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“A three-way?” Garrett asked. “You’re kidding, right?” “Ménage à trois,” Jack said. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.” Britt turned to face them, her hand still on the doorknob. This conversation was starting to get interesting. The two men faced off like snorting bulls, ignoring her. “We do her one at a time,” Garrett said, “and I get her first. When the hell did you do a three-way?” He raised two fingers. “Follow-up question—two girls or two guys?” Jack raised one finger. “College. Duh.” Another finger. “Two girls. It was awesome.” “Well, I’m not doing a two-guy three-way,” Garrett said. “No way.” Britt spoke up. “Afraid it’ll turn you on?” “The hell kinda question is that?” Garrett said. “I’m a hundred percent straight.” “Because you didn’t seem like a guy who’s insecure about his sexuality,” she said. “You know, when we met at the club.” “Do not try to play me with that ‘insecure’ crap,” Garrett said.” — Pam McKenna, Faking It