Page 6 of Pucking the Team

Yes. Hopefully an easy run from here to Heathrow, and then I’d find a sympathetic British Airways desk. If I couldn’t switch my flight I’d buy a ticket to anywhere. As long as I was in a different country to Steven by nightfall I’d be happy.

“Come here, sweet cheeks, sit by me.”

“Behave, I’ve got work to do,” the same woman spoke again.

“Spoilsport.”

“Hey, it was worth a try.” She laughed.

There seemed to be a group of people on the coach who knew each other. But that was manageable, as long as they stayed away from me.

The engine started, and the coach huffed out exhaust as it revved and then pulled away from its parking spot.

The chatter continued, lots of men with American accents talking over each other, banter, laughter, jibing, plenty of cussing.

I blocked it out and rested my head on the window. I wanted darkness to swallow me. I wanted to wake up and this all be a bad dream and Steven wasn’t a cheat and Cheryl wasn’t the worst friend in the entire world.

But that wasn’t going to happen. I was realistic enough to know this pain was real.

What did happen was I fell asleep. It was blissful. My emotions had a rest from swirling, my anger cooled, and I left my life behind. It must have been some kind of survival instinct for my emotions to just shut my body down.

But then my neck creaked and a pain shot through my right shoulder. I clasped it, kneading hard, and gingerly lifted my head that had been at an odd angle against the window.

I opened my eyes.

What the…?

Four male faces were peering at me. Or was it three? Two looked remarkably similar, all blond hair and blue eyes, and I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t seeing double.

“You all right there,ma choue?” the guy closest to me asked. His dark skin contrasted with his bright-red hoodie, and his brown eyes sparkled with curiosity.

I cleared my throat. “Er, yes, fine thank you.” Quickly, I looked out of the window again, regretting it instantly when my neck screamed in complaint.

“Are you sure?” he asked, a French accent evident.

“Perfectly.” I tightened my lips. “I am perfectly fine.” If only he’d leave me alone, take the hint. I wasn’t interested in chatting to fellow travelers. It wasn’t as if we were all going to be buddies.

“Only we didn’t expect to find a bride at the back of our tour bus,” he said.

“Tour bus?” I swung back to him.

“Quite unexpected.” Another guy moved to sit on the backseat with me. He was huge with thick wide shoulders and a dark buzz cut that seemed to melt into a jawline heavy with stubble.

“I don’t know what you mean?” I said, my attention going to a detailed snake tattoo running up his left forearm. “I’m simply on my way to Heathrow.”

“Heathrow?” He raised his eyebrows at me. “If that’s the airport I think you’re talking about, we passed it some time ago. We’re halfway to Wales now.”

“Wales?” I sat forward and stared out at the fields and farmland whizzing past. “Wales, why…no…turn around, I need to get to Heathrow.”

“No can do,” one of the blond guys said from over the back of the seat in front of me. His chin hovered over his hands,elbows pointed out to each side. He shrugged. “We’re on a schedule.”

“A schedule?” I frowned. “I don’t understand. I thought…”

“You thought this bus went to the airport?” Snake Tat Guy nodded at my suitcase.

“Yes. I mean…it has a plane on the side.”

“No idea why,ma choue. Just one of those things.” French Guy turned down his mouth and shrugged. He really was very handsome. Was he a model? Had I seen him on the circuit?