but whatever. I can imagine Alec and Tucker and the guys on the team howling over this comparison.

He scoffs, and I study him. He’s got that whole clean-cut, white-collar thing going on. Neatly trimmed hair. White teeth. Eyebrows that look like they get regularly manicured. And he’s wearing enough projected anger to fill a stadium.

Is this the kind of guy Amelia likes? The kind of man Coach would approve of?

As opposed to me—a tattooed hockey player with a reputation.

“This is a private matter,” he says.

I’m sure he’dloveto keep it a private matter. As in, a secret, hidden thing.

Protectiveness surges within me. It’s an emotion that comes standard with any decent guy who has sisters. I’ve got three, which amplifies my sense of outrage.

Why can’t I remember this guy’s name? It starts with a D, but I can only think dude.

Butdudeis too nice.

Douche. I’ll go with that. Douche the Groom. Or, more likely about to be Douche Formerly Known as Groom. I don’t want to be so happy about this because it means Amelia will be crushed.

Single again. But crushed.

And single.

Irrelevant. Because she’s off-limits, dummy. She’s the coach’s daughter.

The woman hiding behind the desk chooses this moment to stand, smoothing down her dress. Herbridesmaid’sdress. I’m not super knowledgeable about fashion, but the dress is almost the same style my sister, Alexandra, picked for her bridesmaids a few years ago.

Talk about a cliché. The groom and a bridesmaid in the church office—like a game of cheating Clue.

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