I’M STUMPED.

It’s my night to cook dinner, and I have rudimentary kitchen skills. At best. The sauce smells good, but I’m going to chalk that up to my excellent jar opening skills. I peer into the other pot where the water is roiling pretty well, and the noodles are snaking around. But how do I know when they are done? I’m not even sure why I’m still here. Why I have “my night to cook dinner.” Why I didn’t just call my parents and go home.

The guys somehow just short circuit my brain whenever I try to make alternate plans. I have to admit, it’s not bad living here. They are kind of messy, but not filthy or anything. We take turns cooking dinner Sunday through Thursday, weekends are pizza or on your own. They don’t party very hard. Fletch takes his classes more seriously than Shane, but homework and studying are part of our everyday life. And I don’t think either of them will kill me in my sleep like my last roommate, so I guess it’s working out.

Except for the part where I don’t cook very well. It’s not like the guys are Michelin chefs, but they at least have a rudimentary understanding of basic meals. Despite my academic success, I have no idea how to boil pasta, I guess.

The package is less than helpful. “Cook until done” is not going to win any Nobel Prizes in dinner making. Uncle Google will know. I pick up my phone and search, but now I need to know if we want it al dente or ...or what? Al un-dente?

“Smells delish, little sis.” Shane says as he enters the kitchen and pulls a beer out of the fridge. “When’s dinner?”

Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?

“I don’t know. As soon as I figure out if the noodles are done. Do you know?”

“You gotta throw them at the wall.”

Right. I should have known better than to expect a serious answer from Shane.

“I’m being for real.”

I’ve been here a week, and it’s not possible to know when he’s teasing or truthing. So I just look at him and shake my head. “I’m supposed to throw a pot full of boiling water and spaghetti at the wall?”

He squares his jaw and looks to the heavens for help. “Throw a noodle at the wall. Not the pot. Not all the noodles. Just one. If it sticks, it’s done.”

I look back at my phone. Huh, he’s not teasing. That’s a thing.

We fish in the pot for one noodle, and I fling it at the wall. Success! Shane high-fives me, and I carry the pot to the sink to strain the water.

“I’ll clear the table. We can eat like civilized people at a table tonight.”

My heart clutches. I left my stuff out when I went to stir the sauce. My notebook is probably open.

“No! Wait!” I turn from the sink, but my glasses are steamed from the noodle water, and I can’t see him.

Please don’t let him—

“You’re using the scientific method to get laid, little bit?”

—see my notebook.

I tear my glasses off and cross the room. “Give it back.”

I try to grab the notebook, but he holds it easily over his head and out of my reach and starts reading from it. Damn my perfect penmanship. Why couldn’t I have chicken-scratch that no one but me can read?

“1. What will increase my chances of getting laid this year. 2. Research—”

I jump up in a freak moment of dexterity and manage to snag the notebook from his hand.

“Smells good in here,” Fletch says, coming into the kitchen and going right to the stove, lifting the lid on the sauce.

I close my eyes and clutch the notebook to my chest. I am going to die. How much did Shane see?

I think better on paper, and I think best using science. I have a problem, so I relied on both to help me figure it out. I need to get better with boys. I need to go on dates, get kissed, and see a penis that doesn’t belong to a porn star. So I started to break it down in my notebook using the scientific method because that is how I think.

I need Shane to not have seen too much of my notes.

“Why is your face so red?” Fletch asks.

“The steam from the noodles.” I nod toward the sink. “I was just straining them.”

I cast a warning glance at Shane. Pleading with my eyes for him to shut up.

“Are you really a virgin, Penelope?” he asks.

Well, that answers how much he saw.

I slump into a chair and groan. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you just asked me that.” I put my head down like we used to on our desks in school. I wish I could transport myself back there. Life was so much simpler then. I look up. “I’m not answering you.”

“It’s none of our business,” Fletch adds, shooting Shane a look and turning almost as red as I am.

“Yeah, none of your business,” I echo. “Could you just forget you saw that? Please?”

“What did you see?” Fletch asks.

“Velma here has been using her composition notebook to track her very naughty progress through her sexuality.”

“Stop it and don’t call me Velma. Seriously, if you keep talking I am going to my room and never coming out.”

“You’ll come out. I’m cooking tomorrow, and you like my Rice-a-Roni.”

“I will move out.” To a hermit cave deep in the woods. I will live alone and make soup out of pine cones and edible grasses. I will never speak to another human again.

