Bred Winner

I’m super successful in my career, but finding a strong, handsome, and virile high-powered executive with a graduate degree to fall in love with so we can have perfect children together while living in our big, beautiful house has eluded me. I’m thirty-four years old, and I’ve come to the realization that like everything else in my life, I’m going to have to do it myself. I don’t need the man, not when I have three goofy best friends who will love and protect any child I have.

Now I just need to go to the clinic to pick out the right donor so I can have that perfect child.

But first, I’m going to run this idea past the trio of misfits who have been by my side since my sophomore year in college. 

I love Coen, Oakley, and Tristen with all of my heart, and even though they are college educated, they don’t fit the ideal image I’ve had in my head since I was nine years old. Which is too bad, because they are in perfect in every other way.

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We’ve bided our time for fifteen years waiting for Alora to find “the one”—her picture perfect match that we know does not exist. Even if she met a man with the education, career, and even the looks, we know no man will ever love her like we do. No man will ever cherish her like we do. No man will bend time and space to give her everything she wants, like we will.

We’ll do anything to make her ours, so when she comes with this crazy idea about IVF, we put fifteen years of longing and friendship on the line.

“Give us 90-days to knock you up. We’re going to be a part of the baby’s life regardless of who the father is, so why not let it be one of us?”

We’ll sell it as friends with benefits if that’s what she needs. If she happens to fall in love in the process—even better. 

We have 90-days to convince her what we’ve known all along—she belongs with us.

I stuff the fertility clinic folder into my bag and take a deep breath, bringing my gaze up from my steering wheel to the front door of Mindful Body and Soulful Living Wellness Center. Inside are my best friends. Men who have been by my side since I was nineteen years old. Three goofballs who would do anything to make me smile. Big and powerful men who are some of the most peace-loving, mellow, and fun guys I know.

I love them with all my heart. If I could combine the three of them into one man, dress them in a business suit, and stick them in a corner office—they’d be perfect.

At least, they’d perfectly fit what I’ve wasted twenty-plus years of my life dreaming about—a tall, beautiful executive with a graduate degree and a corporate title starting with a C. 

But at thirty-four years old, I need to grow up and accept the fact that my idea of what would make me happy either doesn’t exist or doesn’t want me. I’ve spent my life with an image of what happiness looks like. First, I’d be educated, successful, and as beautiful as possible, given what God and my momma gave me. Two, I’d meet a man equally educated and successful with good genetics and an amazing sex drive. Three, we’d get married, buy a big, beautiful house in the suburbs, and have gorgeous children we send to private school—because only the best for my offspring.

Maybe I watched too many movies when I was a kid living in an apartment building inside the projects, but my momma said if I worked hard, stayed focused, and practiced safe sex, I could break the cycle of poverty I was born into—and for the most part, I did just that. I’m the newest department head at Eliad Corporation, managing the business development and design group. I’ve accomplished everything I set out to do, except marrying a man and starting a family.

In the last year, I realized I don’t need the man to have the family. I mean, I was a raised by an amazing single mom who had a fraction of what I have to give—so why can’t I do it?

I take another deep breath and grab my yoga mat, exiting my Mercedes. I know my guys will support me no matter what I decide. They love me as much as I love them—maybe more. For fifteen years they’ve been my constant—my rock, my number one cheerleader, my pint of ice cream and fuzzy blanket when I’m sad—always teasing that the day I’m ready to date them, let them know.

Yes—them. Never Coen, or Oakley, or Tristan, but them.

And I know they’re serious, because they’ve dated women together before. Never anything serious. Never anything lasting. But they’ve done it, always when I was knee deep in my own relationship.

When my momma was alive, I couldn’t fathom an unconventional relationship like the one they’ve hinted at. And it doesn’t fit the Norman Rockwell family Christmas cards I’d envisioned having when I was growing up in low income housing. But now that my she is gone, all that has changed.

“Hey babe.” Tristan opens the door as I approach, flashing me his patented panty-melting smile. He’s a good-looking man. Nearly six-five and built like the Greek Adonis, he wears his thick hair long, mostly to tease Coen and Oakley, who shave their heads to hide their rapidly receding hairlines. Fortunately for both men, they look good bald.

“Hi.” I lift on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re just in time.”

“We’re doing brunch afterwards, right?” I set my bag down and kick off my shoes, following him into one of their many classrooms. 

“Of course, as always.” He opens the door and pats my ass, ushering me into the room where Oakley leads the class. I smile and nod at my other best friend as I unroll my mat in the back of the room. 

Almost four years ago—right after I moved to Spring City to take the job with Eliad Corporation—my guys followed me here and opened their health and wellness center. It’s a great place, catering to kids and adults alike, and perfectly matches their personalities, which is a combination of extremely mellow and goofy hijinks.

* * *

The three of us walk down the street to the Five and Dime Diner on the west side. It has a rooftop dining area, which is our favorite place on warm days. And although this is technically a greasy spoon, it’s the guys’ secret indulgence once a week. 

“Coffee, orange juice, and water, right?” The waitress says as we take our normal table in the corner.

“As always.” Tristan winks at her, which causes her to giggle. He’s the flirtiest of the three, probably because he knows how beautiful he is.

