Page 9 of The Bad Wedding Date

I was lost in a daydream before the bus came to a stop and the doors groaned open. With one last parting look and a raise of his brows, as if he was waiting for me to run to him and ask for his number, Fraser stepped off the bus, leaving me to look around as someone else got on and showed their pass.

And when I looked around, I saw very familiar surroundings staring back at me.

Shit!

This was my stop! I’d been so lost in fantasies of Stranger Fraser that I hadn’t realised how quickly the journey had gone.

After jumping up and nearly tripping over my own feet, I screeched out to the driver just as he was about to set off again.

“Stop! Wait, wait! Please!”

The woman who’d stepped onto the bus moments earlier moved to the side with her arms in the air, making as much room for me as possible as I rushed past, thanking her in a huff of breath. I charged down the aisle.

The bus’s engine groaned. The driver hadn’t seen me.

“Wait, wait, please! Stop!”

He suddenly caught sight of me in his rear-view mirror, and his foot hit the brake pedal with force, making the bus jolt and send everyone lurching forward… especially me. I skidded down that aisle like an Olympic ice-skater, my arms flailing as a long moan of uncertainty fell from my lips, right before I slammed into the driver’s door panel with a thud, and my face pressed around the edge of the metal pole beside him.

“Thank you,” I panted. “I… I didn’t realise this was… this was where…”

“You’re ruining my schedule, lady.”

“I’m sorry. So sorry.” I was out of breath and slightly winded. I was also certain I’d bruised my right boob. “Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you.”

He had no time for me anymore, and his face said so. As soon as the doors hissed open again, I hopped off the bus and somehow landed on both feet without breaking an ankle. I waved the driver off in thanks one final time, unable to see his response as the sun reflected against the glass doors. I imagined him sticking a giant middle finger up at me, and honestly, who could blame him?

Out of breath and energy, I bent over and placed my hands on my knees, grateful to see one of those hands somehow still clutched my fancy purse.

“You idiot, Char. That was close.”

“No kidding,” a familiar voice said.

When I looked up, Fraser towered over me with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets and a small smile playing on his lips.

“You almost let me get away there, Charlotte.”

2

Fraser

The phone in my pocket repeatedly buzzed against my palm.

I knew what would be waiting for me when I pulled it out and looked at the messages, but with Charlotte staring up at me with her wide, weirdly innocent yet somehow all-knowing eyes, and her caramel-coloured hair shining against the sun, I couldn’t care about the consequences of the decision I’d made that morning.

She was unreadable, not like the other women who usually gave me the eye like they could ruin me or wanted to be ruined. Charlotte didn’t give me any indication of attraction, except for maybe that blush. She just looked on with intrigue.

I fucking liked it.

Now, those pretty blue eyes roamed over my face as she pushed a strand of hair back.

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked.

Yes. “No. I turned around when I heard the bus slam on the breaks. Thought it had hit someone or something.”

“What, and you were going to rescue them?”

“I’d have at least tried.”

---