I was half in his shirt and half in a laugh that wouldn’t stop when the apartment door opened. My boyfriend stood there—keys in hand, eyes flicking from my smile to the bartender’s hands on my waist. We froze. Then he said, simply, “Talk.”

We did. I told the truth with my cheeks warm and my voice steady. The bartender apologized, and I didn’t hide that I wanted both of them. The room changed temperature when my boyfriend nodded once and stepped inside. He wasn’t angry; he was curious. “Show me what you were doing,” he said, voice low. I took his hand, put it on my hip, and pulled the other man closer. We set ground rules in two sentences and a look.

The kiss that followed was slow enough to feel like a choice—then a decision—then a promise. My boyfriend’s palm on my spine, the other man’s mouth at my neck, and me, grinning like a girl who just got away with everything and still earned praise. We laughed between kisses, checked in twice, and I said please without shame.

I remember the exact moment we stopped worrying about labels and started listening to each other breathe. I said, “Come here,” and they both did. I said, “Touch me,” and both pairs of hands found the places I keep warm. We ended in a tangle that felt like home in a brand-new way, and I fell asleep on my boyfriend’s chest with a stranger’s number saved under “friend.”

If you want the full play-by-play, call me. I’ll tell you what I said to make him stay, and what they did when I asked nicely.