Gwen Stephenson’s friends were late, and she was annoyed. Not because they were late—she didn’t actually care what time they got there, and it was nice to have the hotel suite to herself for a little while. No, it was the reason they were late that was annoying. They were having sex.

She wished she didn’t know that for sure, but Chloe had been in love with her boyfriends Jesse and Knox since January and Bailey had reunited with her college love Nash in June and it was now November, and every single time they’d been late for anything in the last few months it had been because of sex.

So it was a pretty safe assumption. And it was annoying.

Because she wasn’t having sex, and it was her birthday, and how was that fucking fair?

It wasn’t. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it, so she’d decided to make the most of her temporary solitude. She’d ordered room service, lit the fireplaces in both the sitting room and the bedroom, and was currently enjoying the soaking tub, filled to the brim with hot-as-she-could-stand-it water and fragrant bubbles while she nibbled on the cheese and charcuterie plate that had cost more than the monthly insurance premium for her car—or would have, if she’d been paying for any of this.

Since the suite—and all accompanying expenses—were a gift from a friend of Bailey’s, she’d ignored the price tag on the cheese and charcuterie plate, and the bottle of champagne, and the strawberries with chocolate sauce that she’d ordered for dessert, and was savoring every bit of it when the front door to the suite opened with a distant bang and a shout.

She swallowed the strawberry in her mouth and hollered back, “In the bathroom!” and picked up a wedge of aged Irish Cheddar.

Within moments, Chloe appeared in the doorway in a blue sweater dress that matched her eyes and soft brown knee-high boots. Her cap of blonde hair was windblown, her ivory skin pink from the November cold. “Sorry I’m late. I was—”

“Fucking, I know,” Gwen mumbled around the cheese, and jerked her chin when Bailey appeared behind Chloe. “You too, I presume.”

“Twice,” Bailey said cheerfully. Her black hair was piled messily on top of her head, oddly free of colorful streaks, and her hazel eyes lit on the cart laden with food. “Ooh, you got a charcuterie tray?”

“Mine,” Gwen said firmly and, since her glasses were fogged from the steam of her bath, dipped her head to glare over them. “You can’t have any.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“You’re crabby tonight.” Bailey reached for a slice of prosciutto from the tray, snatching her hand back just in time when Gwen slapped at it. She grinned. “Turning thirty blues?”

“No. Order your own food.”

“Very crabby. You know what you need?”

Gwen narrowed her eyes. “Do not say ‘to get laid.’”

“I wasn’t going to say that. Although, now that you mention it…”

“Bailey,” Chloe warned.

“What? She brought it up.”

Chloe looked like she was trying not to laugh. “Stick to the topic.”

“Fine. Where was I?”

“What Gwen needs.”

“Right. You know what you need, Gwen? Besides to get laid.”

Chloe just sighed.

Amused despite her lingering annoyance, Gwen shook her head. “No, Bailey. What do I need?”

“You need a documentary.”

Gwen sat up, sloshing water over the edge of the tub. “I do?”

“About baseball.”

She stared at her friends through foggy glasses, joy, pure and bright, blooming in her heart. “Really?”

Chloe nodded. “Really.”

“You’re not joking, are you? Because that would be really mean.”

“We are not joking,” Bailey confirmed. “I wish we were, but we’re not.”

“You’re really going to watch a baseball documentary with me?”

“Consider it your birthday gift,” Chloe said, then let out a startled oof when Gwen leapt out of the tub, sending water and bubbles flying, and launched herself at Chloe. “Gwen! You’re getting me all wet!”

“This is so great!” Abandoning Chloe, Gwen flung herself enthusiastically at Bailey.

“This birthday celebration is starting out weird,” Bailey declared, returning the hug.

Gwen pulled back and straightened her glasses. “You can have as much prosciutto as you want.”

“Thanks.” Bailey looked down at herself, the T-shirt and leggings she’d worn now soaked through. “I guess I’m putting on a robe.”

Chloe plucked at her dress with a grimace. “Me too.”

Gwen spun to the hooks by the walk-in shower, grabbed the robes hanging there, and spun back. “Which documentary are we watching?”

Bailey was peeling her T-shirt over her head. “We figured we’d let you choose,” she said from inside the layer of cotton.

“Really?” Gwen bit her lip. “Oh, well. There are so many to choose from. The best is, of course, the Ken Burns—”

“No.” Bailey tossed the T-shirt aside and pointed a finger at Gwen. “No Ken Burns.”

“But it’s so good,” Gwen pleaded.

“It’s over eighteen hours, Gwen.”

“Eighteen hours?” Balanced on one leg to pry off her boot, Chloe shook her head. “Uh-uh, no way. There isn’t enough champagne in this whole hotel.”

“Forget it,” Bailey said firmly, and Gwen sighed.

“Fine,” she muttered, but the disappointment was mostly feigned. She’d never have gotten that past them. “Then I want to watch the Netflix one on the 2004 Red Sox.”

Chloe tugged off her other boot and let it drop. “How long is it?”

“Only three episodes,” Gwen said innocently. “They’re like an hour each.”

“‘Like’ an hour?” Bailey asked suspiciously.

“Maybe an hour and a half,” Gwen hedged. “But not more than that, I swear.”

Stripped down to her panties, Bailey shrugged into a robe. “What do you think, Chlo?”

Chloe peeled off her dress and laid it on the long marble counter. “Well, it’s not eighteen hours. That’s something.”

