Page 26 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

The smile she turns my way is a little off. As in, paired with the too-bright eyes, she looks a little … feral.

“So, what do you think—want to extend this little trip all the way to Florida?”

Warning bells go off in my mind.

Given all that’s happened today, falling apart is totally to be expected. I’ve been surprised how calm she’s been. How poised. Hownormal. Then she got off the phone with her friend, attempted to toss her garter out the window, and now asked me to go on a trip she planned with her ex-fiancé.

It’s a total trick question. A trap. The kind of invitation with no right answer. A quiz designed to make you fail. The song of a siren perched up on a rock, leading a ship and its men toward doom and ruin.

This particular siren has a vulnerable look in her blue eyes and about a hundred yards of white fabric bunched up around her as she blinks over at me, waiting for my answer. She looks like a wounded marshmallow.

But, like, a reallyattractivewounded marshmallow. One I definitely shouldn’t eat.

Or go on vacation with.

Amelia is beautiful.Hot, really, though I don’t typically look at women in their wedding dresses and think about their hotness.

Actually, maybehotdoesn’t quite work. It’s a descriptor based solely on physical attributes.

But if we are talking about looks, Amelia is, objectively speaking, hot.

Her hair is the color of the local honey I bought at the farmer’s market while doing a charity event with the team. Amber blond—a deep, rich color. Her eyes are an icy blue—piercing—but despite the cool color, the expression there is softand warm. Not cold. Even back at the church in the middle of everything, I noticed the way her eyes stayedkind.

It’s the way her kindness and whatever else shines through her physical beauty that makes her offersotempting.

Because when I look at Amelia, I seemore. Ifeelmore.

More than what I usually feel when I’m around a hot woman.

More than I’ve wanted to have with another woman.

More, more, more.

The night we met, I remember feeling like I could talk to her for hours. Maybe I would have if her dad hadn’t shown up. I definitely would have asked her out.

Amelia is fun. Spunky. Sweet. Open and honest in a way not many people seem to be these days. The way I wish I could be. She’s the kind of woman my sisters would love. I mean, they’d love for me to settle down,period, but only with someone who earned a stamp of approval from all three of them, which is a near impossibility since they’re so different.

Yet somehow, I know Amelia would immediately have all three sisters’ endorsement.

Actually, I have a sort of half endorsement from them already.

The night Amelia and I met, I sent a message to our sibling group text. A simple:I met someone.

But since I never talk to them about dating, this was an event. I barely told them anything about her, not even her name, so it was a little easier to quell their excitement when later I had to text them that it wasn’t going to work out. For months after, they hounded me about the woman from the restaurant who got away, which only made it harder for me to forget Amelia.

None of these thoughts should be crossing my mind. Not when we’re barely an hour past the moment she would have said “I do” to some other guy.

In short, Amelia is not someone I should be taking any kind of overnight vacation with. Not with her fragile emotional state.

And not with how much I enjoy her company.

Definitely not with the low hum of attraction inappropriately buzzing along my skin.

Oh, and let’s not forget the kicker: she’s Coach’s daughter.

He would destroy me if I made a move on Amelia. Maybe even for thinking about her being hot. He’d murder me, then have my body dragged behind the zamboni at The Summit as a cautionary tale.

That’s if my teammates didn’t kill me first. I think even Parker might advocate for my murder. And then find a way to plan social media content around it.

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