“Finally. Asher for the win. I’m all-in on shitfaced,” Owen said, raising his glass as well, chugging the dark lager.

Fiona had been around these guys long enough to know that resistance was futile, and if she was really being honest, she didn’t feel like working anyway.

One pitcher turned to two, then three, then the happy-hour crowd started rolling in. Her uncles Killian and Justin stopped by their table to say hello as they waited for their wife, Lily, to join them after she got off work at the Baltimore aquarium. They were indulging in their weekly Sweet Thursday tradition, which Uncle Killian explained was their way of getting a jump on the weekend, a pregame happy hour to kick off Friday and Saturday with style. They went to grab a table, their usual from the looks of it, and ordered their own pitcher of Guinness.

She glanced around the room, delighted to be in the midst of so many members of her family. This didn’t happen often, so when it did, she made sure she enjoyed it.

Tris and Padraig loved live music, so whenever they could get someone to play at the bar, they did. The Thursday-night crowd was being treated to some classic covers by a local band.

Fiona took another sip of beer, then giggled at something Asher said, the Guinness working its way through her until she felt boneless and carefree. Teddy’s bonbon arrived shortly after six, and the two of them grabbed a table in a quiet corner. The guy was real—and he was even better looking in person.

“Maybe I should check out Tinder,” she murmured.

Her words captured both Asher’s and Owen’s attention, and she realized the beer had loosened her tongue.

“Wouldn’t that piss Brock off?” Owen asked. Her best friends had just sort of begrudgingly accepted her boyfriend. Which meant she was about to make both of them very happy.

“We broke up.”

Owen’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Asher was even slower to believe. “When?”

She bit her lip. “Six weeks ago.”

“What?” Owen asked loudly, drawing attention from several nearby tables. “Why are we just now hearing about this?”

She crinkled her nose. “Because it was kind of a dick move on my part.”

Asher smiled. “What did you do?”

“Dumped him on Valentine’s Day,” she mumbled.

Owen’s brows creased, clearly confused. “Didn’t he send you a dozen long stems on Valentine’s? You got them at the office and all the women acted like he’d sent you a million bucks or something.”

She nodded. “Yeah. He sent flowers.”

“Wow,” Asher said. “That is a dick move.”

Owen shook his head. “I’m not buying it. Not buying that as your reason for not telling us about the breakup. It’s been six weeks, Fee. You’ve had plenty of opportunities to say something. Why didn’t you?”

She needed new friends. Ones who didn’t know her so well. She never got away with a damn thing with these guys. “I was afraid I’d backslide.”

Asher sighed. “The big gesture.”

She nodded, then instantly revised her opinion. In truth, there was something very comforting and safe in being able to say absolutely anything without fear of judgment. Owen, Asher and Teddy loved her, warts and all.

“He didn’t really send those roses. The card was signed ‘Love, Brock’…in his secretary’s handwriting.”

Owen grinned. “Much as it pains me to say this, you should probably cut him some slack. The guy is in Dubai, Fee.”

Brock Vanderbilt was a talented civil engineer, and it wasn’t unusual for his job to take him out of the state or the country for several months at a time. However, the old adage that absence makes the heart fonder never seemed to apply to her and Brock. They were as tumultuous on different continents as they were in the same city.

The man was her white whale, her Kryptonite. She’d started dating him a few months after she and Owen split in college and over the past five years, they’d engaged in a never-ending cycle of on-again, off-again. Teddy joked after their last split that they’d just broken Ross and Rachel’s record on Friends. At least, she thought it was a joke. Sadly, as a comedy writer, she knew every joke held a kernel of truth.

The problem was, Brock was a master of big gestures. She’d break things off, then he’d swoop back on the scene with some over-the-top, killer romantic gesture and, like a sucker, she’d fall for it, hook, line and Cyndi Lauper-style. Time after time.

“I know he’s in Dubai. It’s just…God, I keep trying to make him something he’s not.”

“He’s not your dad.”