Fletch fishes the strainer out of the sink and pours the noodles back into the pot. “Is there garlic bread?”

I nod. “Yeah, sorry. I need to put it in the oven.” I don’t set my book down as I go to finish the dinner.

There are too many people in the kitchen, but nobody is clearing out. I need to think. Process. But I can’t.

“So what’s going on?” Fletch asks me.

“Nothing.”

“Our girl here is on a heroine’s journey, man.” Shane teases, but his tone isn’t mean. It’s almost reverent. “How far have you gotten?”

I swing around. “This is embarrassing. Can we drop it?”

I turn back to the stove so I don’t have to look at either of them, but I feel Shane move up behind me. “Why haven’t you had a boyfriend? Are the boys in your town stupid?”

I shake my head. “It’s me. I’m ...a tragically late bloomer.”

He spins me around. “But you bloomed. That’s the important part.” He rakes his gaze down my body. “You def bloomed.”

His frank perusal of my body should build my confidence, but I’m still too mortified to enjoy it. I catalog it for later thought.

“So, what is the problem?” he asks. The shaggy, well-built, sexy guy who has probably never suffered a moment’s insecurity about his sex appeal will not understand my dilemma. I glance up at the other alpha hunk I live with, but he’s not much help.

“I don’t know how to talk to guys.”

Shane wrinkles his brow and shoots a glance over to Fletch. “You talk to us. We’re guys.”

I shake my head. “It’s different. Never mind. I feel stupid.”

“Leave her alone, Shane.”

“How far have you gotten?” So much for leave her alone, Shane.

“We are so not having this discussion.”

“Third? Second?” He stops, and I can see realization drawing across his too pretty face. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I’m going to die now. Right now. Please stop talking to me. Fletch...how did your test go today?”

He takes too long to answer, looking at me, then Shane. They share a wordless conversation. One Fletch is not happy about. “It went good. Thanks to your help.”

I turn around. “I didn’t do much. Shane, back up. I need to open the oven.”

He eases back, and I pull out the bread, still clutching my notebook. How could I have let him see it? I’ll have to bring it everywhere I go because no way he leaves it alone now. There are notes about my research that I will die if he sees.

Die more than I’ve already died in this kitchen tonight.

He takes the bread from me when it’s clear I can’t slice it and hold on to the notebook at the same time. “You’ve never been kissed.”

“Can we talk about something else that doesn’t involve what a loser I am? Please?”

“You’re not a loser, Pen,” Fletch says. “You’re waiting for the right guy.”

“No, I’m not,” “No, she’s not,” Shane and I say at the same time.

I glare at him. “I didn’t want to kiss anyone for a long time. And now...now it’s too late. I’m too ashamed and too nervous and...”

Shane hip bumps me. “You’re hardly too late. It’s not like you’re ninety-seven. And you’re stressing yourself out. That’s why you’re nervous. You need to just chill and get it over with.”

I swat at the air with the hand that’s not got my notebook clutched to my chest. “That’s easy for you to say. You have willing girls taking a number to be with you.” He nods like he agrees with my argument that women are literally willing to queue up for him. “Nobody wants to kiss me. No guys even want to talk to me.”

“We’ll kiss you.”

“Ha-ha.”

His eyes glow with a twinkle of mischief. That’s how I know I’m really in trouble. “We could kiss you. C’mon, Velma. Get your notebook out and take notes.”

Fletch opens the cupboard to get plates out. “Leave her alone, man.”

Yes, please. Leave me alone, man.

“You’re a science major, yeah? It’s just research.” Shane steps back to look at me seriously. “We’d never hurt you or make you do something you don’t want to do. You know that, right?”

If a hole could open up and swallow me whole right now, that’d be great. Please. I might have fared better with Sami.

But then I really look at Shane’s face. He is a lot of things, but disingenuous is not one.

“I trust you would never hurt me, Shane. But I’m just...not there yet. I’m too shy.”

Fletch is quiet as Shane pops up onto the counter. It must be nice to be so graceful. To know your body will just do whatever you want it to when you want it to do it. To trust that things don’t have to be serious all the time. Just let life come at you while you pop your butt onto a counter easily or go running or lift something heavy with no effort.

