Hailey:

Two weeks ago, my fiancé broke up with me, because he wanted to marry my best friend slash maid-of-honor instead.

Today should have been my wedding day. Instead, I’m in my favorite drinking spot, The Oarhouse. Though it’s Saturday night and the place is a zoo, I’ve got a spot at the bar and the entire night ahead of me. I’m prepared to get completely, blindingly drunk.

The bartender, Audrey, puts a shot of vodka in front of me, a sympathetic expression on her face. “Keep them coming,” I advise. “Don’t stop until I fall off this stool.”

She frowns. “Matt’s a doucheweasel,” she says frankly, “and the kindest thing that I can call Skylar is twatwaffle. But Hailey, getting wasted is not the answer.”

Is this the time for AA lectures, I ask you? I pick up the shot glass and tip it down my throat. It burns all the way down to my gut. My eyes water, but I blink the tears away. I’m not going to cry. The two of them don’t deserve it.

Audrey shakes her head and moves away to a flannel-wearing hipster holding a twenty in his hand. I go back to being miserable. For long minutes, I’m lost in my thoughts. How could I have not seen it? Did everyone know? God, I feel like such a fool.

Never again.

The door opens, and two men enter the bar, settling on the last two vacant barstools in the Oarhouse, immediately to the right of me. I glance up, not out of curiosity, but because Audrey’s nowhere in sight and I need a refill, but my gaze happens to fall on the guys who’ve just walked in, and holy tamale!

Hot. Really hot. Tall, sculpted male perfection. Both of them.

So much irony.

Any other day, I’d be thanking the universe for the gift of eye candy. Not today. Right now, the only thing I’m interested in is that bottle of Stoli sitting on a shelf behind the counter.

Audrey bustles up and hugs one of the guys. “About time you ventured into the city, Nick,” she scolds him. “I haven’t seen you in two years. You want a pint?”

“Please.” Nick has a nice voice. Smooth, deep. It’s a sexy voice. Of course, Nick’s probably an asshole. “You remember Sean, don’t you?” he asks.

“Of course.” She sets two pints of the house draft beer in front of them and then pours me another shot, one I down instantly. Audrey looks exasperated. “Geez, slow it down, will you? Order some food, Hailey, or I’m going to have to cut you off.”

Fair enough. “Fries.”

She punches the order into her computer. The guy sitting next to me—Nick—turns in his seat. “Bad day?”

Not in a conversational mood, buddy. “You have no idea,” I answer shortly.

His lips curl up. “It helps to talk about it.”

I lift my head up to glare at him, and the full force of his smile hits me. It should be against the law to be this good-looking. The stubble on his face shines golden under the sheen of the bar lights. His deep blue eyes are crinkled with warm concern, and for an instant—for one crazy instant—I’m tempted to tell him everything.

“How do you know?” I’m being rude, and I don’t care. “Are you a shrink?”

He chuckles, undeterred by my surly tone. “I’m a bartender,” he replies easily. “Almost the same thing. I’m Nick O’Sullivan.”

“Hailey,” I answer grudgingly.

The other guy leans forward. “I’m Sean Keefer.” His grey eyes run over me. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but under the circumstances…”

“I should probably wait for my fries.”

“Of course.” Got to give him credit; he doesn’t pout. He takes a drink of his beer, his shoulders relaxed. There’s a game of college football on the screen in front of us, and the quarterback gets sacked. The men’s attention shifts away from me, and they both wince. Sean says something to Nick about rookie players, Nick replies, and I return to my zone of misery.

Only for five minutes. Audrey sets my food in front of me. “Eat,” she orders.

I dig into the basket of deep-fried goodness. For months, I’ve been starving myself to fit into my stupid wedding dress. No carbs, no sugar, no fried food, no soda. Now that that’s over, I can eat like a real person again.

Nick looks amused. “Ready to talk yet?”

“Nope.” I look back and forth from the two men. “Unless you want to talk about why McPherson started Toulson instead of Giardino.”

Sean’s eyes widen. “A college football fan? That’s a surprise.”

