Page 1 of Bred Winner

1

ALORA

Istuff 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.

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