Page 7 of Pucking the Team
I didn’t have time for such wonderings.
“Fuck it!” I sat forward and snatched up my phone from the seat at my side. “Stop the bus. I can’t go to Wales.”
“Can’t do that,” Tat Guy said. “Apart from the fact I hear it’s illegal to stop on a freeway in England for no good reason, we can’t just leave you on the side of the road wearing a…a…”
“A wedding dress, yes, I am quite aware of my attire, I’m not stupid.”
“No one said you were, honey.” The second blond guy studied me. “But now could be a good time to explain what you’re doing sitting here in a wedding dress.”
I tipped my chin, searching for a shred of dignity. “I’m sure you can guess.” Oh God, the damn headache was coming back, and so was the awful image of Steven and Cheryl kissing. How humiliating this entire day was.
Handsome French Guy held up his hand as if asking my permission to speak.
“What?” I snapped, unable to help myself. Irritation was clawing at every inch of my body.
“Runaway bride, right?” He grinned. “Got to be.”
“Aren’t you the veritable Einstein?” I frowned.
“What’d he do?” Tat Guy asked. “Dump you at the altar?”
“What! No. Of course not.”
Both blond guys laughed.
“Why is that funny?” I demanded of them.
“He’d have to be batshit crazy to do that,” said one.
“Yeah, wow, look at you.” The other gestured to me. “Fucking gorgeous.”
I frowned. I was in no mood for male admiration. “Who are you?” I asked, sensing they were all very much together, as a group, and not just random strangers who had started staring at me and speaking to me.
“I’m Benjamin, or rather Ben, and this is my brother, Theo,” Blond Guy said. He gestured with his thumb to the face at his side. “And this handsome dude is Eduardo, and miserable fuck sitting next to you is Dylan.”
“Hey, don’t be a dick.” Dylan frowned and rubbed his snake tat. “I’m just still pissed about last night’s result.”
Normal me would have asked what last night’s result was, but I had bigger issues at hand. “So whereabouts in Wales are we going?”
“Cardiff,” Theo said. “Apparently.”
“Cardiff! Why?” My mouth hung open.
“We’ve got a final game before heading home.”
“Game?” I rubbed my brow. Fuck, Cardiff. That was so far from Heathrow. So far from anywhere.
“Do you need anything?” Ben asked. “A coffee? There’s a machine down there.”
“Er…sure…a tea would be good, thanks.”
“Tea?”
“Yeah, tea, man, we’re in England, that’s all they drink.” His brother, Theo, nudged him.
Ben disappeared, but almost instantly he was replaced by another curious face. This tall guy had a silvery scar on his bottom lip that went down onto his heavily stubbled chin. “What the fuck?” he said, his eyebrows lifting and his smile dropping.
“Yeah, unexpected, right?” Theo said.
