Page 5 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

The next thing I knew, I was sitting beside her at the bar, sharing my burger and fries right from the styrofoam to-go container. We talked like we’d known each other our whole lives. I talked about my favorite sci-fi books, and she mentioned secretly wanting to be a writer. I touched briefly on my parents’ messy divorces and she told me how hard it was losing her mom.

We laughed. We flirted. I started to think maybe this could be something—the kind of something I’d never had.

I mean, it was way too fast and definitely stupid to think about that, but Amelia stirred to life the kinds of feelings I’ve never had. The kind of easy enjoyment mixed with potent attraction that left me feeling woozy.

My parents’ excessive failings at monogamy might have left me barricaded behind a No Entry zone for relationships, but Amelia hit me like a runaway truck barreling down a mountain road with cut brakes.

I went to the bathroom and dunked my face in the sink, hoping cold water would settle me. It didn’t. So, I decided to march back out there and ask her out. Only one way to see if this could be something real.

And then, I walked out of the bathroom and saw her with Coach.

Herdad. Mycoach.

And like a total coward, I hid in the hallway until they went into the restaurant area, grateful I’d introduced myself as Robbie, not Van. If she didn’t recognize my face, which she obviously didn’t, she might have heard her dad mention my name. Probably not in a good way.

Only my sisters call me Robbie. But when I met Amelia, that’s how I introduced myself for some reason.

The only topic I avoided was playing hockey for the Appies. It was kind of nice to have that be an epilogue and not the opening for once.

Except in this situation, we happened to be connected through hockey in the worst possible way. The last thing I need is Coach catching wind of me with his daughter.

The one he’d said in no uncertain terms none of us were to go near. Ever.

So, for months I tried to forget her. I tried dating her out of my system, but it’s like meeting Amelia altered my brain chemistry. I compared every woman to the one with the sweet smile who stole my fries and made me feel like I was the living embodiment of a Taylor Swift song.

One of the happy ones, not the breakup ones.

Whatever. I never told anyone. I hoped that watching Amelia marry some other dude would finally get her out of my system. Factory reset me back to standard settings as a guy who kept things casual and didn’t ponder things like instalove with my own personal Juliet.

Instead, this week and the weeks leading up to it have been torture. I’ve played like crap, and Coach actually switched Dominik to my place the last few games. Whatever. I figured this weekend would be the end of it. I’d get her out of my system, get my spot in the line back for playoffs, and go on with my life.

But now …

Guests are still buzzing in the sanctuary, the anticipation practically visible in the air. They’re waiting for the typical processional music:Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major. This is the kind of factoid I picked up by my parents’ third respective weddings.

And as I’m thinking it, those familiar notes begin playing from Gracie and the other musicians. The hairs on my arms stand at attention under my sleeves. A prickle of unease washes through me.Uh-oh.

“Oh, good—they’re starting,” Alec says, leaning close as a man in a black robe walks from a side door to the front of the room.

Not good, I think.

“The faster we get through this, the sooner we get to the open bar,” Dumbo says. Tucker gives him a fist bump. Parker turns and glares.

My gut is twisting uncomfortably. Because the officiant doesn’t announce that the wedding is off like I hoped he might. He stands there at the front of the room, smiling. His is the face of a guy about to pronounce two peopleman and wife.

There’s the smallest chance Amelia would have said her groom’s unfaithfulness didn’t matter and decided to get marriedanyway. I don’t know many women who would stand for that, though it’s a possibility.

But there’s a bigger chance that after I left, Douche the Groom tucked tail and ran away without confessing the truth. I should have dragged him into the room myself.

Maybe it’s not too late to do just that.

I’m on my feet and heading out of the sanctuary before I can think twice about it.

“Where are you going now?” Alec hisses.

I don’t miss the way Parker’s head whips around,Exorcist-like, her eyes narrowed. I know I’ll get an earful later.

But I’m doing the right thing. Whether it’s for Amelia’s sake or selfish reasons or both, I’m not about to let her marry Douche the Groom.

---