Normally, a statement like that will set off my feminist hackles, but I can’t seem to summon up the energy. I content myself with a muttered “Sexist much?”

Sean inclines his head. “You’re right,” he concedes. “That was sexist. So, Hailey, you think Giardino should start?”

The quarterback on the screen has just thrown a pick. “Can it hurt?” I ask pointedly as the two men wince.

I’m not really sure how, but we fall into conversation. Sean tells me he’s a firefighter, and I resist the urge to make a joke about the size of his hose. I also find out they’re not from Portland. The two of them are in town for Sean’s sister’s wedding. “We’re also catching up on training while we’re here,” Nick adds.

The smile vanishes off my face at the mention of weddings. Where is Audrey? I need more Stoli, stat. “What kind of training?” I ask to take my mind off Matt and Skylar.

“Technology advances in firefighting,” Sean replies.

“Both of you? I thought Nick was a bartender.”

Nick grins. “And a volunteer firefighter.”

Holy smokes, they’re both firefighters. A dozen pick-up lines run through my head. Can I hit your hydrant? Do firemen really have the longest hoses? Can I slide down your pole?

Get your head out of the gutter, Hailey.

“What about you, Hailey?” Nick continues. “What do you do?”

“I’m the editor of a magazine called Girl Power.” I give them a challenging look. “A feminist magazine.”

The three words guys are terrified of?

1. Marriage.
2. Commitment.
3. Feminism.

Not necessarily in that order.

If I’m expecting them to inch away, they’re too smooth to be obvious about it. “You made a face when I mentioned Kathleen’s wedding,” Sean comments, his eyebrows raised. “Is that against the feminist rules?”

I open my mouth to hotly point out that he’s being a sexist asshole again, but then I see his grey eyes twinkling with amusement. My insides do a funny little twitch. Sean’s baiting me, and I’m falling for it. “Not everyone is searching for love.” My glass is empty, and Audrey is on the far end of the bar. I ate a fry, damn it. It’s time for another drink.

Nick’s blue eyes rest on me thoughtfully. “What are you searching for?”

“Tonight? Distraction.”

“In a bottle of vodka?”

“It’s as good a place as any,” I retort. “Do you have a better idea?”

They don’t reply right away. The air changes. The silence stretches between us, thick and pregnant with possibility. A frisson of excitement dances down my spine, the feeling shocking after two weeks of numb indifference.

Finally, Sean replies. “My hotel is around the corner.”

Bad idea. Really bad idea. “You think I should sleep with one of you.” I shake my head. “The vodka is a safer alternative.”

“One of us,” Nick says, never taking his eyes off me. “Or both.”

Goosebumps erupt on my skin, a visible expression of the sudden anticipation that courses through my blood. I swallow hard, tempted beyond belief. They’re not from Portland. Would a mindless one-night stand be the worst thing that I could do right now?

“Both?” I take a deep breath. “That seems like twice the amount of work.”

“What a pessimist you are, Hailey,” Sean says. “What if it’s twice the pleasure?” He pulls his wallet from his pocket and places a black card in front of me. “Room 421 at the Monaco.”

“Audrey is my cousin,” Nick adds. “She’ll vouch for us.”

I catch a glimpse of the time. Right now, Matt and I should have been making our way to the dance floor, ready to have the first, ceremonial dance as husband and wife. My chest hurts with the enormity of my loss.

Fuck it. My fingers close over the room key.

* * *

How many times have I laid awake at night, remembering them, masturbating to those memories?

At the start, almost all the time. When depression took hold of me, I used the images from my night with Nick and Sean to bring me back. When things got bad, I would remember the heat in their eyes as they looked at me, the aching in my core as they touched me. I would remember the way I felt when Sean parted my legs and tasted me. I would remember Nick’s groan of need as I took his cock in my mouth, the slight pinprick of pain as he wound his fingers into my hair and wordlessly tugged me closer…

Fate’s a cruel bitch. It was a one-night stand. What are the odds that I’d ever run into Nick and Sean again?

And yet, here they are.