This wasn’t a new conversation. “I know, Asher. My father adores my mom and they love spending time together—even if it’s doing something as simple as watching a movie on the couch with microwave popcorn. I mean, he seriously loves her, would die for her, and he wants to be with her. Is it so wrong to want the same thing? To want to be the center of someone’s universe? To matter to someone on that level?”

Asher chuckled. “Admit it. You want to be the center of everyone’s universe, Fee.”

“Oh, shut up. I do not.” Then, because she could never lie to them, she added, “Not much, anyway.”

Owen wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. “You can be the center of mine. And Asher’s and Teddy’s.”

She pulled away from his friendly embrace, her eyes narrowed. “You mean I’m not already?”

Owen picked up his beer. “Stuck my foot in it there. So what makes you think the breakup is going to stick this time?”

“I told you. It’s been six weeks. All my previous backslides all occurred within two weeks of the split.”

“Which would be impressive—if Brock were in the country. But it’s easy to swear off a guy who’s on another continent. What happens when he reappears in California and stands outside your bedroom window with a boom box over his head like fucking John Cusack?” Owen asked.

“Oooo…Say Anything,” she murmured. “That would be hot. And hard to resist.” She, Asher, Teddy and Owen had a standing monthly date where they ate pepperoni pizza, drank cheap beer and watched cheesy eighties movies. It was hands down Fiona’s favorite night of every month. Last month’s fare had been Doc Hollywood. A dashing, young Michael J. Fox in the ’80s. Her kind of man.

“Seriously, Fiona,” Asher said. “You have to admit your record when it comes to Brock isn’t stellar. What makes this any different from the last twenty-two breakups?”

And this was why she hadn’t told the guys about dumping Brock. Because she did have a shitty track record. And even though, deep down in her heart, she knew it was over, there was nothing short of time that was going to prove her sincerity to her best friends.

“There have only been eight legit breakups,” she said, in a weak-hearted attempt to defend herself.

“And forty-seven minor skirmishes,” Asher added to tease her.

“Listen, I get it. I know I’ve been the queen of backsliding when it comes to Brock, and me just saying it’s different this time doesn’t really hold a lot of weight, but—”

“Why do you think it’s different this time?” Leave it to Asher to give her a chance. While Owen was clearly still skeptical, Asher would always believe. It was what she loved about both of them. One kept her grounded while the other let her dream.

“I got those roses, saw the card, and realized we were both just going through the motions. I didn’t get excited by the flowers. They didn’t spark any romantic feelings. In fact, they sort of pissed me off. Because I knew he’d sent them out of some sense of obligation after his secretary reminded him it was Valentine’s Day. When he’s away, he’s not thinking about me. And that was when I realized…I’m never thinking about him, either. When he’s around, we serve as eye candy for the other’s work functions, we go out to fancy restaurants, and he drags me to that stuffy country club he belongs to, where I pretend to enjoy spending time with all the snooty doctors’ wives while he talks golf, drinks whiskey and smokes cigars.”

“You don’t like those women?” Owen asked, feigning shock. If there was one thing they could rely on, it was Fiona’s head exploding after a night at the club. “And here I was thinking you were going to start training for the next marathon with them.”

“If I ever say ‘Oh, wouldn’t running twenty-six miles be a fun way to spend a Saturday?’ shoot me. You know the rule…”

“You only run that far if someone is chasing you with a knife,” Asher and Owen said in unison.

“Right. I jog every morning just so I can eat more fries and drink more wine. My running has a purpose.”

Asher put the conversation back on track. “I hate to be that guy, but none of these Brock complaints are exactly news, Fee.”

“I know. I’m sitting here pointing out all the bad stuff because I have to keep justifying to myself that I made the right decision. I called him when I got home on Valentine’s to say thanks and before I knew it, the words were sort of spilling out of me. I asked him if he loved me, and he said he did, but there was this tone in his voice…”

Owen sighed. “Are you sure you heard a tone?”