“Where’s Coen? I thought he’d meet us here.”

“Should be here any minute.” Oakley presses a kiss on my neck and takes the seat to my left. 

“What do you want to talk to us about?” Tristan sits on the other side of me. They always joke about who gets to sit next to me. Usually the last guy is, as they say, assed out.

“What do you mean?” I scoff, pouring a healthy dose of cream into my coffee. They know me so well and have always been able to tell my mood no matter how hard I try to mask it.

“You texted us last night to make sure we were on for brunch today.” Oakley leans back in his chair with his orange juice in hand. “When is the last time we’ve missed brunch?”

My eyes roll. “I know. I’m the one who usually cancels.”

At that moment, Coen walks out onto the patio, throwing us a chin nod. “Dammit. I thought I’d beat you here.”

“Nope. Guess you’re assed out.” Tristan smiles.

Coen comes up behind my chair and places a chaste kiss on top of my shoulder. “Good morning, sweetness.”

“Good morning. Where were you? Escorting some beautiful woman home?” I tease. Coen is big and broad and attracts attention—both good and bad—with his physical prowess. He’s also the biggest teddy bear I’ve ever known. Small children and animals gravitate to him.

“Of course not. I was helping Mrs. Myers with a grocery run this morning.” 

Mrs. Myers is their eighty-year-old widowed neighbor. They take such good care of her.

“Enough stalling, Alora. What’s going on?” Oakley huffs, always the impatient one of our foursome. 

As I pull the folder out of my bag, I bite my lip and push the coffee aside. “I’ve decided it’s time to start a family. I went to the fertility clinic and had an initial appointment, and I’m looking into in vitro.”

“IVF?” Coen asks, exchanging a glance with the two men on either side of me.

“Yeah.” I exhale the breath I’m holding. “I’m thirty-four, and I’m not getting any younger. If I want to have a family, I have to start now. Obviously, I’m not doing a good job of finding the man for the family, so I decided why not be a single mother? I mean, I was raised by a single mother and look how great I am?”

“You’re perfect, babe,” Tristan says.

I grin and push the folder forward. “You’re my best friends, and I want you to be part of this from the beginning. I thought maybe we could read through potential donor files together, binge on wine, cheese, and fruit sorbet—kind of like shopping the Christmas catalogs like we used to in our twenties.”

I’m met with silence, which I guess I should expect, considering I’m dropping this on them out of nowhere. While I’ve been thinking about this for months, I kept it from them because I didn’t want to open it up for discussion before I had all my facts. Not that this is a discussion. It’s my life, but these three mean more to me than anything else in the world now that my momma is gone, and while I don’t need their permission, I want their support.

“What do you think?” I search their faces, which are awash with confusion, disbelief, and maybe a bit of anger?

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Coen asks.

“About six months, but I finally made an appointment two weeks ago and had my consultation on Friday.”

“Does this mean you’ve given up on finding the perfect husband?”

I shrug. “It means I’m not going to wait any longer to have what I want.”

“So, instead of waiting, you’re going to pick a bunch of sperm out of a catalog, have them shove it up you with a turkey baster, and then pray for the best?” Oakley bites out, letting me know he’s definitely angry.

“Dude. Chill out,” Tristan says, reaching behind me and smacking his friend on the shoulder.

“Why are you mad?”

Oakley rubs the top of his head and sighs. “I’m not mad, Alora. I’m frustrated.”

“What are you frustrated about?”

The waitress takes this moment to walk up to the table with her iPad in hand. “What can I get you?”

“Actually, could you give us ten minutes?” I ask, unsure if I’m going to make it through a full meal. I don’t think any of the guys have ever been mad at me, and I’m not sure how to sit here under their watchful glares.

“Sure thing.” The waitress walks away.

Coen raises his hand and motions to both guys to sit back and relax. “We don’t begrudge you wanting a child, Alora. You’ll be a great mom, but what if we had a different proposal for you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Give us ninety days.”

“What?”

Tristan leans forward. “That’s a brilliant idea.”

Coen grins. “I’m glad you think so, because I’m making it up as I go.”

“What are you talking about?” I glance between them.

“You want a baby. We want you. You’ve always known this. We’ve never hidden it. So, this declaration should not be a surprise. Instead of going to some cold clinic and paying tens of thousands of dollars for an impersonal procedure, date us for ninety days and let us get you pregnant,” Coen states as plainly as if he’s proposing we paint my living room blue.

“Think about it. It’s perfect.” Tristan shifts in his chair excitedly. “Regardless of who the father of your child is, you know the three of us are going to be part of the little one’s life. We will be Uncle Clown Shoes, Uncle Goofball, and Uncle Tutu for any children you ever have.”

Oakley nods, visibly relaxing, his anger dissipating. “We love you, you love us, and although we’ve stood back and watched you chase after this ridiculous fantasy of your perfect family, we’ve always known you belong with us. Even if you had found a man you deemed worthy and married him, you’re never getting rid of us. We will always be there for you and anyone else you bring into this world. Date us for ninety days, and if we haven’t gotten you pregnant by the end, I’ll take you to the clinic and pay for your in vitro myself.”