“All I’m saying is that you’re putting too much pressure on yourself about this. It’s a kiss. Or two kisses, as the case may be. You’ll feel a lot better when you cross it off your bucket list. And you won’t worry so much about kissing a guy you might really like if you feel like you know what you’re doing. All the books in the world aren’t going to give you experience.”

He’s right. Oh, my God. “I watch movies too. In slow motion.”

Shane has another conversation with Fletch without using words. Then he slides off the counter and palms my shoulders. I feel Fletch at my back, and I swallow hard. Is this really happening?

“Penelope, you know that we would never let anyone hurt you. I’d jump in front of a train for you. I’d empty my bank account for you. I’d sing a Bruno Mars song in public for you. You’re one of us now. You know that, right?”

I guess I do. It’s nice to hear. Jenna and my parents are really the only people I’ve ever trusted before.

“This is not your best idea, Shane,” Fletch says. But he hasn’t moved. I still feel his heavy presence behind me.

“You let us teach you about cooking, right? What’s the difference? Let us teach you about the wonderful world of dudes who aren’t good enough for you. It’s just spaghetti in the end.”

I’m struck mute, but I don’t say no.

It’s just spaghetti.

I blow out a breath. Jenna can’t help me from California, but Shane and Fletch know about guys. How to get them to talk to me. And kissing. How to do it. And Shane is sweet when he’s not being an ass. And Fletch is basically Prince Charming. I nod. “Okay.”

Fletch sighs heavily behind me. “Penelope—”

His breath is hot on the back of my neck. I look over my shoulder at him. “You don’t have to kiss me if you don't want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. You’re a pretty girl...”

“Sure, Fletch.”

He mumbles “shit” under his breath and turns me into the circle of his arms. Shane is behind me now, and they make eye contact. “This can’t be weird after, okay? Promise me we’re still good after this.”

“I promise,” I whisper.

He cups my jaw in his big hands and leans way down to my level, watching me watching him the whole way. “You going to close your eyes?”

I shake my head. “I’m doing research. I need to note what I see—”

His lips stop mine from moving, and my eyes close despite myself. His lips are firm. And soft. Why didn’t I think they would be soft?

His big hands shift a little, directing me to tilt so he can deepen the kiss.

Oh, wow.

He’s taking long, languid sips of my mouth, and I think my bones are melting. I want to be noting how much pressure he’s using, what angle our heads are, all the things that are important in a research log, but instead, I grasp his wrists and rise on to my tiptoes, trying to get closer. Aching for something I can’t name. When his tongue sweeps across my lips, my mouth opens in welcome like we’ve done this a thousand times. The stroke of his tongue stokes some kind of inner fire. I sigh in his mouth.

And then he pulls back, and thank God, he looks a little dazed too.

Shane puts his hand on my hip and turns me. “Hey, sweet girl,” he says, leaning down.

I expect him to go right for it. It is Shane after all. But he starts on my cheek pressing soft kisses to my skin. One hand stays on my hip, but the other cups my jaw and forces my gaze to lock onto his. His eyes are dilated. That is a visceral response you can’t fake. He’s turned on. The quickening of my heart makes me feel a little lightheaded.

“Sometimes,” he says, threading his fingers in my hair, “you don’t want to rush a kiss.”

My breath comes out in a ragged exhale. “You don’t?”

“Uh-uh. Gotta savor the moment. Take it slow.” He’s staring at my mouth. "You don't have to go straight for the lips," he says lowly, his lips brushing my jaw. "Kisses can be playful," he continues, demonstrating by gently sucking at my earlobe.

"Right," I say, shivering when I feel his hand brushing my hair aside, his lips whispering against my exposed skin as light as a feather.

"You can take your time, build the anticipation."

I hold my breath, my lips parting expectantly as he inches closer. Our noses rub, and he pauses, our lips nearly touching, making me wait several long seconds. I moan a little when his warm, moist mouth gently brushes against mine. Once, twice, three times like butterfly wings, leaving my lips tingling, hungry for more. He sucks my bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth and caressing it with his tongue.

I whimper when he pulls back.

"Wow," I utter breathlessly. I just kissed two men. The hottest men I know. Probably the hottest men a lot of women know.

A mischievous smile plays around Shane’s lips as if he can read my thoughts, the kinds of forbidden thoughts forming in my head.

"Come on, your turn. You want to learn how to do this properly, right? Show Fletch what you’re learning," he challenges.

