Can my day get any worse? The freezer is empty, and there’s no ice cream left. The cupboards are bare, and there’s no chocolate.

I frown. How did I forget to stock up on the essential food groups? What’s a girl to do when there’s no sugar in the house?

Briefly, I toy with the idea of having a glass of wine. But I know drowning my sorrows will not solve anything.

What will solve my problems?

The answer is obvious, sort of. I know once upon a time the sensible me, the one who never stepped out of line, would say the way forward is to break it off with Scott and Brad and then bow to Ed’s demands and write one of them out of the show.

Everyone’s replaceable, I know that.

But something is changing in me. I don’t want to dump Scott and Brad. I can’t explain it, but I love them both.

I want them both.

So the other option is to work on Ed and Ian.

The niggling feeling deep inside with respect to Ed and Ian is intensifying. There’s something not quite right about the two of them. I’m sure there’s some kind of secret—a secret I need to discover.

A knock on the door is a welcome distraction.

When my eyes feast on my visitors, my bad mood vanishes for a little while.

“Come in.” I step back and hold out my cheek to receive a kiss.

Both oblige.

As soon as our skins touch, there’s an explosion of desire. Perhaps I won’t need sugar or fat today to make myself feel better.

Scott produces three large cups of coffee.

“Strong and black.” He holds out a cup for me. “Just the way you like it.”

I grin.

Our fingers touch. “You know me too well,” I purr.

Brad clears his throat.

“And something fatty and full of sugar.”

I wink at him.

“Did you bring cream as well?” As I ask the question, I lick my lips. “There’s so much one can do with cream.”

Brad chuckles.

“We forgot the cream.” He turns to Scott and gives him a playful slap on the shoulder.

Scott shrugs.

“Never mind. I’m sure next time we can try the cream.”

We laugh.

I walk to the kitchen to get plates and a knife.

Several minutes later, we are seating on the floor of my living room, backs to the couch.

Mmm, this is nice. I grin inwardly. Pity about the other problem in my life, the one called Ed and Ian.

By my third mouthful of chocolate cake, I decide I better fess up.

“I know you’re both worried about all these articles. I’ve read them.”

Scott and Brad exchange a quick glance.

Before I say more on the subject, I take a sip of coffee and stuff more cake into my face. Boy, this feels good.

“I can’t understand why the gossip columnist is going after us,” I say with my mouth full.

Neither Brad nor Scott say anything.

“All this gossip, innuendo, and hinting is making me sick. Why do journos need to write this crap?”

I take another piece of cake. I’m sure later I’ll regret it, but right now I crave more.

“People want to read that shit,” Brad answers my question.

Scott has gone into the kitchen. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but it feels right he treats the place as his own. It shows commitment on his part.

I lean my head against the back of the couch.

“Do people really want to read about what I have for breakfast, who I fuck, and when I fart?”

Brad laughs.

Scott returns with three tall glasses and a bottle of sparkling red.

“It’s low alcohol,” he announces and deposits his goodies on the coffee table. Then he’s gone again.

“I mean, I don’t really want to know what Ed gets up.”

“You’re not Ed. You’re Kayla, head writer of a successful television show. People want to read your gossip.”

“And what’s this bullshit blind gossip anyway?” I feel my insides bubble with anger.

“Well, it leaves it open to speculation.” Scott has come back into the room. This time, he’s carrying a platter of cheese and biscuits.

“Hardly,” I interject and grab some cheese. “I mean, whoever wrote yesterday’s piece may as well have used my name.” I try and recall the exact words. I’m sure the writer had referred to the hot new talented head writer from the show about the three brothers.

As if that leaves people guessing about the identity.

“Come, Kayla.” Scott has come to sit next to me. “It wasn’t that bad.” I see him glance at Brad. “And we’re taking care of it.”

I roll my eyes. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what they’re trying to do, but the enormity just hits me.

“At this rate, I’ll soon be more famous for my sex life than for my writing.”

Don’t cry, I think to myself and bite my bottom lip. “I want to be known for my writing.”

Life sucks, I decide. Sure, I know I should be grateful to have these two caring blokes by my side, but it still sucks.

I’ve worked hard to become a writer, and here I was still trying to prove myself to some dickhead who shouldn’t be doing the job he was doing.

“Kayla, listen to me.” Brad has taken a hold of my arm.

At his touch, nerve endings tingle in anticipation. Brain activity changes to a different mode.

“Scott and I are looking into it, and we will take care of it.”

“We will Kayla. We won’t let anyone ruin your career.”

I look at Scott and then at Brad.

“And we will make sure we fix it before any major damage is done. Promise,” Brad adds and kisses me on the tip of my nose. The touch of his lips is light like a feather. A yearning manifests between my legs for his touch and his lips.

They both sound so earnest and sincere.

“Thank you,” I whisper, a smile dancing on my lips.