Page 23 of Three Grumpy Groomsmen

“You shouldn’t give him such a hard time,” Ivy snaps. “Liam is hardworking, talented, and always there for me. He’s a great guy.”

Yesterday I would have assumed she was just defending her friend, but after seeing Liam’s expression, I have to wonder if there’s more to it.

Not that it’s any of my business.

But you’ve made it your business.

Because you have fucking feelings for Ivy, you idiot.

My inner voice is annoying, so I say, “I thought you were going to play the Eagles song, Harrison.”

“Thank you for reminding me.” Harrison swipes on his phone and music starts playing through the speakers as he pulls out of the parking lot and drives two minutes down the road to a historic hotel we saw on our way into town.

To call it luxury is a bit of a stretch, but there’s a steakhouse on site and I need to eat. Road snacks are not filling me up. Ivy has spent the day eating like a five-year-old let loose in a gas station with forty bucks. She’s had chips, candy, beef jerky, and some kind of chocolate cake sandwich that looked like it was made from plastic.

As a guy who’s spent my adult life around farm to table restaurants, it’s a little horrifying, but at least it distracted her from the vodka in her Stanley cup. Though any port in a storm, I suppose.

Harrison is singing at the top of his lungs.

Ivy rubs her temples. “I’ve never heard this song in my life.”

“You hungry?” I ask. “Their website said there’s a nice restaurant off the lobby.”

She shakes her head. “I’m going to go to bed.”

“It’s six o’clock,” Harrison protests. “You’ll wake up in the middle of the night if you go to bed now.”

“Not if I finish the vodka.”

I don’t think so. Not on my watch. She may think I’m heavy-handed but I’m not going to let her drink alone in her room.

Harrison seems to notice her shift in tone, because he meets my gaze in the rearview mirror and frowns, but then we’re pulling up to the front entrance of the hotel.

“No valet?” he asks, glancing left and right.

For some reason that makes Ivy giggle, which makes me feel better.

Thirty minutes later, I’m juggling two dinners in to-go boxes and knocking gently on the door to Ivy’s hotel room.

Harrison is eating downstairs in the steakhouse, but I’m worried Ivy hasn’t had enough protein today. I’m also worried that she’s just sitting in a dark room swigging vodka like its water.

When she opens the door, she’s dressed in a tank top and tiny cotton shorts. She isn’t wearing a bra. My mouth waters and it’s not because of the loaded baked potato in the bag in my hand.

Holy Jesus, she’s just so fucking gorgeous.

“Hi,” I manage to say. “I brought you some dinner, in case you’re hungry after all.”

She gives me a smile. “Thanks, Ford. You’re a good guy.”

“Food fixes almost everything,” I tell her. “Or at least it makes it a little bit more tolerable.”

“Come on in,” she says, pulling the door open wider.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

She scoffs. “What? Me spiraling? If you can tolerate my sad girl summer mood, you’re welcome to join me.”

“I can handle sad girl summer. I have three younger sisters.”

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