Page 19 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

“We didn't know where you went,” he says.

“Rooftop.” I gesture vaguely at the obvious.

“In fairness, we didn't know the rooftop was a midnight option.” He reaches the top, arms crossed, grin already forming. “You okay?”

It's not performed concern. Just the real question, asked with those green eyes that don't let you dodge.

“I'm fine,” I say. Then, because my guard has clearly sprung a leak: “I just needed air.”

He nods. “Can we join you?”

We.

I glance past him. Ethan has appeared at the top of the stairs, glasses off, button-down untucked—the most undone I've ever seen him. Behind him, Andrew, one hand on the rail.

All three of them. On my rooftop. At midnight.

My perfect plan officially collapses.

I should say no. I have champagne, a view, and a system that does not involve any of them.

“Sure,” I say instead.

The second they have permission, none of them hesitate.

Liam reaches for the hem of his shirt first. I stare hard at the Las Vegas skyline and do an excellent job of not looking—right up until Ethan follows and I catch the lean lines of his shoulders and chest. Precise. Disciplined. Worse than vanity.

I tip the glass back.

Andrew pulls his shirt off next. I thought I was prepared. I had noted—clinically—that he'd filled out in seven years and filed it under irrelevant.

What I hadn't prepared for was the reality of those shoulders, broader now, the way the low light cuts across muscle and skin. My glass is suddenly very empty.

Liam is already moving.

“We're going to need more champagne,” he announces.

“We've been here four minutes,” Ethan says dryly.

“Exactly.” Liam points at me on his way past. “Don't go anywhere.”

“I literally have nowhere to go.”

“Perfect.”

He's down the stairs before anyone can argue.

The rooftop feels smaller without him. Quieter. The easy buffer he provides is gone, leaving an edge behind. The water suddenly feels hotter.

Ethan steps out of his jeans with quiet efficiency.

“Boxer briefs,” Liam announces the moment he returns, like he's reading from a menu. “Very on brand.”

Andrew follows, lowering himself into the water.

“Classic boxers, Hayes. Predictable.” Then Liam looks straight at me, thumbs already hooked into his own waistband, grin wide and thoroughly enjoying himself. “As for me—”

“Liam.”