“And it’s really good,” Gwen promised. “You’ll love it, I swear.”

“Fine, ’04 Sox it is.” Chloe slipped off her bra, tossed it on top of her dress, then put on the robe. “But we’re definitely going to need more champagne.”

Gwen was so happy she actually jumped up and down. “You guys are the best.”

Bailey grinned at her. “Dry off and put a robe on, you weirdo, and go cue it up while I order the champagne.”

Four hours later, Gwen turned off the TV with a happy sigh. “That was great. Wasn’t that great?”

“I actually kind of liked it,” Chloe mused. “Professional athletes are fascinating.”

“I know, right? Bailey?” Gwen sat up in the bed to peer around Chloe. “What’d you think?”

“Hmm?” Bailey looked up from the enormous bowl of ice cream in her lap, a spoonful poised at her lips. “About what?”

“The documentary.”

“Was I supposed to be paying attention?”

“Jesus, Bailey.”

She hunched her shoulders at Chloe’s hiss. “I saw some of it. Yankees and Red Sox, right? Boy, they really hate each other.”

“Nice save,” Chloe said drily. “Gwen, I thought it was really interesting.”

“Kiss-ass,” Bailey muttered and shoved the dripping spoon in her mouth.

“Thank you, Chloe,” Gwen said with haughty grandeur.

“You’re welcome, Gwen,” Chloe replied.

“Why do they hate each other, anyway?” Bailey wondered.

“What?”

“The Yankees and Red Sox,” Bailey elaborated, waving her spoon in the air. “Is there, like, a real reason, or is it just a silly sports thing?”

Gwen stared at her, then at Chloe. “Is she kidding?”

Chloe winced. “Probably not.”

“So, like, just a silly sports thing, then?”

“You know what?” Gwen reached across Chloe and snatched the ice cream out of Bailey’s lap. “No more ice cream for you.”

“Hey! Chloe, she stole my Moose Tracks.”

“Is this what having kids is like?” Chloe wondered.

“Yes, but with stretch marks and peeing when you laugh,” Bailey said and snatched the ice cream back.

“How do you know?” Gwen asked, miffed. She’d really wanted that ice cream. “You don’t have any.”

“I have approximately three hundred cousins that I started babysitting when I was twelve,” Bailey reminded her.

“Fair point,” Gwen conceded, then frowned at Bailey, who was shoveling in ice cream as fast as she could manage. “You’re going to get an ice cream headache if you eat that fast.”

“I have to eat it fast or you’ll steal it again,” Bailey muttered between spoonfuls.

“I’m ordering one of those hot fudge sundaes I had last time,” Gwen decided, and reached for the phone on the bedside table.

“Now you tell me.” Bailey put down the spoon and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Ow.”

“You’re both ridiculous,” Chloe declared.

Gwen snorted and punched the button for room service. “Says the woman with two boyfriends.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means when one lives in a house of glass, one should not throw stones,” Gwen said, then turned away to murmur into the phone when room service picked up.

Behind her, Chloe said, “Huh?”

“She means having two boyfriends is so high on the ridiculous scale, nothing we do could ever top it,” Bailey explained.

“Oh. Well, I guess that’s hard to argue.”

“Of course, I could top it if I wanted to.”

Assured that her hot fudge sundae was on its way, Gwen hung up the phone and turned back to her friends. “Jesus, Bailey, it’s not a challenge.”

“I’m just saying,” Bailey protested.

“I’d say you came damn close,” Chloe put in. “You know, asking your ex-boyfriend to arrange a gang bang for you.”

A satisfied smile curved Bailey’s lips. “That was pretty ridiculous, wasn’t it?”

“We’ll call it a draw,” Gwen decided, eager to get off the subject. “Two equally ridiculous birthday wishes.”

“That turned out very well,” Chloe finished.

“I know I’m happy with mine.”

“Cheers to that.” Chloe raised her empty champagne glass in a toast. “Shit, I’m out.”

“Hang on, I got you.” Bailey reached over the edge of the bed and came up with the bottle. “Oops, out here too.”

“I ordered more with the ice cream.”

Chloe beamed. “She’s always thinking, isn’t she?”

“That’s our girl. And speaking of thinking.”

“Were we?”

Bailey patted her knee. “Okay, maybe no more champagne for you.”

Gwen laughed.

“Your mood has improved,” Bailey observed.

“With good reason. I’ve got ice cream and champagne coming, I’ve eaten my weight in cheese and charcuterie, and my besties watched a baseball documentary with me without complaining.”

“She watched it.” Bailey jerked a thumb at Chloe. “I just didn’t complain.”

“Still counts.” Content, Gwen stretched out on the bed. “I don’t even care that I’m turning thirty tomorrow.”

“Thirty’s not so bad,” Chloe offered. “It gets a lot of negative hype, but so far it’s been great.”

“Easy for you to say. You have two men making you orgasm every night.”

“She’s got you there,” Bailey said.

“Not every night,” Chloe demurred. “Sometimes we just cuddle.”

“And you have the love of your life back,” Gwen continued, turning her head to look at Bailey, “who gives you orgasms every night.”

Bailey snuggled back against the pillows. “He does.”

“And me?” Gwen turned back to stare at the ceiling. “I have a cat, who does not give me orgasms.”

“Thank God,” Bailey declared.

“Okay, that came out wrong,” Gwen allowed. “But you know what I mean. I want someone to give me orgasms.”