Page 37 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

“Fine. Since you were clearly gettingannoyed on principle”—he finger quotes me right back—“I thought I’d make sure she knows I’m not available. Is that okay?”

“Yes. But there’s no need to be so …” His grin grows, and my words sputter out.

“So … what?” he teases. “I’m just being myself.”

Slowly, and with the devilish smirk to measure all other devilish smirks against, Van lifts one finger to his mouth. Slowly, his tongue darts out and he licks the tip, and then uses it to turn the next page of the magazine. Which he is not even pretending to read.

I need some kind of Van vaccine. Just a little injection of the real thing so my body can train to fight him off. Otherwise, I’m honestly in trouble here. You’d think, given my very recent breakup of an engagement, attraction to another man wouldn’t even come into play.

And it probably wouldn’t under any other circumstance with any other person.

But my travel companion happens to be the one exception.

Even last night at the rehearsal dinner—which now feels like it took place centuries ago—my stomach dropped and then I felt a whole bodysomethingwhen I caught sight of Van—a.k.a. Restaurant Robbie at a table across the room. There was a flash of hope, followed immediately by disappointment and guilt for feeling anything at all when my fiancé was seated beside me.

Whatever connection we felt the night we met snapped right back into place when Van drove me away from the church. But I refuse to fall prey to some weird rebound second-chance crush. It’s a terrible idea.

Morgan would disagree. She’d cheer me on while watching with a bowl of popcorn in her lap.

But I’m not Morgan. I’mme. The woman who was wearing a wedding dress until an hour and a half ago. And who is now fending off inappropriate feelings inspired by the ridiculous flirt sitting next to me.

I snatch the magazine from Van’s hands, quickly roll it up, and whack him in the shoulder. “No!” I say firmly, like I’m scolding a dog. Not that I’d actually hit a dog with a rolled up magazine. But Van can take it. “Bad. No!”

He actually giggles. Which only makes me swat him harder. Because it’s kind of adorable. And that makes me angrier.

“Why are you—ow!” he says. “This is worse than my pinching!”

“I’ll stop if you stop with all the flirting and the touching and the pretending!”

Van’s face shifts, and before I can blink, he’s trapped my magazine-wielding hand in his. Our faces are much too close as he says, “Who said anything about pretending?”

A throat clears. “Sorry for interrupting, but here’s your champagne.”

At the sound of the flight attendant’s voice, I pull my hand away from Van. The magazine slips from my fingers and falls somewhere below our feet.

Van, whose brain hasn’t shorted out like mine, takes the champagne flutes. “Thank you.”

I don’t miss the way the flight attendant shoots her shot. Rather than just letting go quickly, she releases slowly, draggingher fingernails over Van’s hand. This happens literally right in front of my face.

The nerve! Van made it clear we’re together, and she’s still trying? I find myself with a violent urge to rip those gel tips right off her nails.

What is happening to me?

I am not a person who believes in physical violence. And here I am—beating Van with a magazine and wanting to rip off our flight attendant’s gel nails. I’m not quite unhinged—yet—but I’m getting there.

Van pulls back, a little champagne sloshing over the top of one flute and landing on my lap. He clears his throat, for the first time all day seeming uncomfortable. It only fuels my rage.

I turn to the flight attendant.

“I’m sorry, but are you hitting on myhusband?The one who vowed for better or for worse tomejust a few hours ago?”

Don’t know wherethosewords came from.

Actually, I do. They come from the part of me who wassupposedto be married. Who had planned to recite those vows a few hours ago, even if not tothisman.

And if I had taken those vows, I would absolutely say something if some rando was hitting on my man.

I am doing women everywhere a service by calling this lady out.

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