Fiona was big on tone. It was sort of her thing. And it drove the guys nuts. “Yes. He sounded tired. Like he was only saying he loved me because he had to.”

“That’s not a good tone.”

She looked at Owen, trying to decide if he was teasing her. When he didn’t crack a smile, she forged on. “I don’t love him anymore. I knew it on Valentine’s Day. I’m not sure I didn’t know it back in the summer when we split up the seventh time for those three days. I have to stop trying so hard to make him the one. He’s a nice guy, with a great job. And yes, he’s attractive, and sex with him was decent, but—”

“If a woman ever said sex with me was just ‘decent,’ I’d jump off a bridge. That’s not exactly high praise,” Asher muttered.

Fiona grinned, then finished her thought. “He doesn’t make my heart race anymore.”

“Okay,” Asher said quietly after studying her face a few moments, and she knew that she’d convinced him. Owen still looked dubious, but she’d prove it to him eventually. For now, she was glad to have come clean with them.

“Hey,” Teddy said, sitting back down at the booth. “Bonbon is in the bathroom. Thoughts?”

“He’s sex-on-a-stick fine,” Fiona said.

Teddy’s eyes lit up. “Right? Not bad to look at…aaaaaat allllllll.” He drew out the last two words. “It’s a shame he’s eleven eggs short of a dozen. What are you talking about over here? Looked serious for a second.”

Asher nodded his head toward her. “Fiona broke up with Brock on Valentine’s Day.”

Teddy’s expression didn’t change a bit. “When does he get back from Dubai?”

“May,” she said.

“Yeah. Right. Let’s revisit this conversation then. So, listen, about the sleeping arrangements in the hotel suite. There are two rooms, one with a king and the other with two queens. I’m thinking, since neither one of you are probably going to hook up tonight, that I should get my own room.”

Fiona looked at Owen. “I’m not the center of Teddy’s universe.”

He laughed. “Are you sure you want to be?”

Teddy snapped his fingers. “Focus, people. Bonbon. Boom-boom.” He glanced over at the table he just left. “Shit. He’s back. So we’re good on the room situation?”

Asher nodded. “We’re good.”

Teddy was gone within seconds.

Fiona watched as Teddy led his Tinder true love to the dance floor for an extremely provocative bump and grind. “I wish I was a gay guy.”

“If you were, Asher would never be able to hit on you. Since he’s super straight,” Owen joked.

She grinned, then glanced at her phone. “You know, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to check out some of those dating sites. I could try it while we’re here. Just as a test run, since I have my escape route back to the West Coast all lined up.”

Asher shook his head. “No. You and I are making a pact right now. No online-dating desperation.”

She leaned back and huffed. “Dammit, Ash. I’m not making that deal. I’m having a hard time finding a decent guy on my own. Teddy swipes right three times and boom, he’s getting lucky.”

“Have you seriously been looking around?” Owen asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. Kind of, but nothing’s clicking. I guess my wickedly good looks and brilliant mind just aren’t enough anymore. Dating sites might be my last hope.”

Owen laughed, reaching over to ruffle her hair—something he knew she hated—and she batted his hand away. “And you call me cocky.”

“I’m just saying…it’s been a long, cold winter and,” she gestured downward with a small pout, “Happy Clam is sad.”

“You know I hate it when you refer to your vagina as Happy Clam,” Asher said.

She rolled her eyes. “But it’s perfectly fine for you guys to call your dicks lightsabers.”

Owen stretched his legs, putting his feet on the bench seat Teddy left vacant. “Tinder isn’t the way to go.”

She scowled. “Says the TV star who can pick up a woman three steps outside his front door on any given day of the week.”

“Please refer to Teddy’s previous explanation of the difference. Hookup. I haven’t dated anyone I’d consider a long-term relationship with. And sometimes sleeping with groupies is worse than not dating at all.”

“Seriously?” Fiona said. “You’re bitching about getting laid? Who are you and where is Owen Winters?”

Owen grimaced and didn’t bother to argue his point any further.

Asher shrugged. “I’m siding with Fee on this one.”

