The bride is over my shoulder, wriggling like a trout caught between a bear's paws. And it's true: my paw is on her butt, so maybe she feels like a trout, even though we're on a beach and there are no bears in Maui. And she's screaming like a banshee.

I sprint down the aisle, past the tropical flowers lining each side, feet churning the sand. Somewhere a Chihuahua is barking insanely. The bride's head bounces on my back, the white veil brushing my thighs and knees. The guests in semi-casual beachwear are too stunned to move. They just stare, their mouths open. It looks comical–like something from a third-rate chick flick.

“Stop!” comes from behind me. The groom's finally pulled himself together.

Sissy. I didn't even push him out of the way that hard. I look over a shoulder to give him a superior smirk.

He's started after me, his feet pounding the sand. But the guy's not fast enough. Even with a struggling woman over one shoulder, I can outrun him. I didn't get my muscles from one of those jiggle dumbbells that simulates you-know-what.

Oh yeah. You aren't getting married. Not until pigs win the Super Bowl.

Besides, he's going to thank me. As soon as the fact that his intended and I slept together only two weeks ago sinks into his microscopic brain.

My getaway Maserati convertible is waiting. Yeah! Stealing this bride in style.

I dump her in the passenger seat. Cursing, she struggles against the tangled veil and a small sea of white fabric.

I start the car. The engine roars like a lion, while the bride screams like I'm Hannibal Lecter coming off a month-long fast. The Hawaiian breeze ruffles my hair. I smack the wheel in triumph and give the car some gas.

Someone in red runs right in front of the car. Crap! I slam on the brakes.

“You crazy?” I shout, my heart knocking hard against my chest. The Maserati could've turned her into a bloody human pancake. “I almost ran you over!”

A tall, slim brunette places her hands on the hood of my car, almost like she's daring me to run her over. Then she lifts her chin.

What the…?

The familiar aquamarine eyes send a jolt through me. I blink. The bride is right next to me, still cursing. What is she doing over there in that red dress? Am I seeing things? I've been thinking entirely too much about her over the last two weeks.

“Skittles?” I say.

“Yeah.” The same husky voice.

Whoa… It is her.

I glance at my kidnapped bride…who has finally gotten her veil out of the way and has the exact same face as Skittles. What is going on?