Page 119 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

“Have you thought about Alec?” I ask. “He loves being interviewed and I?—”

“Nope. Today, it’s you.” Parker’s tone is edged with something sharp, assuring me that any argument is futile.

“Okay, Boss,” I say with a sigh, dropping down to my bench. I don’t miss the way a few guys smirk.

Parker appears with a padded folding chair with the Appies logo and sets it in front of me, giving barely enough room for me to lace up my skates. The very last thing I want right now is someone asking questions.

I’ve kept my mouth shut for two weeks, and I’m hanging by a thread here.

Even my sisters don’t know the full story. All I told them was Amelia ghosted me. Probably even that much info was a bad idea considering the fact that all three of them have an ironclad sense of loyalty. And a penchant for revenge. I think it’s their way of returning the favor for the way I looked out for them.Thankfully, only a few women have ever lasted long enough or done something bad enough to warrant my sisters’ attention.

“So, Van,” the woman says. “Should I call you Van?”

“Sure.”

“But your real name is Robbie—any other nicknames?”

A few guys cough out,Vanity. There are chuckles around the room, and even Parker giggles.

“None I want in print,” I say.

Normally, I would have added something flirtatious. A wink. A roguish grin. I know how to work my charm in interviews. Especially with female writers. But I’m just … not in the mood. I’d like to get this over with, not spill the secret I’m holding so tightly, and get on the ice where I can hopefully suck less than yesterday.

At least ten percent less. Low but realistic goals—that’s me.

“Interesting,” the woman says. I already forgot her name. “I heard rumors of a nickname involving … a bunny?”

My head snaps up, and I narrow my eyes at the woman who’s sitting too close. I don’t love the expression on her face. It’s the look of a woman who’s hoping for someprivatefollow-up time. Off-the-record time. And the question she asked … there are very few possible sources for that nickname.

When I glance at Parker, she’s got her arms crossed, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Based on her expression, she also noticed the woman’s intent and is torn between being protective of me and finding out the bunny nickname.

The only people who know the godawful nickname my sisters gave me are … my sisters.

And Mills.

I start to sweat.

“No comment,” I say, looking back down at my skates. “Next question.”

The atmosphere in the room is charged. The rest of the guys are clearly almost ready to get on the ice, but they’re lingering. Listening. I watch Tucker pick up and put down his skate three times, doing a horrible job pretending to examine the laces.

“You’ve got quite the reputation as a charmer,” the woman says, and there are a few snorts around the room. “Are you currently single?”

Though this is a common question, one I should be prepared for, it knocks into me with force today. I suck in a breath, squeezing my eyes closed.

For a moment, all I can see is Amelia’s eyes. Her smile. The wild abandon on her face when she stepped off the platform while zip-lining. The look on her face just before I kissed her yesterday.

And then the look of apology when she told me we can’t keep doing this. Why was I even surprised? I’m the guy you kiss. Not the guy you marry.

I stand. “I’m not dating anyone.”

Not a lie. But I bet no one in this room would guess the real truth.

I’m not dating anyonebecause I’m married.

“Are you looking?”

“No.” My voice is clipped. “I need to focus on the playoffs right now.”

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