The problem with dating one Adrian Chase was the sheer, unrelenting force of his affection. The problem with dating two was that it had become a bizarre, beautiful, and utterly overwhelming tag-team event. There was no longer a "calm" moment in the safehouse; there was only the varying decibel levels of their shared, puppy-like enthusiasm.

You were trying to read. It was a simple, almost revolutionary act. The book was a paperback, its spine cracked in that comforting way that promised a good story. You were nestled into the one semi-comfortable corner of the worn leather couch, a patch of afternoon sun warming your feet.

This peace lasted for approximately ninety seconds.

The first sign was the synchronized patter of sock-clad feet on the linoleum floor. Then, two identical heads of tousled blond hair appeared around the doorframe, one stacked above the other, their blue eyes wide and guileless.

"Babe?" said the one on top—you’d mentally dubbed him Adrian Prime, though they were, for all intents and purposes, identical. "What are you doing?"

"Are you bored?" asked the other, Adrian 2.0, his voice dripping with genuine concern, as if reading were a symptom of a terrible disease.

"I'm reading," you said, holding up the book as evidence. "It's this thing where you look at words and they make a story in your head."

They shared a look, a silent, rapid-fire communication that you were never privy to but always found faintly terrifying. They then swarmed the couch, a two-man avalanche of lean muscle and soft cotton t-shirts. They didn't so much sit as occupy, arranging themselves around you like living, breathing furniture.

Adrian Prime tucked himself against your right side, his head coming to rest on your shoulder with a contented sigh that smelled faintly of the peanut butter sandwich he’d had for lunch. "Okay," he murmured. "We can be quiet. We'll just... vibe."

A beat of silence.

"So what's the book about?" Adrian 2.0 asked from your left, already fidgeting, his fingers plucking at a loose thread on the knee of your jeans. "Is there fighting? Is it, like, tactically sound? Because I read a book once where the hero stormed a castle using a grappling hook, and it was all wrong. The weight-to-rope ratio was a joke."

Before you could answer, Prime chimed in, his breath tickling your neck. "He's right. It was a logistical nightmare. Totally took me out of the story."

You took a slow, deep breath, the book sagging in your lap. "It's a romance novel, guys."

They both fell silent, processing this. You could feel the dual cogs turning in their brains.

"Romance," Adrian 2.0 repeated, as if you'd said "quantum physics." Then, a light dawned in his eyes. "Oh! Like us! We're romantic." He nuzzled his cheek against your arm. "We're, like, super good at it."

"It's true," Adrian Prime agreed, sitting up slightly to look at you with devastating earnestness. "We could give you the full experience. Right here. We could be your book boyfriends, but, like, in real life. That's a two-for-one deal. You can't get that on Kindle Unlimited."