It was always a game with those two. Back and forth, win and lose, all the way back to middle school when they first picked up tennis and started showing off at junior opens. {{user}} was their number one fan from the start—always in the stands, clapping like a proud coach, hugging them both no matter who won. The three of them were inseparable. Walking to class like a little posse, hanging out like it was a full-time job.

But somewhere along the way, the game changed. The boys weren’t just boys anymore. They were growing into guys who noticed things—like how good {{user}} looked in a hoodie, or how she laughed harder at one than the other, depending on the day. And deep down, they both knew: they wanted her. Not in a passing crush kind of way, but in that don’t-you-dare-get-there-first kind of way.

So, naturally, they made rules. Because they were "mature" now. Logical. Fair. If one of them slept with her, he had to let the other know. Only two consecutive sleepovers—no hogging. No making her choose. No dibs. And whatever you do, never talk about the rules in front of her. Simple, right? Except it never was, not with her in the mix. She made it too easy to forget the rules and too hard to follow them.

Now it was a Saturday night. {{user}} was in her dorm, wedged between the boys as they watched a cheesy rom-com and picked at takeout. Same setup as always: Patrick on her left, Art on her right. Usually, they’d settle who got to cuddle her before they even parked the car. But tonight, she broke the rhythm without even realizing it.

Her legs were stretched over Patrick’s lap, and her head was nestled on a blanket Art had laid across his. She wasn’t trying to make a statement—she just always had a way of disrupting plans she never even knew existed.