Page 8 of Pucking the Team
“But…what’s she doing on here?” he asked Theo.
“I can speak for myself, you know.” I folded my arms and pulled in a breath.
“Dustin, I—” A woman appeared at the new guy’s side. “What? Who the hell are you?” She stared at me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was a private tour coach. I’ll get off as soon as you can stop and—”
“Are you doing okay, hun?” She peered closer and seemed to search me for physical wounds.
She wouldn’t see them. They were all on the inside, mainly around my heart. “I’ve had better days.”
She turned to the man she’d called Dustin. “Did you know about…?”
“No, I’ve just seen her, too. Must have got on at the last stop.”
“She’s a runaway bride,” Tat Guy said with a shrug, his wide shoulders shifting up and down in a quick, jerky movement.
“Yeah, I guessed that, Dylan.” The woman plonked herself between me and him and reached for my hand.
I let her take it, despite not knowing who she was. Her eyes were kind, her pretty face soft, and I got the feeling she had some kind of authority over whatever the heck this bus was full of.
“Listen,” she said gently. “You’re clearly having an ass of a day.”
I nodded.
“So we’re not going to kick you off in any old place. But we can’t change our route or itinerary, the guys have a Meet and Greet later.”
“Okay…” I nodded, hyperaware of all the attention on me. “Thanks.”
“And I’m sure you have a very good reason for being here in this…this wedding gown.”
I nodded again.
“It’s beautiful by the way. Who is it?”
“Westwood.”
“Stunning.” She blew out a breath and took in the details of the lace. “Really stunning.”
I bit on my bottom lip. What difference did a dress make when the groom was a cheating son of a bitch?
Chapter Three
“Here.” Ben handed me a plastic cup of steaming tea, the bag still floating. “Careful, those machines make it scalding hot.” He frowned, full of concern.
“Thanks.” I took it carefully.
“She could do with stronger,” Eduardo said. “A nice claret, or maybe a benedictine.”
I wouldn’t have said no to something stronger, but instead blew on the tea and hoped it wouldn’t spill as the coach rattled over a few bumps in the road. Tea would have to do…for now.
“What’s going on…oh fuck!”
Another face appeared, then another. Handsome men springing up like testosterone-pumped meerkats, and they were all peering at me.
“Who is this?”
“What the…?”
