As my thirtieth birthday loomed like an impending storm, I, Vivian, a university librarian with a penchant for passion, yearned for a celebration beyond the ordinary. Even a night outside of Netflix and knitting was wild for me. But in the quirky world of college campuses, fate threw me a curveball.

It all began one day between the stacks when a hottie, clad in hockey warm-ups, approached me. Little did I know that a seemingly innocent dinner would escalate into an indecent proposal—a birthday threesome. The proposition only got wilder with the addition of a bi-curious roommate, and suddenly, we were grappling with the complexities of a quadsome. Or was it a quadratic-some?

My post-celebration sprint of shame was Olympic-worthy. I then safely tucked away the memories of my orgasmic encounter with the hockey trio. But then enter two pink lines on a pregnancy test, turning my carefree romp into a delightful mess of three irresistible studs—potential baby daddies—each vying for a place in my heart and in my bed.

As we eagerly awaited the results of a genetic test that promised to unveil the mystery of fatherhood, I discovered that love doesn’t conform to traditional melds, and that three Pucks and a Baby might just be the winning combination.