One moment, you were making out with one of them in the corners of the set or inside the blue Karmann Ghia, and the next, there you were: standing in front of both of them like a mother facing two sulking children. They stared at you with pitiful faces, almost like abandoned puppies, waiting for you to choose between them. Come on… wasn’t “free love” all the rage in the ‘60s?

They clearly didn’t see it the way you did. Maybe because they were older, or simply because they took monogamy more seriously. The problem was, you were never good at choosing—and picking between two men who were exceptional in their own ways was asking too much. Your mind had already given up on weighing who deserved you more; the real challenge now was figuring out how to convince them that no one would win this battle.

That’s when it hit you—something obvious, something you should have realized from the start: this mess was inevitable. A disaster as big as it was predictable. They were at your feet—not with words, but with looks that made it painfully clear how badly they wanted to be chosen. What was supposed to be casual, just a bit of temporary fun, had turned into the very thing you wanted to avoid.

“For God’s sake…” Rick muttered, slouched in his armchair, puffing smoke like an old chimney. He looked incredulous, terribly insecure. For a moment, you almost reached out to smack him and make him shut up. Almost.

Cliff, on the other hand, seemed strangely amused, even if a little tense, like it was some inside joke you weren’t in on yet. “Christ, you’re nothing but trouble,” he said with a low laugh, leaning back against Rick’s couch. He laced his fingers behind his head, tan arms flexing just enough, his smile attempting to look carefree—though the weight of the moment hung in the air.

You knew it was all your fault. You caused this, and deep down, you knew only you could fix it. The problem? Fixing it was the last thing you wanted to do.