Page 14 of Three Grumpy Groomsmen

I fucked up with Liam. I’ll be the first to admit it. Not because I walked away after our night together, but because I let that night happen in the first place.

He was supposed to be nothing more than a hot, younger guy I had a weekend fling with. I wasn’t supposed to develop feelings for him, so I admittedly ran away. I wasn’t supposed to still be constantly thinking about him a month later when I was trying to date other people. I certainly wasn’t supposed to be getting turned on whenever I saw him a year later. But here we are. So if I’m going to be unable to ignore the chemistry between us, I’m going to make sure he can’t ignore it as well.

I sit up, stretching my arms overhead, watching him watch me. I’m shirtless, wearing only a loose pair of athletic shorts. I stand up from the couch, rubbing my hand over my lower stomach, then pad toward the kitchen. Toward him.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to start early.”

“For the love ofChrist,could you two please coexist in the same room for ten fucking minutes without giving me a headache?” Ford asks from beside the door.

He’s going to be a bear today. There’s no way he slept well on those chairs, plus the woman he’s crazy about and who he’s assumed is totally off limits is newly single. There’s no hope he won’t be in a lousy mood.

“What are you doing over there?” Liam asks.

“Ivy decided that more tequila shots and dancing sounded like a good idea in the middle of the night,“ I fill in. “It took both of us and promises of bacon and Oreos this morning to get her to go back to bed.”

Liam frowns. “I didn’t hear her get up.”

I reach up and pat his cheek. “We know.”

He jerks back, then stomps across the small space and opens a cupboard. I don’t think he needs anything inside that cupboard, he’s just trying to get away from me.

I shouldn’t be such an asshole. I was the one who left him sleeping the morning after our amazing night and then didn’t return his initial phone calls. And then when I did finally pick up, did so while on a date with someone else.

He has every reason to be pissed at me.

But I can’t leave him alone. And I can’t admit the feelings I have for him. So I’m resorting to my usual habit of doing whatever feels good and trusting it will work out.

Yes, I am a spoiled rich brat. Raised with a silver spoon in my mouth. Think I walk on water. The whole nine yards. I own it. But usually that’s not a problem. The world bends for me, but not Liam.

“Put on a fucking shirt,” he tells me.

“Please,” I toss back.

He turns and meets my gaze directly. “Do it.”

This little fucker. He’s younger than me, as a writer in Hollywood makes a pittance compared to me, isn’t impressed by my wealth, doesn’t give a shit about the fancy restaurants I own or the celebrities I’ve rubbed elbows with. And yet, when we were together, I was the one sayingplease.

A shirt hits me in the back of the head and I turn to find Ford in the kitchen with us. He reaches for a cup, jams it underneath the single cup coffee maker, and jabs the button to start it brewing.

“Where’s Ivy?” he asks Liam.

“In the shower.”

Ford’s eyes jump to the bedroom door. My friend is clearly interested in the idea of his obsession naked and wet behind that door.

I shake my head. This situation with the four of us is messy as hell.

“I came out to get coffee and find the room service menu,” Liam says. “Her hangover is in full swing. She needs caffeine and food before we can figure anything else out.“

“What is there to figure out?” I ask.

“Oh, gee, I don’t know,” Liam says, propping himself against the counter furthest from me, and crossing his arms. “Maybe her entire life? Everything is up in the air now, thanks toyourasshole friend. She needs to make a new plan.”

I don’t comment on my asshole friend. I’m no fan of Brad’s right now. “As far as I can see, she dodged a bullet,” I tell him. “I say she sells that gigantic engagement ring, uses the money on something completely frivolous for herself, then goes back to her life as if nothing happened. Screw Brad.”

Liam’s eyes widen. “You mean the life where she worked for the show where Brad is the big star? Where all of the viewers of that show knew they were getting married? The life where shequit that jobbecause Brad convinced her to move to South Fucking Carolina?”

“Hey now,” I say as I pull my shirt over my head and jam my arms through the sleeves. “Leave South Carolina out of this. It’s not South Carolina’s fault.” It’s home. It’s where Ford and Brad and I grew up. It’s where Ford and I live the majority of the time. It’s where we fell in love with the restaurant business and opened our flagship restaurant, Raw.

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