Page 18 of Three Grumpy Groomsmen

Maybe I’m being a little dramatic, but I love the pink, orange, and yellow headscarf and oversized yellow sunglasses I’m wearing. The scarf because I didn’t feel like doing my hair. The glasses because the sun is really freaking bright this morning.

But besides the headache, scratchy eyes, and general regret over my life decisions, I feel very Elizabeth Taylor. I’d feel even more glam if I was drinking out of a martini glass instead of my pink Stanley cup, but I didn’t want to spill anything when we hit the bumps in the road.

Yes, I’m day drinking.

I was left at the altar yesterday and I am now on my way to South Carolina to deal with a house I apparently own and don’t want.

If anyone deserves an oversized thermal cup full of vodka and soda water at ten a.m., it’s me.

Ford hands me the water bottle that he has been routinely passing to me over the past three hours.

I sip to make him happy. Ford has been very sweet. He hasn’t said a single judgmental word, and has just been plying me with water, food, and ibuprofen while I tip back my Stanley cup. But because of him I’m only mildly buzzed and my headache has faded and I actually feel okay instead of like, oh, every decision I’ve made in the past six months was terrible and the consequences have all smacked me in the face at once.

I take a long pull on my straw, then ask him, “Actually, can I justhaveten million dollars because ‘borrow’ makes it sound like I’ll pay it back and there’s no way that’s going to happen.“

He chuckles and I feel a strange swirly heat in my stomach. I’m aware that is probably inappropriate, everything considered, but it’s undeniable and I have enough vodka in my system to just enjoy it instead of trying to squelch the attraction to my ex fiancé’s best friend.

Brad has a lot of faults, but his taste in friends is top-notch.

“Yes. You canhaveten million dollars, Ivy.”

Wow, I guess that confirms that he has ten million dollars that he could just part with on a whim, and it’s pretty nice to think that he would give it to me without question.

I give him a smile that I think is possibly a little wobbly from the liquor, but is no less genuine.

“You’re not even going to ask me what it’s for?”

“I’m sure you’ve got a good reason.”

I look toward the front seat, roll my eyes and look back to him. “I’m going to pay them to shut the fuck up. I assume you’ll agree that’s a good reason.”

He glances at the front seat, where Liam is driving and Harrison is lounging in the passenger seat, wearing an irritated look. They’ve been bickering almost nonstop, completely ignoring Ford and me.

“Getting them to shut up is a great reason,” Ford agrees. “But you realize for ten million dollars we could just buy a new car and hire a driver and leave these two on their own.”

I salute him with my cup. “Very good point. Why haven’t you brought that up before now, Mr. Multi-millionaire?”

He chuckles, then shrugs. “I suppose I’m trying to keep them both alive and I don’t think that will happen if they’re left alone?”

Just then, Liam slams his hand onto the dash of the car. “I’m not fucking listening to any more Miley Cyrus. If you singanythingabout buying yourself flowers, I’m kicking your ass out of this car.”

Harrison hoots. “So you do know the song.“

It’s been like this for three hours. They’ve argued over the music. They’ve argued over the temperature. They’ve argued over the route we’re taking. They’ve argued over the stops we’ve made.

Liam wants to listen to a podcast, though he had agreed to listen to Frank Sinatra or something classical.

I swear he did that just to annoy Harrison. Because Harrison wants to listen to heavy metal or good old-fashioned rock ‘n’ roll. Liam likes both.

Why my best friend can’t just agree to get along for this road trip, I cannot understand.

I study them as I sip on my straw.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Liam and Harrison have some history.

History that means that Liam hates Harrison. I have to admit Harrison is not one of my favorite people either, because of that history. Somebody messes with my best friend and they are on my shit list, too. But Harrison is Ford’s best friend and for some reason, I really feel good about having Ford along on this trip.

The second Liam agreed to go with me, Ford was off the hook. There’s no reason for me to want him here. I don’tneedhim here.

---