I waver, but then I feel Fletch’s big hands turning me back to him. He’s not pushing me, but he’s on board for sure. When will I get a better opportunity? I pull his head down to me and nuzzle his neck just below his ear, the scent of him filling my nostrils as I leave a trail of light kisses across his skin.

"Oh, that's it, little bit, very good," Shane says in my ear from behind me. It’s unbearably erotic to feel his hot breath on my skin while I’m tasting the neck of another man.

Shane and Fletch both have their hands on my waist and hips now as I use the tip of my tongue to trace the curve of Fletch’s ear. His breath catches, and I feel a hand tighten on my hip. I’m assuming it’s his, but I can’t be sure. Oh, my God, there are so many hands on me I don’t know which hand belongs to which guy. This has got to be a dream. Real life is not like this.

Shane lifts the hair off one of my shoulders and sucks my neck from behind me. I can feel myself getting hotter, and I boldly flick Fletch’s lips with my tongue. He moans and takes my mouth, plundering my lips while Shane sucks on my neck. I’m drowning. I’m drunk. Shane pulls me until I’m resting against his broad chest, his erection building against my back. Fletch surges toward me, grinding against my front. There is no part of me that isn’t covered in rock-hard man. The four hands on my body grip tighter, the fabric of my clothes ruching up in their fists. Fletch is stealing the breath right out of my body like he’s performing CPR backwards.

“Look at you, little bit. A natural,” Shane says right before he nips the side of my neck.

I cry into Fletch’s mouth, sucking hard on his tongue as my body shivers from the sensation of the sharp pain followed by the soothing tongue Shane drags over the spot he just bit.

My pussy is aching, clenching around itself seeking friction. I feel so naughty, smashed between the gorgeous, beefy bodies of my two roommates. Their masculine scent surrounds me, staggering my senses. Can they smell how wet I am. Do I care?

They both tower over me, their bodies hard and unyielding, but all their attention is focused on me like I’m a prize.

“My turn, Fletch,” Shane says, and I’m turned around again.

Shane is no longer carefully building anticipation. He gorges on my mouth, sucking, nibbling, moaning. If Fletch wasn’t holding me, my legs would collapse beneath me. But he is holding me. Murmuring how good I taste, how my tongue was like candy in his mouth. Every fantasy I’ve had about sex pales in comparison to what just kissing these boys is like. Heat explodes inside me, rippling through my veins like rivers of lava.

The kiss grows darker, rougher. Shane moves one hand to my ass and lifts me until I’m notched against him and can feel how hard he is. Fletch pushes me from behind so I’m grinding on Shane. This is not a lesson anymore. This is full make-out foreplay.

My breasts are smashed up against Shane’s chest, my nipples hard little points. I bet he can feel them even though we are separated by layers of clothes. Fletch starts pushing with enough force that Shane starts walking backward until he is shoved up against the fridge and me between them. “Fuck,” he growls and rubs into me harder. “So fucking hot.”

Fletch has got the back of my head in his hand now and sort of mashing me more into Shane’s face. He grunts his approval, like he likes watching me take Shane’s tongue deep in my mouth. That this sharing is just as hot for him as it is for me.

And then suddenly, he’s gone. The absence of him startling. Shane lets go shortly after.

“Jesus, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever done, and everybody’s still dressed. Little bit, you’re some kind of sex witch.” My smile feels shaky. “Hey,” Shane catches my eyes with his, “you okay?”

I nod, dazed. My lungs are still trying to catch up and my brain long since left the building. “Yeah, I’m just...”

There probably aren’t words for what I’m feeling.

“Yeah, me too. Fletch?”

Fletch is bracing himself against a counter across the kitchen with his back to us. He’s breathing hard and all his upper body muscles are tense and sharp. “Fine, man.” He mumbles something about a shower and he’ll grab a plate later and he’s out of the kitchen leaving Shane and I openmouthed at his abrupt departure.

“Well, that was weird.”

“He’s going to take a cold shower, Penelope. Not so weird. I better see some furious note-taking happening after all this.”

My face scrunches up in confusion, and then I realize I’m still clutching the notebook. THE notebook. “You don’t get to read my notes.”

“We’ll see.”

We sit down to eat and have a remarkably normal meal considering only a few minutes ago, we’d been eating each other’s faces off. Fletch, the one who made me promise not to let things get weird after we kissed, seems to be the one who can’t relax and join us.

So we leave the dishes for him.