She figured he would. Asher was only one month ahead of her in the newly alone stage. He and his longtime girlfriend, Christina, had split on New Year’s Eve—initiated by Asher and also a dick move, as they’d pointed out to him.

He fiddled with his mug. “At least you’re getting out and doing stuff, Owen. Apart from pizza-and-beer nights with you guys, my hand is getting quite a workout.”

Fiona nodded. “I had to replace the batteries on my old vibrator twice in the last year. Broke down a month ago and bought myself the Cadillac of vibrators in hopes of longevity.”

“Jesus,” Owen said. “Tell me again why we broke up?”

She punched him lightly on the arm, sorry he’d reminded her about their time together. Usually, she tried to forget that, tried to forget how sweet it had been with him. For all his playboy swagger, Owen had been a really considerate lover back in college. The guy had stamina, and when he went down, he stayed down until she went up and over. She’d dated too many guys who’d given Happy Clam the token swipe, then acted like it was her fault if she hadn’t come in eight seconds. She wasn’t a goddamn bull rider. A good orgasm took time.

Like Asher, most of her nights were quiet and lonely. She and the guys were together all day at work, so it wasn’t like she could expect them to entertain her at night too. They limited their after-hours interaction to a night or two a week and then the occasional weekend party, depending on what was happening in Hollywood. Lately, Fiona lived for those “extra” times.

She was young, so this should be the time she was out, sowing her wild oats, partying until she dropped. She’d fucked up, committing to Brock when she was still in college. She had squandered a lot of good years.

Then she’d talk to Ailis on the phone, hear her gush about Hunter, and realize she’d rather reap the damn grain and grow old with someone than play the field. She had tried to fool herself for years that person was Brock. Now she was back at square one with precious little dating experience under her belt.

“I think I want to get married,” she announced, not sure why she would say something so stupid out loud.

Owen turned his attention back to her as Asher said, “To who?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Somebody.”

Owen chuckled. “That’s a solid plan, Fee. I like it. You should run with that.”

“Smart-ass. I’m just saying hookups might be fine for you and Teddy, but I don’t want to do that.”

Owen shrugged one shoulder. “Not sure you have much of a choice. That’s called single life.”

“Single.” She hadn’t really attached that word to her name, which was ridiculous since that’s what she’d been for six weeks. She perked up. “Hey, you know what? I am single.” Her breakups with Brock in the past had been too short and halfhearted for her to ever really manage to change the Facebook status. Then something else occurred to her. “I think this is the first time in history that all four of us have been single at the same time.”

Asher considered that. “You’re right.”

Owen slapped the table excitedly. “We should have a swingin’ singles party.”

If Fiona was known for her tone-reading abilities, Owen was famous for finding reasons to party. She swore the guy celebrated something almost daily, be it winning an Emmy all the way to no cavities at the dentist. He was an expert celebrator.

However, this time, Fiona was all-in. “I agree. I’ll get my cousins on board. Saturday night. Big bash upstairs.”

“I like it. And you realize it’s April Fools’ Day on Saturday, right? Sort of screams theme party.” Owen lifted his glass and took a long swig of beer.

And that was when Fiona knew exactly what the theme should be. “You’re right. But not swingin’ singles. That’s too nineteen-seventy.”

Owen frowned. “I like that theme.”

She shook her head, knowing he’d like hers better. “Nope. We’re hosting an Anything Goes Night.”

Owen’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah.”

“Hey. That’s perfect,” Asher said with a grin. “A test drive of the finale. That has the potential to help with some of the plot holes Al pointed out.”

Owen groaned. “It’s a party, Ash. Not work. Repeat after me. Not work.”

Asher grinned but refused to say the words.

“Owen is right. Here’s to celebrating our singleness…with raucous, improper and immature behavior,” Fiona said as a toast.

Owen laughed. “My kind of party.”

She, Asher and Owen tapped their glasses, draining them in an unspoken chugging contest, and then they ordered another pitcher.

Shit just got real.