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“And you’d want your friend to be there too? He’d be interested in seeing what’s under both this slutty excuse for a skirt and my silly little sweater?”

“Mmmhmm.” She bites down on the swell of her bottom lip. Nodding slowly.

Right now, I don’t give a shit that I can’t remember her name. I don’t even care if who she’s talking about is the guy with blue eyes or not. I’m very much into the idea of whatever depravity this is, even if it’s an unexpected proposition in the middle of a party in a random student house’s kitchen.

I mean, threesomes don’t turn up and flutter their eyelashes at you every day.

“Wanna play a game first?” I let my fingers drift down to the plastic cups and give them a flick.

“How about we go upstairs and play a private game?” she counters.

“Deal.” I’m not even gonna pretend to be uninterested in that idea.

“I’ll get my friend. You grab a bottle …” She jerks her head in the direction of a selection of liquor sitting out on the kitchen counter. “And meet us upstairs. Second room on the left.” A wink and a cute little kiss blown my way are her last promises before she disappears.

Fuck yes.

I shove my phone in my back pocket and grab more tequila. Let me get obliterated and enjoy both a guy and a girl for a whole lot of no-strings-attached fun.

Thank you, Santa. I’ve obviously been a very good boy this year after all.

CHAPTER 2

Stick a bow on me and call me a GIFT.

Forget everything I said.

I’m about to have myself a very joyous threesome.

Sky:

What the hell, B? You’re gonna give me whiplash.

Two minutes ago you were talking about cheating exes …

Now you’re leaping into a game of naked Twister?

I smirk and take another sip of tequila straight from the bottle as I sway just inside the open doorway to the darkened bedroom. A bitter burn races down my throat, and I clench my teeth then let out a hiss while liquid fire tracks straight down to my stomach.

Second room on the left. Here I am.

Horny, tick. Festive, tick. Veins lit up with alcohol and anticipation like the Rockefeller tree, oh yeah. I’m more than ready to be extra nasty tonight.

The others aren’t here yet, so I continue bugging Sky over text—and okay, maybe gloating just a little about this unexpected turn of events while I’m at it—since she’s being booooring and studying and all.

And boring sounds a lot like sensible.

Squinting, I make an attempt to re-read her words written on the screen. As I do so and hover in place, a moment of far-too-sober clarity descends on me. Crap. Maybe this is too reckless? Am I seriously planning to jump into bed with a pair of total strangers just because I found out my ex-girlfriend is a cheat and a liar a few minutes ago?

I’m not that guy.

I’m a hopeless romantic.

I fucking love romance.

That’s the way I’m wired and probably explains everything about why I stuck around in a relationship that was going nowhere.

I love the idea of love, okay? Sue me.