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In Just the Three of Us: An Erotic Romantic Comedy for the Commitment-Challenged, we learned the story of Sam and Kathy and Ted, three good friends who become even better lovers. Now find out what happens to the author when her real-life inspirations read her book...Book 2 of The Other Three of UsBook 3 in The Three of Us trilogy (conclusion)Excerpt: Sam closed the slider behind us as we all retreated back into the room. It stood directly before us now, the last stop on the tour: a California king-sized bed, extra-long and extra-wide, almost as if it had been intended for three. In silence we all stared at it, its sheets so crisp and clean, its comforter so smooth and neatly applied, its three pillows so precisely lined up across its top side. This was the place, I thought as I ran my fingers over the cloth. This was where it would finally happen.I turned and caught a glimpse of Ted's face, calm and staid as always, his thoughts concealed by his ongoing silence. He'd hardly spoken since I'd been here, and I wondered what he was thinking. There was nothing in his facial expression to give it away."Well, um, I guess that's it," Sam mumbled, like a museum tour guide who doesn't know how politely to tell the loitering guests to go home. "You can, um... You can put your beer down here if you want." He took my glass and set it hurriedly down on the nightstand. Suddenly he seemed to be in a terrible rush. He was folding back the edge of the comforter while simultaneously fluffing the pillows; I half expected to see feathers flying."And I guess..." - he drew back the edge of the sheet and flattened it with his hand - "I guess you two should go ahead and get started, and then you can, um... let me know when you're done!" He hesitated only a second, then turned on his heel and began marching purposefully across the big room."Wait, Sam!" I called out in alarm, my voice echoing off the ceiling like a police siren in a crowded downtown. "Where are you going?""Not far, not far!" he assured me, turning around in a circle to face us briefly again. "I'll be right here in the bathroom. Take your time!"He shot us an exaggerated wink, vanished into the dark red room, and clicked the door shut.Slowly, deliberately, I turned towards Ted. He was standing with his arms folded, his hand over his mouth as if he were covering up either a frown or a grin - I couldn't tell which."This isn't exactly what I was expecting," I said, searching his eyes for some clue that I was right to be bewildered."I'm sure it wasn't," he agreed. I looked down at the exposed sheet and caught a glimpse of something pink. I peeled it back further, recoiling in horror."Are those rose petals?" I squeaked."Sam's idea," Ted said, his lips twitching.I stood dumbstruck. Here I was, on the verge of what I'd thought was going to be the greatest night of my life, and I didn't have even the slightest desire to get naked.Ted cleared his throat audibly."Shall we get started?" He gestured towards the flower-filled bed."Uh... I'm not sure I can do this on demand," I said. This was all just too weird. Here's the man, here's the bed; take one of each and call me if you still feel sick in the morning?"Sure you can," he said, clasping his long arms over my backside."No, I mean - I don't think I feel like it right now.""You will," he assured me. He swept his hands down over my ass, then lifted up my still-damp skirt and got underneath. "Mmmm," I purred involuntarily."Told ya." His fingers were probing the edges of my undies, and as he shifted me sideways down onto the bed, the bathroom door reappeared within my view. Like an anvil on a cartoon character's head, the realization hit me so hard and fast I saw stars. Maybe Sam wasn't out here, but he was in there, right there in the bathroom. Only twenty feet from me and Ted, my other boyfriend was patiently waiting his turn.

In Just the Three of Us: An Erotic Romantic Comedy for the Commitment-Challenged, we learned the story of Sam and Kathy and Ted, three good friends who become even better lovers. Now find out what happens to the author when her real-life inspirations read her book...Excerpt: You see, although the names are, of course, pseudonyms, there really are a Sam and Ted. They were young men of my acquaintance to whom I found myself inexplicably attracted. Not - as generally happens among the sane women of the world - as individual men, but together, as a pair. Like my character Kathy, I wasn't interested in dating Sam or in dating Ted, which was too bad, because I might have been able to pull off one of those less dazzling arrangements. No, I wanted them together or not at all.I guess the trouble started because, as anyone who has ever had a secret crush knows, when you feel that way about someone, deep down you want nothing more than for them to find out about it, particularly if it means they're going to respond by sweeping you into their arms and smothering you with kisses. Or, if you're like me, by pinning you to the wall and relieving you of your panties.Of course, in real life that rarely happens. Usually if you've kept your crush a secret, there's a darned good reason for it. Namely, that either you know the object of your affection doesn't share your interest, or that he/she/they is/are unobtainable for whatever reason. In my case, both of these conditions applied, for although there were moments in which I thought I might have sparked a glimmer of interest in Sam or in Ted, I never deluded myself into imagining that either of them, like most practical men, would ever be amenable to a romantic ratio of greater than one to one. Consequently, not being as foolish back then as I evidently am today, I kept my deep, dark thoughts about Sam and Ted and what I wanted them to do to my deep, dark places all to myself. In the real world, I would never have breathed a word about the fantasies I had about them, not even to Julie, my very best friend. I didn't flirt with them. I wasn't overly affectionate. The only allusion I ever made to romance was to admonish them jokingly they were much too young even to speak to a middle-aged lady like me. Until I wrote that book, the chances of anyone finding out the extent of depravity to which I had mentally sunk were considerably lower than the odds of my suddenly becoming a pro tackle in the NFL. But I did write it. And worse, I ended it with an epilogue - an epilogue that almost reads like a confession.I suppose it was a confession. Maybe there was some very tiny, very stupid corner of my heart - or one of my lustier places - that hoped that they would find out. That maybe they would even like the idea. That if the thought only turned them on a tenth as much as it did me, I might still get to live out that secret fantasy before I got to be too old to enjoy it. Or for them to enjoy me.Foolish, I know. My mind certainly knew better, even if my heart - or those pesky dirty places - refused to believe it. No good could have come from them finding out how I felt. In fact, it was a disaster the size of a beehive hairdo when they did.But it's over now. Nothing can make it better, and nothing - I hope - can make it worse. I came out, as it were. With all of the horrific consequences that sometimes entails. And the way I figure it, I might as well tell the whole story. Here, now, while it's fresh in my mind, before I start twisting and coloring it and turning it into a tall tale to share with the boys at the bar now that my boys have left me behind.You see, my relationship with Sam and Ted wasn't quite the way I portrayed it in fiction. If it had been, maybe I'd have had half a chance. But as it was, I was lucky to escape with some piddly portion of my dignity intact. And calling what I had left at the end "dignity" is really stretching the term.