Page 103 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

I keep my mouth shut. This isn’t my confession to make.

Wayne continues. “I know I shouldn’t be. She works for me. She lives in my house. I’m her boss. Evan’s attached to her. There are about a thousand reasons it’s wrong.”

Fletcher finally looks at him. “But?”

“But it doesn’t change anything,” Wayne says quietly. “Because I already crossed the line.”

That gets my attention.

Fletcher’s jaw tightens. “How crossed?”

Wayne’s eyes flick up, meet his. “We slept together. Before I knew who she was.”

I let out a low whistle. “Well. That explains the vibe.”

Wayne ignores me. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t know. But I’ll no longer pretend it didn’t happen.”

Fletcher absorbs that in silence.

“Okay,” he says finally.

Wayne blinks. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Fletcher replies. “Well, as you know, I’ve been seeing her too.”

I clear my throat before this turns into something requiring Tess’s bouncer voice.

“And for the record,” I add, light but sincere, “I think she’s gorgeous too. I spent a little bit of time with her, and I’m pretty sure there was… how do I put this? A vibe, I guess.”

They both look at me.

“What?” I shrug. “We’re being honest now, right?”

Fletcher huffs a laugh despite himself. Wayne rubs a hand over his face.

“Shit,” Wayne mutters. “This is a mess.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “But not the kind you fix by pretending it’s not there.”

We sit with it. Three glasses. Three men. One very complicated woman who has no idea we’re currently dissecting our collective lack of self-control over cheap whiskey.

Wayne finally looks up. “She deserves better than this. Than us acting like idiots behind her back.”

Fletcher nods. “Agreed.”

“So what?” Wayne asks. “We draw lines? Pretend this isn’t happening?”

I lean back, studying the condensation on my glass.

“Or,” I say slowly, “we stop making decisions for her.”

They both go quiet.

“She’s a grown woman,” I continue. “Smart. Funny. Knows what she wants more than she lets on. We can sit here all night arguing about what’s appropriate, or we can actually ask her what she thinks.”

Wayne’s brows knit. “You want to tell her… all of it?”

“I think,” I say gently, “she already knows more than we think. And if we don’t say it out loud, it’s only gonna get worse.”