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My first stop is the bathroom because, let’s face it, I’ve had way too much bubbly, and I have to pee. Besides, it’s a safe place to order a ride and wait it out.

The car is pretty quick, and I only have to stand outside on the curb for a minute before I slide in and get whisked off to Shawna’s place. The driver must make some serious assumptions when he sees my dress and how the tears smear all of Shawna’s careful work across my face.

I’m crying, sure, but I’m not sobbing. How did I think that sleeping with three men—three men that work together mind you—wouldn’t get out? That they wouldn’t discover the truth?

Well, I did know, but I thought I had more control over it all than I did. Obviously.

But I’m also not wrong in my stance. Not a single one of them has asked me to be exclusive. Has asked me if I’m single. Has asked me if I’m sleeping with anyone else.

Fuck, for all I know, they could have a lineup of honies warming their beds. How am I supposed to know? We haven’t talked about it.

Yet, by the way they responded in that room, I have a feeling that I’m the only one for each of them. That makes me feel a little more like a slut than I’m comfortable with at the moment.

It’s not like I’m ashamed of my body or my sexuality or who I share myself with.

But I can’t put the blame wholly on them. Can I?

God, this is all too much. Overwhelming.

Hence the tears and smeared makeup and early night of running back to my best friend to help me with my soap opera life.

The moment I’m standing in front of Shawna’s, her door opens before I can knock and she tugs me into her apartment. Her arms around me, rocking me side to side in a familiar way. It’s accompanied all of my heartbreaks over the years.

I sink into her embrace and allow myself to wallow for only a few minutes before I extract myself from her comforting hug.

Shawna frowns and wipes away the mascara I’m sure is staining my cheeks now. “What happened? Dr. Wright’s ex didn’t show up and cause a scene, did she?”

That yanks a howling laugh out of me. It’s borderline hysterical, but I’m shaking my head. “No. No, nothing that dramatic.”

Although what actually happened was dramatic enough to be sure. At least, for me. I’m sure it could have blown up way worse.

God, the hurt on Matteo’s face when he finally released me. He hasn’t done anything to deserve my dishonesty with him. Even if I’m right, and he did have that chance when we were still in his bed to give me the answers I needed.

How can I blame him though? It’s not like admitting your feelings is easy. And maybe it’s too soon with each of them to have that discussion.

But now? Now, we don’t have a choice. Or I have to make a choice, and that thought makes my chest hurt something fierce.

Shawna pulls me to her couch, and we fall into a familiar setup, bottle of wine open on the coffee table, a glass in each of our hands.

“Alright. Start from the beginning and tell me where it all went wrong.”

So, I do, and the moment we get to that private room, I can tell she knows why I’m in such tattered ruins.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration, my dress is still beautiful—nearly perfect—after the night I’ve had. And so much of it was fun.

But describing the way each of them looked when they found out about each other…

I drain the rest of my wine and pour myself a new glass.

“They all looked devastated.”

“How do you feel about them all? Situation aside. Think about it. If you’d caught them with another woman, how would you feel?” Shawna raises a single brow at me, an admonishment for not having considered this in the first place.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Jealous? But also, not surprised, I guess. Okay, I would have been surprised if I’d caught Matteo with someone else, but…”

“But not Nick? Not even after you met his ex and that whole thing went down?”

I deflate. “No, I would have been surprised and hurt by that too.”

Because he’d done so much to make up for what happened that day.

“Yeah, he seemed pretty smitten with you when we went to the beach. And it certainly wasn’t all sexual either, although…” Shawna waves her hand in front of her face like she’s hot. “He certainly thinks you’re sexy. He couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off of you that entire afternoon.”

I grimace and flush. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t you also have that come-to-Jesus talk with Dr. Wright too?”

I laugh. “Waylen. I think I can call him by his first name now.”

Shawna grins at me. “Don’t try and change the subject.”

“Yes, we did. But we haven’t gotten much further than sex.” Even if having him near me makes my heart speed up. And the way he defended me at the gala to that rude donor…

He’s trying.

I down another half glass of wine, barely tasting it.

But it mixes with the champagne, and I’m feeling heavy, floaty, like I’m sinking slowly into a warm pool of water.

“And now, you have to make a choice between the three of them?”

“Mmm. They told me not to rush into anything, but yes, it seems that way. I’m nowhere near ready for that.”

Shawna hums. “And there’s no way to keep seeing all three of them until you feel solid in making that kind of decision?”

I bark out a laugh. “I highly doubt it.”

“Okay. Well, I don’t think this is something we’re going to be able to talk through tonight. Especially not with how quickly you’re fading. Let me grab you some spare sweats before you fall asleep in that dress and absolutely ruin it.”

She coaxes me to the bathroom, helping me out of the dress and into some ill-fitting sweats before I completely crash on her couch.

A pang of disappointment hits me before the dreams take over because I’d imagined Waylen unzipping and undressing me when I’d put it on.

When I wake from a restless night of chasing and being chased by all three of my men, of being caught again and again and pulled in different directions, I have a single question.

What’s the difference between being private about my love life at work and hiding it? I don’t feel like I hid anything while I was at work. But I tried to be a little discrete. Closing the door, but I didn’t keep that I was closed in with them any secret.

I eat lunch with Nick nearly every day. I’m closed in Matteo’s office almost daily as well. And Waylen liked to have me visit one of his offices two or three times a week. I didn’t sneak in and out. I didn’t refrain from interacting with them outside of those private moments either.

It beats back the shame that built in me overnight.

But settling that truth for myself doesn’t have me anywhere closer to making a decision.

I don’t want to.

They’ve each equally found their spaces in my heart.

Defeat weighs me down and makes it difficult for me to get up and get myself home. I can’t wallow on Shawna’s couch all day. She has things to do that don’t involve being my emotional babysitter.

I make it home early, and thankfully, it’s Sunday, so no one is home to see my shame. My dress is rumpled but intact, and the borrowed sweats are uncomfortable. I hang the dress on the back of my door and take a long, hot shower.

It undoes some of the knots in my shoulders and opens up some of the throbbing in my head.

After two rounds of deep cleansing body wash, I moisturize and let my hair air dry.

Scrounging up some breakfast pulls together a few leftover slices of homemade sourdough, a little guacamole, a half breast of chicken parm, and a soft-boiled egg, and somehow, the rest of the pounding behind my eyes eases.

I’m just finished washing my dishes and drinking down my second cup of coffee when the doorbell rings.

Shit. I’m not really dressed to answer the door in my shorts and T-shirt. No bra. No undies. Just a comfy I’m-not-leaving-my-house outfit.

Sighing, I lean behind the door as I open it a crack, hiding my body as best as I can.

Nick, Matteo, and Waylen are standing on my porch.

This is not enough time for me to decide.