Page 25 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

The tile presses cool against my forehead. Water roars loud in my ears. Eventually the shaking eases.

I stay until the water runs clear.

* * *

They're already in the kitchen when I come out.

All three of them. Dressed, or close enough—Liam with his shirt untucked, Ethan buttoned to the collar, Andrew with sleeves rolled and a coffee cup going cold in his hand. A conversation I wasn't part of stops when I walk in.

Ethan looks up first.

Like he's been awake for hours. Like last night has already been neatly categorized and filed away.

The others haven't.

Liam's shoulders carry a tightness that doesn't belong there.

“Morning,” Ethan says.

One word. That's how we're doing this.

“Morning,” I reply.

The coffee maker finishes its cycle. No one moves for it.

Ethan sets his cup down.

“We think—” He stops. Starts again, cleaner. “Last night was a mistake. Connor can't know. It doesn't happen again.”

It lands like a door slamming shut.

Nobody speaks right away.

Liam's jaw works, like he's biting back whatever wants to come out. His usual easy grin is nowhere in sight. Andrew stares into his untouched coffee, knuckles white around the mug. The silence stretches. Everything none of us are saying fills it.

I pull the robe tighter around myself, suddenly aware of how little fabric stands between me and the memory of their hands.

“You're right,” I say, too quickly. “It was a mistake. It won't happen again.”

My body doesn't agree with a single word.

I can still feel the ghost of Andrew's arm still around me, how Liam's laugh had vibrated against my neck, the precise way Ethan had watched me come undone. My thighs ache with the reminder. My skin still feels too sensitive, like every nerve ending is waiting for the next touch.

Ethan nods once, crisp and final.

Liam finally looks up. His eyes find mine, raw and direct. “Was it?” he asks quietly.

The question sits between us.

Not for the room. Just for me.

Then it dies.

“Riley—” he starts, voice unsteady, like he doesn't actually know what comes next.

“I know,” I cut in. “It won't.”

No one argues.