ONE
Resolutions are bullshit.
Most of them, anyway. I’ve never met a single person who makes a New Year’s resolution and actually keeps it. I’m no exception.
Lose twenty pounds.
Practice mindfulness.
Unplug more.
Live in the moment.
You name it, I’ve claimed it…usually while drunk on cheap champagne and false hope.
But this year is different. Ithasto be. Because if I don’t get my shit together, I’m going to boomerang right back into the arms—plural—of two men I absolutely should not be thinking about come the first of the year.
While Alma finishes up in the stall, I open a new note in my phone. My fingers hover for a second before I finally type the words I’ve been avoiding for months. Words I kept hoping I wouldn’t need, that things would magically work themselves out.
No repeats. No regrets.
A dull ache tugs at my chest as I read and reread those four little words. I don’twantto be done with them. God and every deity in the universe knows I don’t. Wanting them, however, is what started this mess in the first place.
Last Christmas Eve was supposed to be a one-time thing. A wild, reckless, festive-as-fuck memory with Nick, Klaus,andJack. A night that should’ve been filed underyou have one too many screws loose and read too many booksand then buried it six feet under.
But Nick left his number on the couch—and my stupid ass used it.
When the new year rolled around, Jack bowed out fast (thank God) snatching up a girlfriend by Valentine’s Day and exempting himself from the romantic Hunger Games entirely. Nick and Klaus, however, didn’t. They kept texting. Kept wanting to see me; individually, separately, and on their own terms.
And I won’t lie… Being wanted by both of them? It was as intoxicating as being caughtbetweenthem on Christmas Eve.
Nick made it clear from the start he wasn’t looking for exclusivity. No promises, no pressure, no strings. An easy, clean, and controlled arrangement. Klaus, on the other hand… That man dove face-first into feelings he tried to pretend were casual.Spoiler: they weren’t.He wanted me, only me, and the more he realized I was still seeing Nick, too, the more tense—and possessive—he became.
That was a problem in and of itself. The real problem here was me, though. I selfishly wanted them both. But Klaus firmly stated he didn’t think he could handle sharing long-term, and I… I refused to choose. So I did the worst thing possible, something I swore I’d never do because I know how much it hurts.
I stopped replying.
To both of them.
Cold turkey.
If avoiding your problems was an Olympic sport, I deserve the gold medalanda podium speech.
Nick, of course, didn’t push. He never wanted commitment in the first place, so my lack of a reply after his first couple of messages went unanswered meant shit to him. Klaus didn’t follow up either, though. Hurt pride and jealousy make a hell of a combo, and my silence told him everything he needed to know.
The stall lock clicks undone, snapping me back into the here and now. I shove my phone between my tits just as Alma steps out and heads for the sinks. Purple is definitely her color. The sequin-encrusted dress clinging to her body relays as much.
“You okay?” she asks, making quick work of washing her hands.
Our eyes meet in the mirror and I instantly force the brightest, fakest smile imaginable, the gold filigree edges of my mask digging into my cheeks. “Yeah, all good.”
She doesn’t buy that for a second, but humors me and dries up without another word. That is, until we’re back in the hallway and she hooks an arm through mine like a woman on a mission, the pin straight strands of her dark hair tickling my shoulder. “Spill your guts,” she demands. “What happened in the two minutes I was hovering over a questionable toilet? You were fine when I went in.”
“I’m just…reflecting on the year, that’s all,” I say with a shrug, smoothing a hand down the front of my black velvet dress.
“Considering you got a promotionandspent most of the year getting railed by two hotties, I’d expect more fond nostalgia.”
I sigh. “The latter is the problem.”
