Page 52 of The Wrong Groom

That body makes it difficult to sleep in the same bed as her without going crazy. I wake up in the mornings well-rested, but worked up, without fail. It’s a good thing she sleeps a bit later than I do. It gives me time to retreat to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face until I get rid of my hard-on.

There have been moments amidst the madness that make me think this feeling is mutual. She’ll catch me looking at her sometimes, and instead of the usual nervousness or awkwardness, there’s a different tension in the air, a flicker of something in her eyes that might be attraction.

Might be. I have to tell myself that every time, give myself that firm reminder. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t make this messy.

For the love of god, don’t sleep with her.

I’ve done my best to keep that barrier up whenever I can. I don’t want to make things complicated. I don’t want to use her. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea about what’s happening here.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve gotten to know Alexis much better. I’ve learned that she’s a fundamentally sweet and kind person. And now, better than ever before, I know just how fucked up it would be if she was hurt by this.

Once it’s all over, I want her to be able to move on. She deserves to have someone who can give her all of himself, and I know that’s not me. Not anymore.

Things are easier when I’m at work. That’s a world I know well, one that takes little mental effort to navigate. The corporate world is predictable. I know the players, the stakes, the moves to make. I can bury myself in numbers, deadlines, and projects. Right now, that’s exactly what I need.

One month to the day after my wedding, I’m on my way back to my office from a meeting when I run into Ivy Langford. She’s got a tote bag over her shoulder and her volunteer badge still clipped to her shirt.

Ivy’s older brother, Jackson, has been close with all five of us since we were kids, so Ivy’s been part of the picture that whole time too, almost like a younger sister to all of us. She volunteers over at Greater LA Pediatric a few days a week, spending time with the kids who are going through treatments there. She comes from old money and has never technically needed a job, but she’s been doing this volunteer work for years now, and I know it means a lot to her. She’s also perfectly suited to it, with the kind of sweet, bubbly personality that makes both children and adults gravitate toward her.

“Hi, Gabe,” she says, smiling when she sees me.

“Hey, Ivy. What brings you by?”

“I just finished up at the hospital for the day, and I was nearby, so I figured I’d stop in.” She shifts the bag higher on her shoulder. “Thought I’d see if any of you wanted to grab lunch before I head home.”

“You should take Beckett.” I tip my head toward his door, cracked open down the hall. “He’s been holed up in his office all morning. If somebody doesn’t pull him out of there, he’ll skip lunch entirely. Do me a favor and make him eat something.”

She hesitates. “Are you sure? I don’t want to bug him if he’s slammed. It’s really not a big deal. I can just grab something on my way home.”

“Trust me. He needs the break more than he’ll admit.” I raise my voice. “Beck! You got a second?”

There’s a pause, and then his voice comes back, distracted. “I’m kind of in the middle of something, actually⁠—”

“Ivy’s here. She’s grabbing lunch.”

The shuffling in his office stops. A second later his chair scrapes back, and then he’s in the hallway, the thing he was in the middle of apparently no longer a factor. He’s already reaching for his jacket.

“Hey,” he says to her. “I could eat.” He turns to me, his brows drawing together. “What were you doing holed up in a meeting all morning, anyway?”

I grimace. “Running damage control on FlashUp.” The platform has started to become my biggest headache. There may be a light at the end of the tunnel, though. Inspiration has come to me recently in an unexpected form. “Oh, hey—speaking of FlashUp⁠—”

“Oh, hell, no,” Beckett says, eliciting a chuckle from Ivy. “That is your mess, not mine. Keep it inside the lines.”

“Chill, I’m not going to ask you to do anything with it. Just wanted to run something by you.”

Beckett raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh, this should be good. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, it’s about the content. FlashUp has been struggling to connect, right? We need something more genuine, something that feels real to people, not just… flashy.”

“FlashUp has been too flashy,” Beckett says, shooting a sideways glance at Ivy that makes her grin. “What’s your big idea, changing the name?”

“No,” I say. “I’ve been talking to Alexis about this thing she’s working on—it’s this charity project. It started as a line of accessible fashion, but the idea’s been getting bigger, and now she wants to make it sort of a community space here in LA. I think people would be really into this if she got the right platform to get the word out.”

“And you’re saying that’s FlashUp?”

“If the problem is the content, maybe this is better content. We could do behind-the-scenes stuff for her space pre-launch. People weren’t engaging enough with the intended aims of the app, but if we try to break into a creative space⁠—”

“—then we’ll get to a point where the users are creating the content,” Beckett completes. “Shit. Yeah. We need to show them how to use the app.”