Page 59 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

I can feel Amelia coiling tightly with tension. Hoping to prevent a total nuclear meltdown, I angle her away from the counter as I lean closer.

“We understand someone was in the room last night. But check out is at”—I glance around, finally spotting a small sign behind the counter— “eleven. So, once the occupants check out, she would like the room she reserved.”

“Months ago,” Amelia adds. “We reserved itmonthsago.”

The boy-man nods slowly, with exaggerated patience. “Yes. There was a reservation. And while I can’t give out any information about guests, the person who made the reservation just checked in early.”

Amelia and I both go still, and it’s as though twin light bulbs go off above our heads. The honeymoon suite is occupied—by the person who reserved it.

As in, Drew the Douchebag Groom.

“Check-in isn’t until three,” Amelia whispers, as though this is the most unbelievable part of all this.

Or maybe the only thing she can process right now is hotel policy. Because thinking about everything else isworse.

The boy-man behind the counter has the decency to look apologetic.

I’m not sure how this is possible, but it sounds like Drew managed to swoop in—or fly in, I guess—and claim the suite already this morning. How? Why?

But it doesn’t matter. Only two things do.

The first is that we’re going to be stuck in the tiny room with all the nearly combustible tension between us.

The second is that Amelia’s ex fiancé is here. In this hotel. Right now.

Coach had the right idea throwing a chair through a window. I’d like to do the same thing now. Except maybe substitute Drew for a chair. I imagine how satisfying it would be to toss him through a window or a wall, leaving a douche-shaped outline like in a cartoon.

“I wish you had run him over,” Amelia says softly. She sounds like she’s in shock.

I wish I’d agreed to her movie idea. It’s way too early for all this.

It’s also too early for anything worse, and when the boy-man’s eyes go wide, focusing on something—orsomeone—behind us, I know something absolutely worse is happening.

There aren’t enough curse words in the world to use as Amelia and I turn to see Drew walking out of the elevator. He’s wearing swim trunks, one hand holding a hotel towel held under one arm … and he has the other wrapped around Amelia’s cousin.

I’m striding across the lobby before logical and rational thoughts can stop me, ignoring Amelia as she calls my name. I don’t stop until I reach the Douche.

There are a few gasps from people nearby as I grab him by the back of the shirt collar, yank him away from Amelia’s cousin, and haul him inside the elevator just before the doors close. Barely giving the panel a glance, I hit a random button near the top.

Then I let go of Drew’s collar and step into his space.

“Hey—” he starts.

“You do not get to speak right now. What you’re going to do is listen very carefully. I will not repeat myself. But I will make myself clear without words if you don’t hear me the first time. Got it?”

Drew opens and closes his mouth, but as I step closer, looming over him, he nods. But he’s glaring, looking like a kid who got caught lying to his parents and is trying to blamethemfor his bad behavior. Whatever. I can’t make him do the work he needs if he wants to be a decent human.

But I can make him do one thing.

“My team and I, we have rules.”

He snorts, and I close all the distance between us until we’re chest to chest. I’ve got a good six inches on him and even more in bulk. I almost never throw my weight around off the ice—unless my sisters are involved.

Or, I guess, Amelia.

Before I can continue, the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Not stepping away from Drew, I glance back, hoping to scare off whoever it is with a look.

But the older woman stepping into the elevator wearing a blue coverup and a beach bag doesn’t seem to read the room—or, in this case, the elevator—because she steps inside.

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