Page 91 of Three Grumpy Groomsmen

“Good luck with that. Nice to meet you both.” She waves and heads back to the kitchen.

She’s sweet, like Ford. His parents must be good people.

“Here are the tomatoes.” Ford claps Liam on the shoulder. “What’s with the face?”

“I don’t like tomatoes,” Liam says, eyeing our two appetizer plates with trepidation. “I had a childhood incident with tomatoes.”

Ford laughs. “That sounds like a story for never.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and frowns when he reads whatever is on the screen.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He hesitates, then he asks, “Has anyone from the FBI contacted you asking questions about Brad?”

I set my martini glass down so hard vodka splashes over the rim onto my hand. Liam hands me a napkin as I sputter, “What? No. Why? Are they contacting you?”

Brad is not someone I want to actually think about. All week I’ve assumed he’s sitting on a beach somewhere doing yoga and feeling intense relief that he didn’t marry me. A feeling I share.

The FBI and Brad are not two things I would put together in one sentence. I don’t even know what to think about that.

“Yes. This is the second message. This one sounds more urgent. They don’t give any details. They just ask me to call them back.”

“You probably should,” Liam says, edging the tomatoes away from him and pulling the bisque back in front. “Ivy, are you sure they haven’t reached out to you?”

“I think so.” But I’ve also been studiously avoiding my phone for huge chunks of time, not wanting to deal with the flurry of texts and social media messages asking if I’m okay after being jilted on the day of my wedding.

Not just because it’s embarrassing to have been publicly dumped, but because how do I adequately explain to everyone that I’m more than fine? That I’m actually quite fucking awesome, thank you very much, in love with two guys, and getting well fucked by three?

That won’t go over well in a text to literally anyone I know except Patrice.

So I’ve been avoiding. And if I get one more inspirational quote from my mother, I might toss my phone into the Atlantic.

Digging it out of my purse, my frown immediately matches Ford’s. “Oh wait, I have a voicemail.” I open it to read it as a text and yep, it’s the FBI. “Why the hell is the FBI asking about Brad?”

“That’s what I would really like to know. I’ll return the call tomorrow.” He tucks his phone away. “Liam, if I give you first dibs on eating Ivy’s pussy, will you try the tomatoes?”

I don’t even blush. I love having them talk about me like this.

Liam scoffs. “You act like I wasn’t going to have her pussy first, anyway.”

“We’ll just have to see who gets there first.” Then Ford runs a hand over my knee and, ever-so-slightly and very briefly, brushes his fingers between my thighs.

I gasp.

But then he’s gone with a wave. “Make sure you feed each other the oysters. Give me and Harrison a real show.”

Forgetting all about Brad, I shiver. “Ooh, Ilovethat idea.”

CHAPTER 23

Ford

“So beautiful,”Ivy says, wrapping her arms around her chest.

She means the view of the shoreline.

But I only have eyes for her. Her hair is shifting in the soft summer breeze as we stroll down the beach. The setting sun has cast the right side of her face is in shadow as she hugs the edge of the water, occasionally dipping her toe into the surf.

“You sure are,” I murmur.

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